Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Hello, Traitor."

Those were the first words that Crowley heard after Aziraphale left to join Heaven. After Aziraphale abandoned him. After Aziraphale took his heart and broke it in front of him, leaving without so much as a seeming care as to what he had done to him.

Startled, Crowley turned to the passenger seat of the Bentley, and there, the former Prince of Hell lounged lazily, arms folded across their chest, flies buzzing around the car.

Crowley struggled to find his voice. "Lord Beelzebub," he croaked out. "To what do I owe this... This dishonour?"

Beelzebub rolled their eyes and moved to adjust their bowler hat, "Oh, drop the formalities, Crowley. Neither of us are with Hell anymore."

Crowley's grip tightened on his steering wheel. Stupid former boss, materialising into his car, calling him a traitor, then having the nerve to say that neither are with the former... Company... Anymore? Quite frankly ridiculous. And hypocritical.

"Right, yes of course." The pair sat in silence, and Beelzebub awkwardly fiddled with their fingers, pulling the fishnet glove further up their arm. Crowley kept his eyes trained on the road.

It was the slowest he'd ever driven the car since he first got it, back in 1926. He wasn't too sure how much time had passed since he had started driving away from Soho, even though he knew it was at least two nights, from the darkneing and lightening of the sky, just like how he knew that he had driven through all of urban London, had slowly slithered his way up north, and had driven in loops from there. He could vaguely recall driving onto some kind of ferry?

"I thought you were heading off to Alpha Centauri." Crowley muttered, teeth clenched to stop himself from hissing.

Beelzebub paused for a moment, as if trying to decide what to say. "We did." They replied, hesitantly. "We were up there for two Earth months. And then we came down to Earth for another year and a half. Crowley, we've been trying to find you for eighteen months."

The serpent swerved his car, narrowly missing a rather large pine tree. Who put a pine tree on the road in the first place? The Bentley honked in protest, the engine spluttering as the brakes brought the car to a halt. Crowley, for once, did not care.

He turned to Beelzebub, "Ha ha. Very funny. Joke's over now. What do you want from me?" His finger pointed at the other demon accusingly.

"We need you to come back to London." A new voice chimed in from the back seat. Crowley would recognise that voice anywhere; the heavy American accent that had created this entire issue and taken his angel away from him in the first place.

"Argh- what are YOU doing here?" Crowley screamed, digging his fingernails into his palms as he turned around to see the former-Archangel Supreme, sipping on a Costa coffee cardboard cup that smelled suspiciously like a hot chocolate. The plant pots around him were withered and dead from nearly two years of neglect.

"Well, first we went to Alpha Centauri, then we went to London, and then Beelz asked the two humans at the coffee shop where you were, and they said that they hadn't seen you or Aziraphale in months, so then we went to the Scrivener and their little demon friend and-"

"What Gabriel is trying to say," Beelzebub interrupted, offering their hand to Gabriel, which he gladly took, "Is that we- and a couple of others- have been looking for you for a long time. And we need you to come back to Soho with us, right now."

Crowley considered the proposal for a moment. What did that magazine say about calming down, again? Was it the locking yourself in a dark room for months, breathing in and out, or eating Eccles cakes? Crowley moved to grab his phone planning to call his angel to ask if they could go to a nice cafe in London where he could watch Aziraphale eat Eccles cakes. That would calm him down.

Then, he remembered what has happened, and, if a tear ran down his cheek, neither the angel nor the other demon acknowledged it.

"No." He croaked out, reversing the car away from the piece of land he had definitely NOT crashed into.

"No? Crowley, I don't think you're quite understanding what we're offering you he-"

He'd heard those words before, and he certainly did not like the end of them. The panic cut deeper into his heart, and he forgot how to breathe- not like he needed to in the first place.

"Crowley." Beelzebub's voice was soft, the calmest he'd ever heard them speak. He was sent into shock for a moment as he stopped the engine and turned towards them, a look of concern imprinted on his former boss' new-old face.

This wasn't Beelzebub, Grand Duke of Hell, Lord of the Flies. No, this was Beelzebub, who used to organise secret 'office nights out' behind the back of Satan himself. Beelzebub, who used to sit with him and tell him everything was going to be fine, after the other diabolical ministers unleashed their wrath for some small 'good' thing that Crowley had done to deserve even more damnation than he had already been subject to.

Not a demon to fear. But an ally. Someone who understands.

Crowley focused his attention to Beelzebub.

"What is it?"

"Something is up. Up, up." Gabriel looked confused, but a sense of understanding passed between the two demons.

'Up, up', a code that had been established between some of the highest ranking demons centuries before. Beelzebub, Dagon, Hastur, Ligur and Crowley. It had only been used twice before; the first being used by Dagon after the failed execution of 'Aziraphale', and the second being used by Beelzebub, through Shax. And, now, a third.

"Not my problem. And it's not your's anymore, either." Crowley glared at a passing car on the otherwise empty, twilight country road.

"It's Aziraphale." And those were the words. The mere mention of his angel's name, and Crowley slammed on his breaks. Was he in danger? Because if those holy bastards did something to his angel-

"What happened? Is he okay?" He could feel the panic rising in his chest once more. Overwhelming, the deathly hand of fear wrapped around his heart and throat, choking him. He really ought to stop feeling like this, but every small movement that Beelzebub did made him flinch like a small animal, and every sip of hot chocolate by Gabriel seemed ten times louder than what it should have been.

"Word from the grapevine- that, obviously, doesn't exist- is that the Metatron has ordered the Book of Life to be moved from the Archives into his permanent possession. We believe that the Metatron is not adversed to using extreme sanctions to make the Great Plan happen. The angels are scared, Crowley. And if your average angels are scared, imagine what is happening to the Archangels."

Crowley shook his head, "We've been over this. That's just something we said to scare the cherubs."

"You're right, it's something that we said to scare the cherubs." Gabriel took an obnoxiously loud slurp from his Costa hot chocolate. "But the Metatron? He's above the Archangels. He has more power. He can follow through."

Crowley ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the flaming red roots slightly, stressed.

"Fine." He slipped his phone from out of his pocket. A red battery flashed across his phone screen. Dead. A quick click of his fingers, and the phone was completely charged, and had already loaded GPS. Damn, he had driven to Romania? He supposed he had expected more than that, from nearly two years of driving. Time flies when you're having fun, but apparently cars don't cover as much distance when the love of your life abandons you for his former toxic employers.

He turned to his left, but Beelzebub had already disappeared. Confused, he looked behind the driver's seat, and the pair were sat together in the back of the Bentley, holding hands. He rolled his eyes.

"You two can just, go back to London quicker, if you want. It's going to be a long drive."

The angel and demon in the back shared a glance. "I think that we'll stay here, make sure you find your way back and that you don't drive away again. Not that we don't trust you, of course. Well, we can't but- you know what I mean."

"Right." Crowley replied, and he pressed on the pedal, the Bentley's speed finally back to normal after nearly two years of driving consistently at ten miles per hour.

In the windmirror, Crowley could see Gabriel look towards his partner as he clicked his fingers. And, before Crowley could even begin to protest, "Everyday" by Buddy Holly started playing, with the pair nodding their heads and singing along.

"For somebody's sake." Crowley grumbled, mentally preparing himself for what torture this car ride would be. He would even go as far as to say that he would rather be back in Hell after 1827, but he quickly shut that thought down.

Crowley swiftly tuned out the dreadful singing, missing Queen already, but he recalled that the Bentley had only repeated "Love of My Life" for hours after he last turned the radio back on. So, he just let the Bentley find it's way back to London as he found himself alone with his thoughts.

He had spent so long saving Aziraphale from all sorts of danger, that it had become a second nature to him. His loyalty and need to protect his angel ran through his veins more than his demonic blood did. Sure, he knew that Aziraphale did it on purpose, just to see Crowley after many decades of silence. But there had been times where he'd actually been in danger, like when he faced the Nazi spies in 1941 at the church, or the time where he almost got executed in the middle of the French Revolution.

But those times were just saving him from discorporation. This? This was a threat to his angel's life- no, his entire existence.

And Crowley wasn't too sure if he could really save him this time.

But he'd be damned if he didn't at least try.

Chapter Text

The journey from the place on Google Maps- Ion Roată- to Soho was meant to take one day and five hours.

Crowley, in his Bentley, annoyed by the passengers, with the arrow of his heart only aiming for one place- one person, his angel, who he needed to save- did it in 17 hours.

The most time-consuming part of the drive, of course, was crossing the French-English border. Crowley had to miracle a very confused Beelzebub and Gabriel two passports, which took up a surprising amount of time, as the people stamping the passports took a while checking whether or not their passports were valid. It took several attempts to change the systems, change the dates issued, change Beelzebub's name- ridiculous! Damn the modern border system!

And then there was the dreaded Calais to Dover ferry, which knocked the journey back by an hour and thirty, infuriating Crowley, because he knew that he could have definitely drove across the English Channel faster than that boat. Beelzebub looked a bit green all throughout the journey, but Gabriel was there, holding their hand, jumping up and down excitedly as he pointed stuff out to them.

"Beelz! Look at the other boats! They're so much smaller than this one!"

"Fishing boats, I think." They paused for a moment to lean against Gabriel, their voice uneven from the sea sickness, "Dagon has always been very conflicted about fishing boats... On one hand, it's bad for the environment, which means more sin for us, but on the other hand? Fish are her thing, and fish get killed, which isn't good for Dagon."

Crowley watched as Gabriel smiled gently and squeezed their hand, and that was the moment that Crowley knew that Gabriel was no longer a threat. He wondered if this is how the other demons saw him when he was with Aziraphale.

"You miss them, don't you?" Gabriel whispered to the former Grand Duke of Hell.

Beelzebub paused. "They weren't much, between all the evil and revolting traits." They began, "But... They were family. Dagon and Hastur and Ligur when he was around, and Crowley and some of the others."

Gabriel spun around, still not letting go of their hand. He looked towards Crowley, who was sitting on a table nearby the window that the pair were looking out of. They made eye contact- not that Gabriel would be able to tell from behind Crowley's dark glasses.

The angel smiled, "Well, it's not everything, but Crowley is still here. And I am too. And, when we get back to Soho, there will be us, and Eric, and Muriel, and those humans that everyone is so fond of."

Crowley brought himself into the conversation; "Eric?"

Beelzebub turned to face him, leaning onto Gabriel for support. They looked pale and sickly every time the boat rocked, back and forth, back and forth. "The disposable one. You know, the demon with the hair that sticks up, and the long eyelashes?"

"Yesss, I know who Eric isss," He hissed, slightly annoyed, but took a moment to regain his composure. "But what is he doing in Soho?"

The pair shared a look again- Crowley was really starting to hate that, it made him feel useless in every matter- before Gabriel said, "It appears that Eric has befriended Muriel. Or the other way around, or something, I don't know. Both still have to perform their Heavenly and Hellish duties, but they still make time to talk to eachother."

Oh, well, great. Just another reminder of what Crowley had lost.

But he was going to get his angel back, right? And they could find the time to be with eachother every day, like Eric and Muriel, or they could even run away from Heaven and Hell, like Gabriel and Beelzebub.

He'd tried before. But he'd try again. And again. And again. Until he and his angel were safe.

Soon enough, the captain's voice rang out over the intercom, and before they knew it, the three were being shepherded down the stairs to the lower decks, where the Bentley was parked.

Crowley was glad to see the Bentley again- an hour and a half had been the longest he had not been in the Bentley since he drove away nearly two years ago.

Crowley got in the car, and, to his surprise, Beelzebub had taken the passenger seat to his left. He shot them a questioning look.

"The back makes me feel weird." They explained, and Crowley presumed it was for the better that the demon did not throw up all over his Bentley. Nobody had ever done that. Nor made a mess. Though the only other person to ever sit in it other than Crowley (and now these to lovebirds)- was Aziraphale.

Trying to hide away his thoughts, Crowley focused ahead on the roads. The journey to Soho would only be around two hours, and Crowley expected he could do it in one.

"Alright, then." He said through gritted teeth, "But no more Everyday, or else I'm kicking you out of the car!" He turned around to appear menacing to Gabriel, but the former Supreme Archangel just looked ahead giddily, drinking a new Costa hot chocolate that he had ordered from the bar on the ferry. Crowley began to think that the angel had an addiction. Well, you can take the Gabriel out of Jim, but you can't take the Jim out of Gabriel, or something like that.

Thankfully, the angel and the demon left the radio alone, and the Bentley decided to play the "Best of Queen" tape, rather than repeating "Love of my Life" over and over. Admittedly, though, it did make a statement by starting on "Somebody To Love".

As predicted, the journey only took an hour. For rush hour on a Tuesday evening, there was a surprising lack of traffic. Not even on the damned M25! Crowley always thought that the M25 was the most evil of his demonic interventions.

Soho, though? The Bentley could barely move through the streets. It was the biggest traffic jam that Crowley had ever experienced; he could tell that in only a matter of time, the entirety of London would be congested from it.

Sirens wailed nearby, and street signs glowed mockingly with the letters "TRAFFIC DIVERSION".

"Come on, come on, come on!" Crowley whispered through gritted teeth, fingers tapping on his steering wheel, restlessly.

"What is it?" Beelzebub asked. Flies buzzed around the front of the car.

"Diversion. Probably just a crash or something."

"Maybe it was caused by that demon, Eric?" Gabriel asked. He had discarded his Costa hot chocolate cup thirty minutes earlier. Crowley wasn't sure why he didn't just miracle himself another one, though he should have been thankful for the lack of slurping noises coming from behind him.

Beelzebub shook their head; "No, Eric doesn't perform temptations like that. He's only on Earth because Dagon misplaced his file, and now he refuses to leave, so they just let him stay."

There was silence for a moment, and then Crowley turned to face the angel.

"Why don't you go and check what is happening around the corner? Or see if there is anywhere nearby where we can park, then walk over to the bookshop."

He nodded his head, "Reconnaissance mission?"

The red-headed demon paused, "Sure, whatever."

"Got it!" He was swift to exit the car, walking rather quickly down the street- or maybe that was just in comparison to how slow the traffic was moving- with the tail of his long, brown jacket trailing in the air behind him.

Beelzebub straightened their tie. Crowley fiddled with the radio, trying to tune it to a local news broadcast, but the Bentley was set on finishing "I Want to Break Free" first. He gave up, leaving the song to play out.

"So, who's in charge now, then?" He decided he should catch up on everything that had happened over the two years.

"Shax. As a figurehead, mostly. I've got Dagon and Hastur working behind the scenes."

"So you still have power in Hell? Would've thought they'd have casted you out and deemed you a traitor."

The Lord of the Flies paused, "They did. You know that a demon's first loyalty is to themselves. But for some of us higher ups? We stay loyal to eachother."

"Right. So, they're doing the same thing as us then, or...?"

The traffic was barely moving at all now, so Crowley could easily take and read the piece of paper that Beelzebub handed him.

"I wasn't meant to show you this until we met up with the others. But... That's the contract. Dagon listens through the grapevine, and Hastur subtly influences Shax's decisions. Both of them want a war with the angels as much as the next demon, but I've called in a few favours, and implemented some... threats and blackmail to get Dagon slightly on our side."

'Our side.'

Was Crowley really part of this 'side'? He had spent so long trying to get away from Heaven and Hell, trying to get away from the Archangels and the Dark Council, trying to form an 'our side' with Aziraphale... And now he is finally on his own side, but it was nothing like he had previously imagined.

No Aziraphale, for starters- but that was something that he was going to change. And Beelzebub and Gabriel? An unexpected turn of events, but perhaps they could be useful allies, with their own knowledge and connections to whatever Heaven was planning.

Crowley was so deep in thought that he almost missed Gabriel frantically swinging the back of the car door open, shouting through the space it created.

"We need to go, now. Aziraphale's bookshop is on fire."

Crowley had never scrambled out of his car faster.

Chapter Text

Fire.

Blazing hot, tall flames, dancing mockingly as it engulfed half of Whickber Street.

Fire. In a bookshop. But not just any bookshop.

His angel's bookshop. An angel that was not there to help save the countless historical volumes that he was once so dearly attached to.

Countless fire engines lined the streets of Soho, firefighters dragged long stretching hoses towards buildings in all directions, and paramedics frantically bundled stretchers into the ambulances, attempting to drive off in a hurry, only to be met with the worst traffic that London had ever seen.

Crowley looked behind him; he had promptly left the Bentley in the middle of the road, and it was certainly creating quite the stir between the annoyed drivers. Gabriel and Beelzebub stood to the side, looking over the scene before them- and damn, even Beelzebub looked mortified by the fire. Crowley supposed Gabriel had mellowed them out a bit, but he quickly scolded himself for allowing time to think.

No. This pressing matter was much more urgent.

Within seconds, Crowley found himself sprinting towards the bookshop, weaving through the sobbing crowds that lined the street. If he accidentally pushed into a person or two, he didn't care enough to apologise. Because his angel's bookshop was on fire- and the least he could do to save Aziraphale at that moment was to make sure he returned to Earth to his bookshop, exactly how he left it.

A vague, familiar shout echoed from behind him, but Crowley didn't listen. He started clicking his fingers, trying to miracle some water- or sand or anything, anything at all- that could put out the fire.

But the fire still roared. Even as the miracles grew bigger and bigger, even as Crowley summoned a torrential downpour to wash away the flames. But nothing at all seemed to make the flames billow the dark smoke of being put out.

So, what did Crowley do?

He ran straight into the fire, ignoring the shouting firefighters who tried to grab him on his way past. He simply wriggled out of their grip, and threw the bookshop doors open, subconsciously hoping that the humans did not follow him inside.

The outside seemed more like a small spark in a camper's cooking fire to the hellscape that was inside of the book shop.

The books were completely incinerated, as were the wood furnishings of the shop. Wallpaper had melted, and paint had chipped, revealing the melted brick underneath- can bricks even melt? Well, apparently they can.

Crowley could feel the coldness of his tears burning his skin against the fire, but time was ticking, and he didn't have the time to wipe them away. He supposed it served as a reminder of the danger that the bookshop was in.

He was growing more and more desperate by the seconds, trying to form a ring of clear area from the fire to the best of his abilities. Still nothing.

Muffled voices screeched his name from outside, an unharmonious choir of inhuman souls singing their distorted words. Some demonic, some angelic. But he couldn't distinguish them from eachother between the cackling of the flames and wailing of the sirens.

And, as he turned around, it hit him.

He had seen these towering red flames in action only once before, burning bright and deadly and eternally as chained angels lined up, condemned to their fate.

Hellfire.

That was when the panic set in.

A general common misconception is that demons can control hellfire: bend it at their will, a commander of the flame. Sure, they could conjure it perfectly fine, that wasn't the difficult part.

But being able to change the direction of the fire? Burn it out entirely? Unheard of. Not even Beelzebub, or Shax, or damned Satan himself had ever had that power.

And the only thing that could distinguish it was holy water.

Crowley dragged a hand down his face. Shit. This was another one of those scenarios where he was completely hopeless in his abilities to save Aziraphale.

He contemplated screeching out to Gabriel for him to do his stupid Archangel thing and miracle up some holy water. But, would he even try that when Crowley was inside the building? The old Gabriel, Supreme Archangel of Heaven, might have. But this was, Gabriel, long-for-James-long-for-Jim, who happily slurped on Costa hot chocolates in the back of the Bentley.

Crowley reconsidered. Gabriel wouldn't even be able to produce the amount of holy Water needed, anyway- he had been stripped of most of his power when he was degraded to the 38th Order.

The panic outside was growing now: humans screamed and loud crashes bounced between the streets of Soho. He had to do something, and fast.

So, call it a last resort when Crowley looked up the sky, hot tears rolling down his cheeks from behind his molten sunglasses.

"Angel," he hated how coarse and dry his voice sounded, but that could be blamed rather easily on the hellfire surrounding him, "Please, I know you're watching and listening from up there. I know you. And I know how it's killing you to see this."

He paused, spluttering a mix of smoke and fire, purging it from his lungs. His demonic insides felt scorched, as if a hole had been burned straight through several of his vital organs. The ceiling dripped down in clumps of molten plaster, wood, and brick.

"I'll get out of this building, I swear. But I need you to miracle up as much holy water as you can over the top of all these buildings."

He could almost hear Aziraphale's complaints, 'Out of the question!' he'd tell him, exasperated and horrified, 'That would destroy you, Crowley!'

"I know what you'll say." He continued shouting, "But, it's hellfire, and innocent people are dying, Angel!"

Slowly, he backed towards the door, keeping his eyes trained upwards, still talking towards Heaven.

"Please, Angel." One step.

"You can't let this happen." Another.

"Please, you need to do what I say." Out the door now, backing away from the ablaze bookshop.

"You need to send-"

Crowley felt it burn before he could even acknowledge it.

Then, darkness. And silence.

And maybe, just maybe, Crowley thought that was the end. Of it all. No more Earth. No more of the Bentley, or wine, or any of the other fine things in life.

And no more Aziraphale.

He embraced the darkness that coldly greeted him, the burning on his skin fading into a mere tingling sensation.

And that was that.

/////////

It was the words, more so than the chains. The whispers of his former comrades, their hushed tones and pointing fingers. The embarrassment that consumed him, eating him from the inside out as he sat, humiliated, like some sort of ghastly object put on display in a museum of obscenities.

That was what hurt more than the blessed chains that dug into his wrists. That was the true torture, even though he wasn't sure of what happened next.

Ten thousand angels lined the blank, empty space that was Heaven before creation. But ten thousand more knelt, heads bent to face the void beneath- for if they lifted them, the pain would only be doubled, no, trebled- and wings tucked awkwardly into a position that prevented flight entirely.

An Angel General- from the looks of his uniform and rather overly extravagant clipboard- that he didn't recognise paced down the line, shouting names and titles of the condemned. An angel in the crowd caught him staring down the line- the General only a few paces away now- and he immediately snapped his head down, fearing the consequences. He had learned very quickly that asking questions could, in fact, get him into a lot of trouble, and he dreaded to know what would happen to him if he added looking at the other angels to his growing list of sins.

The thought of his apparent sinning made a cascading line of liquid fall down his cheek- this had been a regular occurrence in recent times, but no other angel seemed to be suffering from the same thing.

Perhaps he was broken. No, of course he was! He had directly opposed Her will and plans, had sinned over and over- it was time for him to pay for his actions. He didn't mean to be like this, not really, but sometimes, he couldn't restrain himself. Something within him could not contain his voice, it bursted out of him, much like stars did within the nebulae he had created: and now, his voice would be silenced from Heaven forever. How, he was not entirely sure.

"Raphael, Archangel, Starmaker. How pitiful, an Archangel on this list? You should be ashamed of yourself, you monster."

Raphael's voice was small and timid, hoarse from the crying he had done for... Well, time didn't exist, yet. Certainly not in Heaven, anyway. "I fear that there has been a mistake, Good Sir. All I ever did was ask questions-"

"Blasphemy!" The Angel General screeched into Raphael's face, lifting his chin up when he flinched. The hushed chatter of Heaven fell silent. "Thwarting the will of God is the greatest sin of all! You are nothing more than a pathetic excuse of an Archangel who has slithered his way into attempting to thwart the Great Plan!"

Gasps emitted from the other angels, and Raphael hung his head low, the embarrassment turning his cheeks a colour he had only seen when creating starts. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the noise- everything was too loud, and the white of Heaven was too bright. He heard the footsteps of the Angel General tip-tapping away as he carried on listing names monotonously.

And then, pain. Tingling all over his body, but what really made him release a bellowing screech was the uncontrollable pain that surged through his wings. He could feel careless, thin hands breaking his second, more hidden pair, pulling at the feathers and deconstructing the bones until he could no longer feel them at all. Just the inexplicable pain across his body as he wept, eyes shut as he rocked back and forth.

He didn't even realise when they dragged his body, arms still chained to prevent escape, to a location beyond recognition.

The heat was unlike anything Raphael had ever experienced- not even when he was close to the stars that he had created.

Raphael looked up: the angelic soldiers were no longer forcing his head downwards (though they still held a searing grip on his wrists and wings), so he took it as a sign that it was acceptable.

On the left side of the area sat figures, facing away, chained, and looking towards the void, that would be recognisable to any angel in Heaven, even from the back profile. Lucifer and the highest ranking of his followers. Only visible from the corners of his mouth, Lucifer himself, dark hair glistening menacingly and spectacularly, was smirking. Smirking! Raphael could not believe the sight.

He tore his gaze to the right side of the area, only to freeze in shock.

"My brothers, please..." Raphael whispered, the same words that he had whined in the past when he hadn't gotten his way, forever the archetype of the youngest sibling.

But the three didn't listen. Gabriel stood solemnly, fidgeting with his hands. Uriel averted their gaze, trying to look anywhere but Raphael, and he knew that if they even caught a glimpse of him... Well, they couldn't show emotion for a traitor of Heaven, could they? But Michael, Michael faced Raphael, staring into his eyes, expressionless as ever, but Raphael could read any of his siblings like a... Well, something that was yet to be invented. And he knew that Michael's eyes bore the questions of someone who has been betrayed.

"Archangel Raphael, Starmaker." A voice boomed from above. Raphael flinched as he looked up, fear lacing his thoughts as the bodiless head of The Metatron appeared in the sky before him.

"For your sins of directly questioning and going against the will of God, and the Great Plan, you will be cast from Heaven, and condemned to eternal suffering."

A feeling filled Raphael, something that had never been felt before- panic, mixed with complete guilt and fear. He felt as if his body was caving in on him, a stabbing sensation overwhelming the top half of his body as he frantically looked around the room.

"Please! Please, there's been a mistake! I... I promise I won't do it again!" He wept, trying to move his hands from the awkward position they were chained in to grip the silk cloth of his gown.

"You have sinned, and now this is your penance." The Metatron continued, mundanely. "Goodbye, Archangel."

Before Raphael could say more, he was being dragged across the boiling area- by the wings, by the arms, by the hair, all by separate angel guards. He screeched and wailed, trying to fight back, but his body was weak: he was away from the stars, and his dearest siblings were standing there, not coming to his aid. He was powerless as the surface became hot, sharp rock, scratching against his skin and feathers.

"Gabriel! Michael! Please! Uriel! Help! Help! Please!" But they did not hear his pleas. When later questioned, some angels would claim that they heard his screams, lost to a wind of disbelief and despair.

And then came the Fall.

It wasn't graceful, as the word may suggest. Not like falling in love. No. This was falling from grace, and this was falling into a searing, bubbling pit of Sulphur and lava that would later become Hell.

Raphael could feel his remaining wings burn up into a charred mess of bones and darkness, but the pain was numb and cold: he had already been through so much, between the chains holding his arms in an uncomfortable position, the tearing of his lower wings from his body, and the scraping of his skin from the hot charcoals beforehand.

But the worst part of it all was the dimming of the love and grace that he had felt from the Almighty. Where there once was a warm sensation, there was now an empty space: a hole in a tucked away pocket of his very soul that he know would never be fixed.

He still had his faith. But he had lost his hope. He was a lost cause. A sinner. Broken. Unnatural. Something else entirely.

And completely, and utterly alone.

At least, until Lucifer and the gang fell too, albeit with less screaming than Raphael. And then another group of angels. And then ten thousand, all cramped into one, tiny, hellish space.

There was stillness for what felt like an eternity. A silence, unbroken apart from the occasional wail or sob.

But then, Raphael, slowly, shed the skin of the former Archangel he once was, and, from the shell and ashes of his charred wings and body, out crawled Crawley, Serpent of Eden, and Demon.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale, Supreme Archangel of Heaven, Principality of the Eastern Gate, Heaven's Representative On Earth, was many things. All of the titles above, for one.

He was a key, powerful figure in the angelic hierarchy; he was the sole owner of the A. Z. Fell & Co bookshop; and he was hungry for the feel of the warm, pleading lips against his own mouth again.

But something that he was not, was happy.

It had been nearly two years since he walked into that blindingly pearlescent elevator alongside the Voice of God, and nearly two years since he made the biggest- and certainly most regretful- decision of his life.

And yet, despite all of his guilt, he could not leave the confines of his open-plan, disgustingly sterile, white prison- of course, that was not to say that Heaven and, by extent, the Almighty's creation, was disgusting- merely just the suffocating feeling of unease that Aziraphale felt every time he walked across the reflective void of light.

But that wasn't the worst part of it all. No, the worst part was Crowley's complete radio silence towards Aziraphale; the angel couldn't even track him down on the globe, no matter how many of the small corners of the Earth he checked.

Naturally, Aziraphale predicted the worst, dark thoughts clouding his heavenly mind as the panic chewed on his previously manicured nails. Was he discorporated? Or even worse- completely destroyed?

Aziraphale knew he wasn't; the twin heartbeat that beat next to his own still thumped at its usual pace, although the times where it stopped sent Aziraphald into a frenzy of fear that the Archangel could not afford to show infront of the other high-ranking angels.

Heaven- despite being preached on Earth to be a place of freedom after life- singlehandedly provided Aziraphale with the most complex, imprisoned feeling that he had ever experienced. And that included his short jail time before his scheduled execution during the French Revolution.

Presently, he was situated behind his desk, a mountain of bureaucracy piled mockingly on top of the clear, heavenly surface. Aziraphale still found it rather odd that being able to have a desk in Heaven was a luxury, when it was commonplace to humans on Earth. Although, he wouldn't dare question the Metatron on the matter- he had already been reprimanded once for trying to introduce books, desk plants, blankets, and sofas to Heaven's barren landscape. And he did not wish to repeat that conversation with the Voice of God again.

As his worry for Crowley's whereabouts and safety took over his body, Aziraphale, for the first time in over 6000 years, stopped caring at all about how he looked. Perhaps, he thought, they'd relieve him of his powerful position, just based off of his increasingly dishelved appearance, and the seeping of his distress from his otherwise stoic face, alone.

Aziraphale hated his heavenly attire, white and unstained and tailored in an awkward way, with fabrics that made him want to gag from the texture of it. And the beard? The one that he had promised to not let grow past a fine stubble, but had developed into a mess of light hairs across his chin? He hated that too.

Just like how he hated the bureaucracy. And the fact that he was yet to make any changes to Heaven. And how he had abandoned Crowley on that day, when he should've- should've, should've, should've- agreed to stay on Earth, and confessed his true feelings to the love of his life before the Metatron even had the opportunity to offer him the position.

But... That wasn't all there was to that, was it? No, there was a reason as to why Aziraphale simply had to leave. As there was a reason to why he couldn't change anything.

Because if he did, it wouldn't be Aziraphale who was in trouble. No, it would be Crowley. And that was something that he could never allow to happen.

Crowley has spent centuries saving Aziraphale, whether Aziraphale was in serious danger or not. And, now, it was Aziraphale's turn to save Crowley. From the biggest danger of all. Something... Inexplicable. Something ineffable.

Footsteps echoed across the void- a tip-tap-tap-tipping motion that he had become all to familiar with over the past two years. Swiftly, he took a sheet from the top of the pile, and began filling the different lines out with the golden, shimmering ink of Archangels, in a barely legible font.

His head snapped upwards, face expressionless with a year and a half of careful practice, when the Voice of God slammed even more paperwork onto his desk, dramatically.

The new pile was significantly smaller than the old one- perhaps 350 sheets of papyrus, which would likely take him about one Earth week to complete if he continuously responded, as he was ordered to do whenever he was not hosting (or present at) a meeting.

A large, red "URGENT" stamp was imprinted on the very first sheet. Sighing internally, Aziraphale took the sheet, grabbed his quill to start filling in the boxes, and-

"Ah-ah-ah," the Metatron sounded, and, oh, how Aziraphale hated that patronising tone. "We have something to do before you fill this in, Archangel."

Aziraphale stared into those uncanny eyes, "And, what is that, your Grace?"

In one swift motion of his hand, the Metatron had miracled up a chair, and had recalled the Globe of Earth from the Globe Room. Sometimes, Aziraphale did the same, whenever he could get away with sneaking a quick check around the world for Crowley, but the Metatron had not brought the Globe to him since the first day. And that was how Aziraphale knew that something big was about to happen.

He watched with stern, concerned concentration as the Voice of God zoomed into the UK... Then into London... Then into Soho... And then into red and orange and-

Wait. Red and orange? But, that location was precisely where Whickber Street should be-

Oh. Oh, no. This was not good. Not good at all. In fact, Aziraphale didn't know if it could get much worse than this.

"It appears that half of your beloved Soho is encased by a thick wall of Hellfire. The human authorities, naturally, are trying their hardest to put it out," The Metatron's voice was almost mocking now. "Well, everyone knows that that is complete balderdash- about as useful as a chocolate teapot, one might say. And you and I both know that the only thing to extinguish Hellfire is-"

"Holy water." Aziraphale responded, trying to maintain a monotonous voice and dull expression to hide his rising panic. Did poor, innocent Muriel escape in time? What about the humans? Maggie and Nina? Mr Brown and Mrs Sandwich and-

"Precisely right, Archangel! So, what are you going to do about it, then?"

Aziraphale tried not to seem stunned, "Excuse me?"

"Hellfire can only be extinguished by holy water. So, what are you going to do about it?"

He paused to consider. Surely, there would be no demons in Soho- as far as he was aware, there had been no 'replacement' sent in for the missing position in Hell after Shax became the Grand Duke of Hell. And, with Crowley disappeared, nowhere to be found, and hopefully across the world from London, the only possible option for any demons in the area would be the ones who caused the dreaded Hellfire on the first place.

"I will... Send some holy water to extinguish it."

"Yes, but how? Tell me, and you shall be granted permission to do it."

Aziraphale was silent- he had never summoned that much holy water to the extent to extinguish an entire street of Hellfire. But then again, he hadn't tried to create holy water since he had become Supreme Archangel...

"I will make it rain." Aziraphale replied, uncertainly. "I will make it rain holy water, and that will extinguish all of the Hellfire."

The Metatron smiled, sending a shiver down Aziraphale's spine. "Once again, right, Archangel. Effective, but not unnatural or strange to the humans." He paused expectantly. "Well, get on with it, then."

"Right, of course, sorry, your Grace."

Aziraphale took a deep breath, looking towards the Globe and focusing on Whickber street as he zoomed in. The flames danced dangerously, a bonfire of violent and malicious delights emitting from the scorched ground. Crowds of people gathered, many holding eachother in their arms while they wept. Aziraphale had no time to feel sick at the thought of the number of casualties- he had to concentrate on this.

He stared straight into the centre of the Hellfire, and then, slowly, felt the holy water materialising in the clouds above Soho. Suddenly, with a click of his fingers, aqueous bullets of heavenly water cascaded from the sky, the fire quickly extinguished, the blackened smoke billowing from melted brick buildings. Aziraphale didn't realise that bricks could melt until that point. The holy rain continued to pour.

Trying to move the Globe out of the way, the Metatron accidentally grazed the side, shifting the focus to the entrance of Aziraphale's bookshop. The Supreme Archangel had to choke down a sob, as he stared at the ruins of A. Z. Fell & Co- the sign had melted, the distorted, dripping letters baring A Z & C, and a hole had been completely scorched into the side of the building, bricks forming puddles of solution on the floor next to the walls.

And then, he saw him.

Flaming red hair; the slim, tall frame; the darker clothes and sunglasses; instantaneously recognisable to Aziraphale, whether in darkness, blindness or senselessness.

No. No, no, no, no.

Aziraphale frantically clicked his fingers, but the rain would not cease. Instead, the Globe disappeared, and Aziraphale despaired, and he could already see the look of sheer panic infecting his face.

The Metatron turned, and raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale.

"Are you quite alright, Archangel Aziraphale?" His voice hinted at potential repremandation.

Aziraphale took a moment to regain his composure, his cheeks trying to force his open, quaking mouth into a tight-lipped, mundane expression. His hands trembled, and his mind raced faster than he had ever thought before, as the twin heartbeat in his chest slowly dimmed and dimmed, until he could only feel his own.

No. No, no, no. Crowley needed to stay with him- he got to safety in time, surely, surely?

Nothing could hide the hint of fear in his small voice as he partially whispered, "Everything is perfectly fine, Your Grace. Now, if you don't mind, I have much paperwork to be filling out."

The Metatron nodded his head, suspicion lacing his face as his eyes spoke the words 'We'll talk about this later'. But Aziraphale could not think of a later. Not a later where he knew that Crowley was gone, gone forever...

"Of course." And the Voice of God's footsteps began to die away, but Aziraphale could not focus. Not on that. Not on anything.

Because Aziraphale had just killed- no, completely destroyed- his hereditary enemy, his best friend, and the love of his life.

For the first time in Heaven, Aziraphale let the emotions take control of him, like the destructive waves of the sea reclaiming the sand and driftwood, carrying it out to the oceans beyond.

And Aziraphale wept; hideous, ugly sobs of pain and grief and guilt as he was unable to find the subtle beating of Crowley's heart that he had felt for thousands of years before.

Gone.

Chapter Text

When the cogs of his mind finally whirred back into motion, Crowley didn't want to wake up.

The darkness was surprisingly bright, its usual cold presence welcoming and enticing to the demon. Flecked spaces of colour dotted and polluted the otherwise black canvas, reds and greens and blues defined against the backdrop.

Then, in the centre, there was the light- sitting carelessly upon the horizon of his vision, blurred around the circular edges, blinding in its nature. Unknown. Peculiar. Beautiful.

If Crowley had ever learned one thing, it was to always, no matter how you may feel, follow the light; whether that's the blazing light of Hellfire radiating from the crater between Heaven and Hell, or the pathway to light that his angel guided him towards every time they indulged in their meetings.

Perhaps, this blind trust and hope was a natural response- there is only so much time a demon can hide in the shadows, after all. Or maybe it was the optimism engraved into the very core of Crowley's heart, that was showing itself for once.

Voices chattered restlessly, but they sounded distant and otherworldly, passing through his mind as if they were trudging through swamps and marshlands. The distorted voices that bled into the background vaguely reminded Crowley of his time in the First World War; walking between the poorly built walls and mud baths that were the British trenches in Mons, voices echoing restlessly in the distance as he reluctantly tried to tempt soldiers into killing more of their enemies before they completely retreated- and, oh, there was that same light again. A blurred glow that lingered above the trenches, guiding the soldiers safely to their retreated positions. The more he thought about it, the more times he could remember how the glistening light replaced the sun above.

So, of course, Crowley started to follow the light in his mind as his body slowly began to wake up, and when the light became too bright and overpowering to see any further, he followed the muffled voices.

"-and he'zzzzz still here! So watch what you zzzay, we should be glad he wazzzzn't destroyed!"

"Yes, well, he shouldn't be alive! It's... It's impossible! You know my opinions on this!"

"Look, I'm not having thizzzz converzzation right now. In that room, there izzzzzz a demon on the brink of complete dezzztruction, it'zzzz our priority to make zzzure he is alive and funczzzioning!" Even through the distortion, Crowley could tell that the speaker was growing increasingly more agitated.

Silence for a beat. "He's not a demon. He's a danger, surely you can see that!" The other voice half-whispered, voice low and certain.

And there was the fuse that sparked the explosion, "I can't believe you! You're being so... unreazzzzzonable!" Footsteps echoed like thunder, growing louder and clearer with each step. A door clicked open.

"Beelzebub-"

The footsteps ceased for a moment, and Crowley could hear Beelzebub muttering something incoherent. When they started talking to Gabriel again, they had calmed down slightly. "Come and find me when you have the maturity to underzzz- understand."

The door slammed shut, launching Crowley from the darkness into a room he didn't recognise.

Each wall was painted a shade of grey- a neutral, but slightly dark tone that reminded him of the tarmac of pavements. No windows lined the walls, and the room was completely empty, apart from the bed (a light grey tartan blanket draped neatly over the end of the darker grey covers), and the dressing table in the corner of the room.

"You're up." The voice of Beelzebub remarked from the direction of the doorway. Crowley turned his head to face them, only to be met with excruciating pain, all over his body- it was almost as bad as any torture that Hell had ever bestowed upon him. "Yeah, don't move. That'll hurt."

Crowley slowly turned his head to face the other demon anyway, "Where on Earth am I?"

Beelzebub walked closer, "In a room." They sat themselves down onto a grey armchair next to the bed- was that there before? Crowley glared at them until they added, "Westminster. Mine and the Former Archangel's apartment. We bought it when we first came back to Earth. Just in case we needed a place to go back to. In times like this."

Crowley sank further into the grey pillows. "Shades of grey." He commented, unprompted, eyes inquisitively trained on Beelzebub.

"What?"

"Shades of grey. Everything in here is shades of grey." He repeated.

The other demon paused, then smirked, "Yes? Well done, you can identify basic colours." Their tone was laced with sarcasm.

Oh. So not intentional, then. Or perhaps it was, and Beelzebub just didn't know about it; these things are, as they say, ineffable.

Voices grew louder and clearer, edging towards the door with every heartbeat and breath. His former boss' face grew suddenly more serious. "Look, Crowley. I'm going to say something, and there will be no further questions. Understood?"

"I'll ask questions if I want to."

Beelzebub sighed, "Well that went well for you the first time." They muttered, before adding, "I don't have time for thizzzzz, Crowley. I'll talk, you lizz- listen. Nothing more." He noted their growing agitation as their fly-like accent slipped out, and then he nodded his head, ignoring the pain surging through his neck into his skull.

"Good. The people out there," They gestured towards the door, "Angels, demons, humans- whatever. They're going to ask questions. To you. About how you're still alive. And what you're going to do is tell them that you got to shelter before the holy water rained down. Do you understand?"

It was at that moment that he realised that he had somehow managed to survive the Holy Water rain- perhaps Aziraphale had shielded him from it, and that's why he was still alive?

Despite his confusion, he still responded, "Sure, whatever."

Beelzebub leaned closer until they were directly in front of him, then they stared straight into his eyes, and Crowley became suddenly aware of his lack of glasses to shield them.

"Traitor. Do. You. Underzzzztand?"

Crowley glared back, offended by the not-very-nice word. "I understand."

Beelzebub fell back into their chair, then clasped their hands together, fiddling with their fishnet gloves. "Well, I'll wait for them to come in on their own accord."

Slowly, he shifted onto his side to face Beelzebub- each time he blinked, new things seemed to be added and taken away from the room. For one moment, there was a random potted plant resting on a bedside table, while for others, there was a strangely large poster of Freddie Mercury clinging haphazardly onto the grey walls. And then, after a second, they were gone.

Crowley wondered if he was seeing things.

"How long was I out?" He asked, unsure if he had a concussion or something of the sorts.

Beelzebub checked an old Roman Numeral clockface on their wrist. "About a week and a half. To be honest, we all expected you to be gone for longer. Eric betted on it being three years. The rest of us said between a couple of weeks to a couple of months. Except for the Former Archangel. He was still horrified that you were still... Well, alive."

"Trouble in paradise, then?" It was obvious, anyone could tell that- even humans, who wouldn't have any knowledge on what was actually going on.

The Lord of the Flies sighed, "Trouble everywhere, really. The past year and a half... It's been hard. We pretty much haven't stopped, apart from the two Christmases and Easter, which he, naturally, insisted on celebrating instead, and then sometimes a day or two where we had a break." Beelzebub paused, further sinking into the pillows of the grey armchair- now tartan in pattern.

After a moment, they continued; "I know in recent centuries, we- I mean, you, Dagon, Hastur, Ligur and I- haven't been as close as we used to be, before... 'You Know What' happened. But I still care for you all. More than a demon should care about anyone. I just couldn't show it, when we were still working with Hell, anyway. And, if it was up to me, I would have carried on searching for you at Christmas, Easter, or any other opportunity to stop that we took. Hell, I even tried to ask him to continue, but I could see the toll it was taking on him... And it was me who asked him to search for you in the first place, I owed more breaks to him for just that alone."

Crowley closed his eyes. "You didn't have to find me." He muttered, voice barely a whisper. "You have your peaceful life with Gabriel, the one you both carved out for yourselves. You need to take that, live it out, and protect it. Don't let it go because of me."

The other demon shook their head, "I just wish things could go back to the way they used to be. The little office parties we held in secret; the times where we snuck off to Earth for a quick break, performing the silliest temptations that, let's be honest, had no real effect on bringing souls to Hell; and when we could live without the fear of true torture, or punishment, or the idea of yet another Armageddon that we were forced to follow through with growing closer and closer. I love Gabriel, more than any words can express. More than someone Fallen should be able to love. But I miss the simpler times. And if there was any chance that I could get that back... Well, of course I'd try to find you to bring you back to a safer place."

Crowley had no idea what to say to that- but perhaps it was best that he didn't say anything at all. Just his presence next to his former boss seemed to be enough to let them calm down as they stared into the palms of their hands, curled up into a ball upon the armchair, making no sound.

And, yet, he completely understood everything that Beelzebub was saying; he missed the nights at the bookshop, drinking wine and talking for hours with his angel; he missed the magic shows that Aziraphale was so insistent on performing once every few decades, where Crowley was always seated amongst the crowd, even if the angel didn't know it; he missed saving Aziraphale, and how he knew that he only put himself in danger because he thought that Crowley enjoyed saving him; and he missed the sweet, coffee-stained lips that he had pressed desperately against his own, and even though he had only tasted them once in person (but many times in his dreams), he was addicted, but the source of this addiction was lost to the Holy winds of Heaven.

And oh, how the withdrawal from his angel's presence hurt and ached even more than his body, scarred from a rainfall of Holy Water.

"You take it, and you live it, and you protect it." Crowley repeated, definitively.

Then, suddenly, the door burst open, and a chaos of noise and bodies flooded through into the room, as if a dam had broke- or, perhaps, some kind of invisible, inexplicable barrier over the door had lifted.

Several chairs miracled themselves into presence, and, one by one, people- angels, a demon, and even some humans- began to take their seats. First, Muriel, closely followed by Eric the Disposable Demon, then the two humans from Soho that Aziraphale had insisted on making fall in love (which seems to now have worked, judging by the look of their entwined hands, and Crowley wished that his angel would have been able to see it). Then, finally, none other than Gabriel himself, sat at the furthest chair away from Beelzebub that he could find.

Everyone looked towards Crowley, expectingly. He cleared his throat, intimidated.

"Ah, well. Thanks for coming, everybody?" His voice was unsteady with nerves. The ragtag group continued to glare at him. "Well, questions one at a time, I 'spose."

Gabriel was the first to speak, "How are you alive? That was Holy Water, and you're a demon."

Crowley shrugged the best he could while the pain shot through his body, "Got to shelter, just as it started, so I guess it didn't catch me much." Gabriel didn't look entirely convinced. "Next?"

Immediately, Muriel's voice burst from their body, "Oh, Mr Crowley! I'm so sorry about the fire! It wasn't us, I swear!"

"We were taking a walk through St James Park!" Eric added, wanting to help their case.

"Yes!" Muriel exclaimed. The pair seemed to be doing an awful lot of shouting. "And then we came back, and everything was full of fire! Then Eric knew instantly that it was Hellfire, of course, so then we walked towards Covent Garden so that I didn't get hurt. And when we got to the train station, we saw the rain over Soho, and the smell of it- it was the smell of Heaven. So we took shelter in a nearby pub so that neither me nor Eric could get hurt, and then, after a while, we went back outside because it had stopped- and that was when we saw Beelzebub and Gabriel and Nina and Maggie, carrying you away from Soho. So then we got on a bus and came here, and we've all been here ever since. Except for Nina and Maggie, they're only here now because we're still trying to bring stuff from Soho to safer places."

Crowley was stunned. Even though celestial entities technically don't need to breathe, it was impressive how fast Muriel had spoken.

"Right, yes. I believe you, Muriel, don't worry." He attempted to be reassuring, which was apparently successful, as the angel's face lit up immediately.

"Oh, thank you!"

Then, it hit him. "And the bookshop?"

For the first time in ten minutes, everybody looked away from Crowley. Except for Maggie.

"Oh, Mr Crowley..." She began, cautiously. "Pretty much every building in Soho has some kind of damage. Everyone's helping eachother fix their shops. But Mr Fell's bookshop... It's completely gone."

If Crowley was stood, his legs would have gave way. The only small thing that he could have saved for Aziraphale was gone.

Too much had changed, and his angel would be in despair when he returned. Crowley had changed. Their status in Heaven and Hell had changed. And now, the bookshop and it's contents were gone.

And what if Aziraphale never came back now? He certainly wouldn't come back just for Crowley. He had abandoned him. Left him behind. All because he refused to become an angel again.

"...Mr Crowley?" An unsure voice sounded, though he was unsure whose, snapping him out of his thoughts. Of course Aziraphale would come back. Even if he had to drag him into that elevator himself then bundle him into the Bentley and drive until they were in a place where Heaven could not find them, he would come back.

"Ngk, yes, sorry." He stuttered, bringing himself back to the conversation. "Beelzebub, do we have any idea of which demon caused the Hellfire?" He asked, sitting up, wincing at the pain. Muriel and Maggie both shot him concerned looks at his visible hurt.

"Probably Hastur and Dagon. I knew we couldn't trust them." The former Supreme Archangel muttered under his breath, averting his gaze from the Lord of the Flies.

"Not at all. They wouldn't do that, not to me. Besidezzz, I've already checked the grapevine. No mention of Hellfire on the higher rankzz of Hell's part."

"So what, it's some kind of... Rogue demon committing arson to some random London street?" Nina asked. Crowley could see the exasperation in her eyes.

"Not just any random London street. But an Embassy of Heaven." Crowley added.

Eric shook his head, "Besides, only certain demons have access to Earth. There's the higher ups, like Shax and Hastur and Dagon, they all have clearance. And Beelzebub has thoroughly checked them, so they aren't the cause. Then the Representatives, but they aren't allowed outside of their contracted areas anymore, with the closest being based in Athens, so they can be ruled out. Other than that, it's just me, and we all know that it wasn't me. Oh, and obviously the ones who are no longer adjacent to Hell anymore, so only Crowley and Beelzebub, who weren't even in Soho until after the fire started. So it can't have been a demon."

The room was stunned into silence at Eric's quick intelligence. Except for Muriel, who was smirking- Crowley didn't even think that it was capable for an angel as innocent as Muriel to smirk until that point.

"What? I'm not just a pretty face, you know." He said, sharing a glance with Muriel.

Beelzebub cleared their throat. "So, the only other option is that it was the angels, then? Maybe the Archangel Michael got ahold of some Hellfire, I know that they were in contact with a few demons, at some point."

Gabriel's mouth opened in horror; "We wouldn't even dare to go near Hellfire. Many of us have seen the horrors that it causes- we don't want to risk falling."

The former Grand Duke of Hell stood, "The falling zztarted way before you cazzzzt uzzzz into Hellfire, Zzzzupreme Archangel!" Venom laced their tone as they shouted. And that was the time that truly sent them spiralling into a fight.

The argument erupted louder and more deadly than the time that Mount Vesuvius erupted- and Crowley had been there to see the destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum.

Muriel had their hands clasped over their ears, wincing at the increasing level of noise as Eric sat next to them- their armchairs now merged into a couch- trying to comfort them. Nina and Maggie held their phones, rapidly typing via WhatsApp to eachother.

He could only catch a few words as he spaced out, the fight making him feel as if he were intruding on something. Which he supposed he was.

"-from your kind!"

"-bold of you-"

"-selfish-"

"-careless-"

"-angel-"

"-demon-"

"EVERYBODY, SHUT UP!" A new voice shouted over the top of the noise. Everyone looked up towards Maggie, who was now stood on top of her armchair, frantically gesturing to get everyone's attention.

"I went to a Catholic High School- I practically read different versions of the Bible, cover to cover, every month." She began, smiling slightly at the memories. "In the Hebrew Bible, there's something called the Nephilim. Neither angel, nor demon, but something else entirely."

A pause as the words sunk in.

"You're suggesting that the Nephilim caused the Hellfire?" Beelzebub asked, hesitantly.

"The Nephilim population was destroyed during the Flood." Gabriel announced. "We kept track of them. And every last one drowned. They were one of the species that the Metatron was very specific about in mentioning that they needed to be destroyed. He said that the Almighty believed them to be too powerful and unnatural to walk Earth."

Maggie nodded her head, "Okay, so I guess that's the Nephilim off the table, then. Back to the drawing board." She sighed and placed her foot onto the ground to sit back down, with the help of Nina's steady hand holding her's.

"Wait." Crowley lifted his hand for silence, his yellowed snake eyes searching for the words to come to him. "She's on to something, here."

"What do you mean?" Eric asked, his usual intrigue piqued.

"If it wasn't the demons, and it wasn't the angels- and it certainly was not the humans- then what if it was something else entirely? Something unheard of? Something unstudied and unknown amongst celestial beings?"

"Are you suggesting..." Gabriel began, but didn't quite know the end to the question.

"The Native." Beelzebub confirmed, as if they had know it was them all along. "At least, that's what those of us who know call them. Demons turned by Holy Water into a new celestial species, immortal and immune to Hellfire and Holy Water."

They paused as everyone considered it, before revealing, "And that is the reason why Crowley did not die last week. Because Crowley has gone Native."

Chapter Text

Look, Crowley didn't intend to listen in on the conversation. In fact, his eavesdropping could very easily be blamed on the thin walls of the Westminster apartment. He was bed-ridden from the injuries that the Holy Water rainfall caused him, after all, so it's not like he could move to another room to avoid overhearing them talk.

And if a crack formed in the grey wall that his bed was adjacent to, allowing him to fix his eyes into the other room (which was practically identical to his, except being in black and white contrasts, rather than the greys of his own)... Well, that wasn't his fault, either. His room seemed to constantly change it's formatting and displays.

It had been about an hour since the conversation; Nina had advised Crowley to get some rest immediately after the reveal, and people automatically began to exit the room. He could hear what he assumed to be the front door opening and closing twice- once when Nina and Maggie decided it was time for themselves to go back to their home to sleep, and the second being when Gabriel asked Eric and Muriel to take a walk around their part of London to see if anything was out of the ordinary. Beelzebub had checked in on Crowley after about forty five minutes, who, upon seeing that the demon was supposedly 'asleep', returned to the living room, leaving his door slightly ajar.

And, now, the Lord of the Flies was facing their former hereditary enemy in their bedroom.

"Gabriel." Beelzebub stated simply after minutes of silence and averting eachother's gaze.

"Beelzebub." The former Supreme Archangel acknowledged. "How's the Native?"

"His name is Crowley. And he izzz- is fine. Sleeping." They said through gritted teeth, but Crowley could tell that they were trying to remain somewhat calm.

Silence again. Crowley wondered if he and Aziraphale had ever been this awkward with eachother. Maybe this urge to facepalm as they danced around eachother was what the humans had felt during the conversation at the band stand, or what the waiters had felt during every dinner at The Ritz.

"I'm... sorry."

"Excuse me?" Gabriel's face wore an astonished expression that matched the shock that Crowley felt at the other demon's confession.

"For putting the search for Crowley above us. I should've taken more breaks with you, should've told you more things that I knew, should've-"

"Beelz." Gabriel stepped forward towards his partner, taking their hand in his. "If anyone should be sorry, it's me. I've been so... Unreasonable, as you've been saying. And I see that now. I know how much Crowley, and Dagon, and Hastur, and whichever other demons, mean to you. I just... Wanted some time with you. Just you, Beelz. Not Beelzebub, Grand Duke of Hell and Lord of the Flies. But my Beelzebub. The one in there." He pointed his finger to where Beelzebub's heart was, and the demon smiled gently.

Leave it to Gabriel and Beelzebub to single-handedly out-romance any of the cheesy romance movies that Crowley had ever watched in the cinema (not that he was admitting that he had watched many, of course...). Actually, maybe he should write this down as a movie idea, there'd probably be some humans out there who would watch it...

"Still," Beelzebub said, decisively, "I'm sorry for prioritising Crowley over you. Over us. And for making you feel like this."

"Then, I forgive you." Gabriel said, embracing the demon.

"Nobody's forgiven me before. At least, not in a long time."

"Well, I'm honoured to be the first." They stood in silence, just holding eachother, for a while. And if Crowley shed a tear as he wished that Aziraphale and he would have a similar conversation soon... Well, if anybody were to ask him, he didn't think of the hopeful reunion at all.

"And, if you'd like, we can take a break from all of this, now that Crowley is back and safe. Go somewhere, anywhere we'd like. I've heard that a place called Australia has nice weather this time of year."

Gabriel turned up his nose, "Went there on orders, once. Too many spiders and snakes. Not fun." He paused, as if he was considering something. "Besides," He whispered (though, Gabriel's form of whisper was to almost shout); "We need to be here for when IT happens. And that could be at any point."

Beelzebub released themself from Gabriel's embrace, but their hands still remained locked together. "You're right. Everyday, it's getting closer. But after, after we'll go to somewhere hot, with no spiders or snakes."

"Sounds like a plan." Gabriel admitted as they both took a seat on the grey couch at the end of the bed, with Beelzebub sat on the side with the white cushions, and their partner sat on the side with the black cushions.

Crowley had spaced out now, lying on his bed, the crack in the wall filling itself in as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

Their conversation continued without any eavesdroppers listening in.

"Are you still in contact with the Archangels?" Beelzebub asked, unprompted.

"Only Uriel. They've always been more... Prone to have different opinions than the rest of us. Even before the Great War."

A pause. "Tell me about that."

"About Uriel's opinions?" Gabriel was confused.

"No, about what it was like before the Great War." The demon clarified.

Gabriel turned to his partner. "Do you not remember?"

"Not a moment." Beelzebub sighed. "Demons don't remember life before the Fall. So they don't remember what Heaven was like. Wait, no, that's not true. Some demons remember the moments before they were cast out of Heaven. What a lot of angels fail to understand is that the Fall itself wasn't being thrown into the crater of Hell. No, it was the removal of Grace from an angel's body; feeling the eternal love promised by the Almighty being cruelly torn away from our very foundations. That's when the Fall started, it's just that the name for it was taken from the final step of falling from Heaven, down into Hell."

Gabriel let the words sink in. "And... Do you remember? The moments before you were cast out, I mean."

The Lord of the Flies stared into the distance, a slight tremble shaking their body as they relived their memories of that fateful moment.

"I remember my arms and wings being chained, unusable and inescapable, and the embarrassment I felt as the angels pointed at and mocked us for our wrongs finally catching up to us. I remember Lucifer and his higher-ups smirking and whispering amongst themselves, relieved that they would not be confined to Heaven any more. I remember thinking that they were insane for how they seemed happy about this, but knowing that... That I'd have to become like them too, to survive whatever was going to come next. We didn't know what was going to happen. And then, I remember the screams of the Archangel Raphael as he was the first to be cast down to Hell. That's how we knew that what was going to happen was worse than anything that we could have ever imagined."

Gabriel seemed conflicted as to what to say, the words 'I'm sorry' forming on his lips, only to be voiced as soundless words. Eventually, he regained his ability to talk.

"Do you... Do you know who he is? Now, I mean?"

Beelzebub seemed to understand immediately. "The names of our former identities are written in a cluster of disorganised files in the most secure part of Hell. The Metatron was... graceful enough to provide a list of the angels who fell to Dagon, who wrote them down. I would ask them, but... Well, they have the memory of a goldfish. Quite literally. It's why we made them Lord of the Files, because most of the things that are confidential, they would just forget, so the files never had any security risks."

The angel was visibly disheartened by this, so Beelzebub added, "I'm sorry that we don't know."

"It's alright. Raphael, he... Probably didn't want us to know, anyway. Not after what we did to him."

"You were close." It was more of a statement than a question; the answer more obvious than what needed to be asked.

"We all were. He was our brother, after all. And not in the way that all angels are, but in the way that the Almighty created us from Her own celestial flesh before She populated Heaven with the angels she willed into existence." Gabriel shook his head, ridding himself of the thought of their creation. "I was always closer to Michael. We worked together more than we worked alone. But Raphael? He was practically joined at the hip with Uriel, even though they worked in two completely different fields."

He paused to smile fondly. "Uriel was always somewhat serious, sure. Especially with their work. But with Raphael, they acted completely different. I can't even count the amount of times that the two of them caused mischief amongst the angels. The Metatron was... Well, he was always annoyed at their behaviour. But they were never scolded for it, because the Almighty always seemed awfully fond of them. Even more so than She favoured Michael and I."

His smile turned into a frown as Beelzebub asked, "And what happened after?"

"Uriel was never the same. We only saw them three times over the course of nearly four thousand years, and each time, they looked increasingly more tired and weak. We asked the Metatron where they were, and he reassured us that they were just busy, and not to worry or question any further. So we didn't worry. And when Uriel returned just before the birth of Christ, we didn't ask them where they were. It went back to normal after that, except Uriel had no spark of mischief within them. And then there was the feeling of unease whenever Uriel was around, as if they were... scared of something. I asked Michael about it, but they thought I was just being overdramatic. So it was never brought up again."

It was clear that Gabriel had just opened up about something that he had never talked about before. Just as it was obvious that he wasn't going to talk about the matter any further, at least, in that moment.

So, they sat, once again, in silence. And maybe that was all that was necessary after having the long talk they had just had.

Beelzebub slid to half-lay down on the couch, resting their head against Gabriel, who slung his arm around the demon. Miraculously, the tartan blanket (the one that Aziraphale had given Gabriel during his time as Jim) appeared, draped across the couple as they cuddled up to eachother.

This. This was what they needed.

The simple domesticity of just being together. Near eachother. Supporting eachother, both physically and emotionally.

"Gabriel." Beelzebub's voice broke the silence, but it was barely more than a whisper.

"Yes, Bee?"

"No more secrets between us. I'll tell you everything from now on. I promise."

Gabriel smiled softly and held his partner closer. "And I promise that I'll do the same."

As they closed their eyes, they both knew that this was the first of many breaks to come. Even if it was just a short night where they just held eachother in silence- it was enough for them.

Just like how it was enough that they could walk into every room, clinging to eachother's hands. Just like how it was enough that they occasionally dropped a slightly flirtatious comment that made Crowley roll his eyes from afar, and ever-innocent Muriel become increasingly confused with each spoken word.

Because it was enough that they were there, together at last, when they had spent six thousand years never knowing eachother as anything but enemies.

It was enough.

Chapter Text

It was only three days before Crowley was back on his feet and pacing in circles around the Westminster apartment- much to the dismay of the other inhabitants.

The truth was that Crowley was completely and utterly bored. He was practically on lock down inside of the apartment, the ever-anxious former-Archangel and Lord of the Flies insistent that it was for everyone's safety.

"We are staying right here. For everyone's safety." the angel had said.

His demonic partner had added, "And because we need to be here when it happens."

Of course, Crowley agreed. But that didn't mean that he was happy about these measures.

He didn't question what 'it' was, either.

It was difficult to gain his bearings at first, but he soon learned that the apartment was a three bedroom flat, with a total of five people living there (not including the two human guests who occasionally crashed on the sofas).

Naturally, Beelzebub and Gabriel shared a room- not that Crowley thought they slept, or if they even knew of that human custom, but nearly two years on Earth could clearly change some opinions.

Crowley himself still had the same grey room that he was confined to on bed-rest (though, at least he could wander the entire apartment, now).

Finally, Muriel and Eric shared a bunkbed in the third and smallest room. Walking into the smallest bedroom of the apartment was like walking between two borders of countries with two completely opposite cultures. On the side closer to the door, the room was encased in shades of dark grey and navy blue, walls bare except from an electric guitar hanging from a display hook on the wall. And, on the further side of the room, lighter greys and beige tones spanned from the floor to the ceiling, but the majority of the walls were taken up by towering bookshelves, lined with slightly burned and damaged books that Crowley knew all to well.

Crowley had to choke back tears when he first saw the first-editions and various volumes; he knew these few hundred were the only salvageable ones out of hundreds of thousands, and he didn't want to know what Aziraphale thought about the fact that many were broken beyond prepare.

But, back to the matter at hand.

The serpent was bored out of his mind, with absolutely nothing to do. And the people around him were definitely growing more and more annoyed with his complaining.

In the past, if he had ever felt this way, he usually paid Aziraphale a visit- on the grounds of being an annoyance and thwarting his angelic ways, of course. But now... Well, he tried not to think of his angel as much as possible, but to obviously negative results. Which was precisely why he needed to feel busy and useful again.

So, when the demon approached Nina and Maggie- who had stayed over the night before- they knew exactly what he was going to ask.

"I'm bored." He stated, simply, earning an eye roll from Nina.

"Go and get a job, or something."

"What, and work, like I have been doing for the past 6000 years? And I can't even go outside of the apartment anyway. Come on Nina, you can do better than that."

"Oh! Well, you could try cooking-" Maggie began, only to be cut off by Crowley.

"Aziraphale likes baking. He made angel cakes during the pandemic."

"Or, reading?"

"Maggie. Just think this through for a second. What did Aziraphale own?"

"You could learn a language?"

"I already speak every language, what do you want to do, unlearn one?"

Nina sighed, agitated; "Look, Crowley. You can either wallow in self pity while you wait, or you can go and do something. Make an indoor garden-"

"Already done that." He gestured to his room, where his plants stood against the grey backdrop, shaking.

"-or, learn an instrument, or something! I don't care if Aziraphale does it! Just, entertain yourself while you wait!"

Crowley paused, considering it. He could... But he hadn't in a long time... Well, he supposed he had the time to figure out the basics again...

"You know what. I'll do that. Play an instrument, I mean."

Maggie didn't even try to hide the relief that had lit up her face. Nina glanced towards the demon, eyebrow raised in curiosity- and, then, realisation.

"You're about to do your weird clicking thing, aren't you?" She clicked, as if trying to carry her point across, We've been told that you aren't allowed to do that. Something about recovery?"

Damn. She was quick to catch on; he had barely moved his fingers to click.

"Great. Well. I'll see you later, then." He took off before they could respond.

The Westminster apartment was a maze of hallways branching off from the entrance- Crowley wondered who designed it. From the looks of the corridor leading up to the apartment (which he could see through the peephole), it was a relatively new build- or, at least, newly refurbished. It could have easily been the tamperings of Shax during her time in London- but, then again, humans can be incredibly unpredictable and unexpected.

Gabriel and Beelzebub's room was at the end of one of the two largest branches that formed the 'U' shape of the main hallways. By the time he reached the bedroom, he would have been out of breath, if he were human.

He knocked on the dark wood door. No answer. He knocked again. The door creaked open, and the head of his former boss poked out from behind it.

"What do you want?" They questioned, and Crowley thought that it was the most exhausted he'd ever seen the former Grand Duke of Hell.

"Can you do me a quick miracle? I need a violin. And probably a music stand and a printer, too."

Beelzebub sighed, "Back at this again, really? Was one concert in Hell not enough for the next, I don't know, eternity?"

The serpent's mouth flew open in shock. "You said that you liked my concert!" He exclaimed, offended.

"No, I said that it was good. As in good torture for the souls of the damned who had to listen to four hours of your playing."

"I'll have you know that my playing was extraordinary! I taught some of the greatest violinists how to play!"

Beelzebub shook their head, "You influenced Paganini to resort to alcoholism and other sinful activities to secure his soul to Hell as 'The Devil's Violinist'. You may have taught him how to play certain bow strokes, but temptation was clearly the thing that you were better at."

Well, that was just too far.

"Fine then," He said, mockingly, yet still annoyed, "We'll play a duet in front of the others tomorrow. You can, I don't know, miracle yourself up a piano. And the others will decide who is better- me or you."

Beelzebub sighed again. "Crowley, I don't have time for thizzzz- this. Me and Gabriel are very busy." Crowley tried to look past the demon stood in the doorway, and caught a glimpse at the desks that now replaced where a bed formerly had been- piles of papers and files towered and littered the surface of the table.

"Oh, come on, Beelzebub! It'll be fun! You don't need to practice, you can sight read perfectly fine!"

The demon considered the option. "Whatever. Just don't disturb us again until tomorrow We've got a lot to sort out and we could be on a time frame of anywhere between an hour and a few hundred years, so we need to work fast."

Crowley's face lit up as they clicked their fingers- this. this was the distraction that he needed. And a bit of friendly competition never hurt anyone.

When the demon reached his room (after sauntering through the endless labyrinth of corridors), he arrived to find an elegant violin positioned on top of his bed, as well as a booklet of sheet music resting upon a sturdy music stand. He was giddy with anticipation- he hadn't played since the early 2000s, but even then, the last time that he did play was just to blend in to an orchestra so that he could tempt a cellist into doing something wrong. Like, plagiarising some sheet music, or something along those lines.

Carefully, he picked up the violin, placing it on his shoulder, and his chin upon the chin rest. Slowly, he brought the bow up, and played an open A- an even note, with practiced elegance and grace.

Yet an ear-shattering screech radiated from the instrument, causing Crowley to wince. Damn Beelzebub for not miracling it in tune.

He debated downloading a tuning app onto his phone- but then he thought of a much better idea.

"Listen here." He took the violin away from his shoulder, holding it so that he was maintaining eye contact with the bridge and lower parts of the strings. "You are going to be tuned by the next note I play, or there will be some serious consequences. Do. You. Understand?"

A high-pitched screech that sounded vaguely similar to the open E string squealed from the violin in agreement. The instrument may not have been living, but it was made out of wood, which had come from a tree in the first place- and everyone knows how petrified plants are of Crowley, as evident by the shaking vegetation scattered across his room.

He turned to the sheet music booklet, and began flicking through the pieces.

"Prokofiev, nah... Mozart, no... Shostakovich, maybe... Ngk, this is such a random assortment of pieces. Mendelssohn, nope... Bach, nah... Vivaldi, no... Paganini, sure... 'K, Caprice Number 5? Haven't played that in a while. I can give that a go."

The demon took a step back from the music stand, and then placed the violin back between his shoulder and his chin. And he began to play, his muscle memory taking over as he played the piece that he had played so many times before over the course of two centuries.

Although it wasn't perfect (because damn was that bowing difficult) it was entertaining, and fulfilling, and sentimental- and that was the only thing that he needed at that moment.

And when nobody came to find him or scold him for the overwhelming, continuous sound as he barely noticed the clock ticking away in the background- he carried on playing. Caprice after caprice. After finishing all 24, he moved on to other pieces. In particular, Shostakovich's Waltz No. 2, which he played for what he assumed was hours- the memories of his dance with Aziraphale playing like a tape on repeat in his mind, and oh, how he wished to dance with his angel again.

There it was. The thing that pulled him out of his distraction, and back into the cold, harsh reality that his angel had left him for Heaven.

Even if Crowley did save him from the death threats of the Metatron- would the angel even want to dance with him? He had made his stance on their... Fraternising... Very clear when he left him to pursue becoming the Supreme Archangel of Heaven.

Crowley sighed, gently placing the violin and bow into its case that had seemingly materialised onto the bedside table. Then, he flung himself backwarss onto the bed.

He knew he had no right to be thinking such things like dancing with the angel- not when Aziraphale was surely happier in Heaven, leading the angels, than he would ever be on Earth, with Crowley. Or maybe he would be happier still on Earth, without Crowley. The guilt of knowing that he would tear his angel away from those promised lives was eating him from the outside out- but saving Aziraphale from this threat was more important... Right?

Crowley wasn't too sure anymore. But he knew one thing for certain- as long as his angel was safe, all would be well.

Even if that meant never dancing with him again. Or ever playing the violin for him. Or having any more dinners at The Ritz.

Even if Aziraphale hated him for all of this.

Because his safety was more important than Crowley's selfish desires. Because his safety was Crowley's priority.

So he was going to bring him home to the same light that had saved the demon from destruction. Or be destroyed trying.

Chapter Text

"We've found it." Monday the 10th of November, 06:13AM.

Crowley groaned, stretching his limbs from the curled-up position that he had been asleep in.

"Found what?" He yawned, tiredly.

"Our ticket into Heaven." A new voice chimed in. "Well, not literally a ticket. But a way in, all the same."

The demon's eyes were blurry, but he could vaguely make out a small, grey, rectangular shape in a familiar figure's hand.

"Ngk- can you both just give me, like, an hour more to sleep?"

A pause. "No." One of the voices deadpanned. "You have two minutes. Everyone's in the living room, we're having a meeting."

As the door slammed shut, Crowley reluctantly rolled out of his bed, not bothering to place the tartan blanket that had fallen off of it back on top.

Carelessly, he clicked his fingers, and his usual black outfit replaced the mismatched pyjamas- an old Queen graphic t-shirt and a pair of tartan pyjama bottoms- in an instant.

He had only just been lifted from his miracle ban after a week of playing the violin, with nothing else to do to cure his bout of boredom. And he'd be damned if he wasn't going to use as many miracles as possible- the experience had humbled him; he spent a great deal of days just lazing about in pyjamas out of lack of want to get manually changed into day-to-day clothes.

The demon stumbled through his bedroom door, and down the endless corridor maze that led to the main part of the apartment, only to be greeted by several faces glaring back at him. On the couches, in their usual spots: Muriel and Eric. Sat on the carpet, legs crossed like how Warlock used to sit on his bedroom rug: Gabriel. Beelzebub was stood, leaning against the wall next to the fake fireplace. And, much to Crowley's surprise: Uriel and Dagon, sat at opposite ends of the dining table, avoiding eye contact with eachother at all costs.

Silently, he took his normal seat: the armchair closest to the hallway door.

Gabriel clasped his hands together. "Right! Well, now that we're all here, we can get started! Bee, over to you!" Everyone turned towards the Lord of the Flies.

"Erm, so, zzzzz... The Grapevine- that, once again, for clarification, obviously does not exist- has gathered some new intellect on the Second Coming. It'zzzzzzz... Coming. Soon. And it's our job to try and limit the impacts of it, or stop it altogether."

A murmur of commotion echoed through the room, and the demon stopped talking altogether. Gabriel raised a hand, and the room fell silent once again. Crowley kept his gaze on his former boss.

"We hear that the Second Coming is a highly confidential operation, that is strictly discussed between the main three remaining Archangels, and the Metatron. Which is why Muriel has been unable to gather any information." The innocent angel waved, and a slight smile broke out on the serpent's face. He was becoming rather fond of the young Scrivener Inspector Constable- they felt vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place why so.

He felt that feeling a lot- in the creases of Muriel's smile, in the way that astrologers described the universe, in the way that things were carefully and delicately assembled: perhaps it was six thousand years of life on Earth (there was, after all, much to see and learn in that time), or maybe it was another example of an empty house where you can tell where the furniture used to be. Crowley was never too sure, but, despite his questioning, never tried to find out the answer. What he did know, after all, is that the world doesn't like questions- and neither do Heaven and Hell.

Realising he had tuned out most of the voices, he brought his attention back to the room.

"-so, that's why I'm here. I'm your ticket." The currently working Archangel stated. Damn. He must have missed an important part of the conversation.

Muriel raised their hand. Uriel looked towards them, and, when the Archangel said nothing to them, nor to anybody else, Muriel decided to lower their hand and speak.

"But... How are you getting us in? We're-" They paused, quickly counting the people in the room. "Four demons, and a disgraced-"

"Not a nice word." Gabriel muttered as they spoke. Crowley rolled his eyes.

"-former Archangel. Oh, and me! We can't all go! It will be dangerous!"

Uriel seemed to either be having a staring contest with the wall, or had completely zoned out, engrossed by their thoughts, emotion etching onto their face (although, it would not have been recognisable if you weren't looking for it, or if you couldn't recognise their expressions like second nature). They took a minute before they eventually snapped out of it.

"Well... It's simply just... A process of elimination. Dagon will remain in Hell, while Eric will remain on Earth, being our contact for if anything goes... Well, bad. Then, I was hoping that you two." They gestured to Beelzebub and Gabriel. "Will sort it out between yourselves: one stays, one comes with us. And then, that leaves Muriel and Crowley, who will be with me."

The former Archangel and former Grand Duke of Hell shared a glance.

"No. There'zzzzz no way you're going." Beelzebub said, instantly, not bothering to mask their buzzing.

"Nope, it's you who's not going, Bee. If you go, and something happens... Well, I dread to even think what they would do if they... Captured... A former Prince of Hell. But if they caught me? What's the worst they can do, demote me, again?"

The Lord of the Flies paused, hesitantly. "They'll recognise you immediately. They won't let you in."

Gabriel looked towards Crowley. "Is there any chance that you could do one of those super-miracle thingies?"

The demon states blankly at him, then stated, simply: "I don't know, ngk, maybe? That was the combination of the power of both me and Aziraphale. I doubt I could do it again that well on my own."

Unbeknownst to Crowley, Beelzebub raised an eyebrow questioningly, connecting dots in their head, yet not allowing their face or words to show too much of their thoughts.

"But, in theory, you could do it, even if it's weaker, or for a shorter period of time?"

"Sure, we can try."

"Wonderful!" He turned back towards his partner. "Does that settle your issue?"

"I suppose so." They agreed, reluctantly, before rapidly looking between Crowley and Uriel. "But, I need everyone else to ensure that he is safe at all times. Do not, under any circumstances, let him under the grasp of the higher-ups. I don't want to lose him for a second time. Once is enough for me."

Crowley mentally agreed. Losing someone twice was definitely not fun. How would he rate it, some may ask? Zero stars, would not recommend... Obviously.

"Of course." If it came out more sarcastic than he intended... Well, he was a demon, and demons don't typically apologise.

Much like Muriel, Eric raised his hand, but began to talk promptly, even when he was not invited to.

"Right, question... What's the plan, and why are people going to Heaven in the first place? Just to, you know, make sure everyone is on the same page."

Everyone looked around the room towards eachother, flicking their gazes from one demon, to the next angel, to the next demon, back to the next angel again.

"Well, it's a mix of everything, really." Gabriel broke the silence first. "We need to check the records, which Uriel will provide us with access to. That'll help us interfere with Heaven's plan for the Second Coming of Christ. And, well, we need to start implementing our plan to... Well, rescue Aziraphale."

Crowley expected Uriel to look confused at why Aziraphale needed 'rescuing', but they did not show the slightest bit of concern.

But what did surprise Crowley, was Dagon speaking up for the first time during the meeting.

"And Michael, too." Their voice was soft, but almost muttered. In shock, everyone averted their gaze towards the Lord of the Files.

"What about Michael?"

The fish-like demon sighed. "We should just... Check up on the Archangel Michael, too. If the Archangel Aziraphale-" Crowley tried not to flinch at the title, "-is in danger, and, well, the other main Archangel is here, helping a group of demons and somewhat disgraced angels to break into Heaven, then surely that means that Heaven isn't safe for any Archangel? So, by that logic, Mic- the Archangel Michael is not safe, either."

Beelzebub nodded in understanding. And that's how Crowley knew- even when the others (minus the former Grand Duke of Hell) did not. Dagon was just the same. And that meant that Michael wasn't safe in Heaven, either.

"We'll look into it." Crowley reassured them, and the relief was fighting it's way onto Dagon's face.

A beat.

"Okay, another question." Eric interrupted the silence, yet again. "When, exactly, is this plan being carried out?"

Uriel was first to respond. "We set off tomorrow morning, and aim to enter Heaven by the evening."

"Wait." Crowley raised his hand slightly to stop anybody else from talking over him. "What do you mean, set off early, enter late? The nearest entrance is, well, only about five minutes in my Bentley away, if that."

Muriel shook their head. "Oh, I know this one! Heaven has closed off all London borders, unless you have the secret passcode, but.. you have to request for it each time, and they have guards stationed there, so we can't take you through that one, of course."

"Precisely " Uriel nodded their head, and the Scrivener beamed. "So, that means that the closest available, unguarded entrance is-"

"The Statue of Gabriel, Edinburgh." Gabriel and Beelzebub said in unison, sharing a soft glance.

"So, why can't you just do your higher-ranks teleporting thing, then?"

Uriel paused before continuing: "I'm not meant to be on Earth. As far as Heaven is aware, I'm wandering amongst the stars to check that everything is set up for the Second Coming, and I will not return for a while."

"You used to do that a lot." Gabriel commented. "Wander amongst the stars, I mean. You would seem sad, and then disappear for a bit, then come back normal, as if nothing happened." There were those unspoken words and confessions again.

Uriel bit down on their lip to stop it from trembling, trying to maintain their carefully sculpted, expressionless face.

"We travel to Edinburgh tomorrow morning." The slightest quiver in their voice: only recognisable if you knew the person well, yet Crowley seemed to pick up on it all the same. "Be ready early."

And, with that, they swiftly glided towards the hallway, and down the corridor, before the faintest click of the lock on the bathroom door sounded.

"Well." Gabriel finally stood, and everyone suddenly became aware of his odd seating arrangement on the floor, when there were perfectly good chairs at the table. "That concludes that part of the meeting. What's next?"

"The cleaning rota." Eric called out.

"Ah, yes, of course! So, Muriel, you are vacuuming everywhere tonight, Bee, you are-"

Crowley didn't stick around to hear what his cleaning job would be today. A messily scribbled list would be stuck on the fridge by an old tourist magnet bearing a picture of the Tower of London, anyway.

Instead, Crowley slithered down the hallway, and pressed his ear against the bathroom door.

No sound, except from a slight sniffle, and occasional clang of something falling from one of the shelves. He began to grow confused, then worried, then concerned.

He didn't mean to invade any privacy, but there was something clearly wrong with the Archangel in the bathroom.

So, although it, admittedly, wasn't his proudest moment, the demon miracled the door unlocked, gently and cautiously opening it enough to see in.

Enough to see the Archangel Uriel curled up into a ball on the floor, eyes wide open in a mixture of shock and fear- more emotion than he could ever recall seeing on their face- as they silent mouthed an incomprehensible phrase over and over.

Something clearly wrong, indeed.

Chapter Text

"We can't all go! It will be dangerous!"

Heaven was in chaos. Angels soared and screamed through the empty spaces- although, the concept of space was yet to exist- some bearing divine weapons, others scrambling for scriptures of healing.

The Archangels stood central to the whirlwind of frantic, ethereal beings, each unmoving as they took to their diamond-shaped formation. Calm, yet a sense of unease and panic etched their faces, scaring their skin with unnatural frowns, and eyebrows crinkled in concern.

Michael. Gabriel. Uriel. Raphael. In that specific order, from the Northernly point of the diamond, to the East, to the South, then, finally, to the West. The panic gained momentum as it travelled through the group.

"Archangel Raphael," Michael's voice boomed over the commotion, yet none seemed to hear except for the four siblings. "We, the Archangels, will lead the forces of Heaven against the rogue beasts that have betrayed us. We have stated this many times. Of course, there are risks, but we are the leaders of all ranks of angels, second only to the Almighty Herself. We will show courage against these... Fiends. We will lead our kind into battle."

Raphael shook his head, red curls falling elegantly, covering the golden marks that polluted his cheeks like stars littered the sky.

"It cannot be! Surely, we could just, ngh, talk to them, or something? We needn't go to war over some silly questions! I mean, I can see where they're coming from- my Siblings, they're planning on ending Earth in only 6000 years, did you know? My stars won't have fully developed by then! And I don't understand why we can't just let the Earth stay intact for longer, so that life can see my creation that I have worked so hard on!"

Panic flickered through Uriel's eyes, and they clasped their hand around his arm, silently pleading with him to not say another word- another word, and... Well, they all had a faint idea as to what could happen.

"Raphael," Gabriel almost whispered, accusingly. "Dearest Brother, do you mean to say that you disagree with the Great Plan of the Almighty?" He took a step closer. Raphael flinched. "That you agree with the traitorous Seraphim Lucifer and his followers?"

The Starmaker took a step forward. "Of course I would not go against Her plan, who do you think I am, one of them? I'm just saying, maybe we should put in... I don't know, a suggestion box, or something!"

"Raphael." Uriel warned, voice low and more serious than usual. War had painted their usual mischievous smirk into something much more wary; torn and warped into something much more sinister.

"Look, all I mean is that surely this is not what the Almighty wants? To have battle amongst the angels? She can't mean for her children to be destroyed, surely?"

Michael raised their hand, and Raphael took a step back to his original spot in the formation.

"Three strikes, Raphael. This is your first. You will lead the forces of Heaven into battle against these rogues. We," They gestured to themselves and the other two, "Will do the same. We shall reconvene at a later point to discuss how we are faring, but I would pray to the Almighty that we four meet again at the point of Heaven's victory."

Almost too swiftly, Gabriel and Michael were whisked away into the chaos of battle preparations and fighting.

Raphael seemed disheartened. Uriel still had their hand placed in cautious warning upon his arm.

"Brother," They began, and the large eyes of their sibling turned to face them, brown irises shaking in fear and grief. "You must listen to them. Please, understand that the angels are all a bit... On edge. And our Siblings are the same. We only want to protect you; we don't want to see you become like them."

"But," He whispered, and if angels, back then, had hearts, Uriel's would have shattered from the broken, unsure tone. "Uriel, they want to destroy the universe in only 6000 years. What about my stars? They... Won't have even developed properly, by then! It's a million year process, and nobody will be there to see them!"

He sank into his sibling's arms, and the Archangel pulled him into a tight embrace, careful to avoid his wings, which, in contrast with the brightness of Heaven, seemed to be a pale off-white, growing deeper in tone by the moment.

"I know." They reassured, rubbing circles into his arms. "But, it is not our job to question, after all."

The red-haired Archangel did not weep: no angel had yet began to cry. Yet there was an emotion there, carved carelessly into his face, his eyes, and the tremor of his body, that spoke all of the words that tears would have. "In 6000 years... There will be nobody to see my stars."

"Then I will go." Uriel promised. An empathetic vow, made by most to just show that they care, even though the others would likely not follow through with it. But Uriel meant every word: when it came time to, they would walk amongst the stars and appreciate their sibling's creation for what it truly was- a masterpiece, vibrant, and dazzling, and so, so Raphael.

"And, when this is all over, me and you will pay your stars a visit. We can fly through the nebulae, and annoy Gabriel and Michael, and everything that we always do." They turned Raphael's head to look up towards their own. "You just have to promise me that you won't question anything else anymore. You will follow what everybody tells you to do. Lead Heaven. Fight the Rogues. Whatever they ask. And we will get through this."

Raphael nodded his head.

"Swear it."

"I don't know if I can."

"Please. I can't lose you." Uriel choked on the pain that laced their voice.

"Okay. I promise."

"Good." The pair parted from their embrace, and glided towards the area where Gabriel and Michael were hovering above everybody else.

6000 years later( after the invention of time, of course), a certain demon would tell the Child-Who-Actually-Was-Not-the-Antichrist that if you crossed your fingers behind your back when making a promise, the promise would be broken, and you do not have to follow through with it.

What nobody in Heaven could understand, was that Raphael knew that he would not be able to keep his promise to Uriel.

So, Raphael had crossed his fingers, and the promise had been broken. He thought that he was the only person who knew that he had broken it.

But, they do say that the Almighty is omniscient.

And the Almighty had known that Her youngest Archangel had made a false vow that he did not intend to keep.

/////////

The Second Strike was not entirely Raphael's fault. At least, that was what the Archangel would say when confronted.

In truth, Uriel was inclined to agree with Michael's decision. As much as they loved their brother, it was the truth that Raphael was turning further and further away from Her grace and compassion; each question charred a feather grey, and a downcast expression lined his usual gleeful face.

"Raphael. Need I remind you that you are, in fact, an Archangel. And Archangels lead by example. You, certainly, are not being the model angel!" Michael nearly hissed at their brother.

The four were no longer stood in a diamond formation- no, the equal arrangement had long since disappeared to the winds of chaos and war. Instead, Michael and Gabriel stood sternly, facing Raphael directly, while Uriel stood slightly to the side, neither next to Raphael nor the other two Archangels.

"Michael, please! It wasn't my fault this time!" He cried out, almost falling to his knees as he pleaded.

"You preached to the legions of Heaven that this war is not worthy of being fought. Three thousand angels are now rioting against our forces in agreement. And it is all your fault!" Michael's hand gripping his shoulder was cold and cruel, sending a shiver of pain down Raphael's arm.

"And I'm sorry for that, I swear! I didn't mean any harm, I just wanted peace! Just like how Asmodel wanted peace, too!"

Gabriel shook his head. "There is no peace in war, Raphael. We will continue to fight until we win!"

It was only a second later that Michael recognised that one of the Archangels was yet to make a comment. "Uriel, do you have anything to add?" The two glanced at eachother, and Uriel could recognise the hinting gleam in Michael's eyes that told them to say something.

"Dearest Brother," They began, hesitantly, before turning to face Raphael, who was now stood, although a devastated, pleading expression still dug into the skin of his face. "We only mean to protect you. We do not wish for you to become like... Them."

"This is two strikes, Raphael." Michael sighed. "One more and, well, we really don't want it to come to consequences that serious, of course."

A pause. Raphael's shaky breaths- foreign to the nature of angels- echoed throughout the Heavens.

"In fact, you will be the one to personally fight and take down the rogue angel Asmodel. That is your duty to Heaven. Do you understand?" It was more a command than a question.

"Yes, Michael."

Gabriel clapped his hands together. "Alright, then! We best be off, this war won't win itself, after all." With that, the two Archangels, once again, glided off into the distance, leaving the other two siblings standing side by side.

Raphael's movements were short and panicked; the storm inside of him eventually calmed to a whisper of a cold wind of grief and other conflicting emotions that an angel should ever have felt.

Broken.

"I loved him." His voice was barely a whisper. "Asmodel, I mean."

"You love everyone, it's in your nature." Uriel replied, scared of their own emotionless tone. "But you have to do this. I... I don't want to see you get hurt."

He began to glide away.

"Brother!" The other Archangel called out, and Raphael spun around, visibly disheartened, though a slim wisp of hope hung desperately in the air.

"Yes?"

"Remember the stars."

/////////

Nobody warned the Archangel Raphael for the Third and Final Strike.

God was no longer talking, or, at least, as much as She used to; the Metatron's bodiless head and voice replaced where She had once been.

Raphael was not impressed. Why fight for Her honour when She would not bother to fight alongside them?

So, he refused to fight.

He had lost so much in this battle; he had defeated Asmodel; he had been alienated from the other angels for just voicing his opinions; and, most importantly, he had lost the trust of his siblings. Michael constantly scolded him. Gabriel shook his head at him. Uriel no longer talked to him.

Broken. That was what Michael had called him.

Broken. That was what he had called himself.

Broken. That was what Lucifer had called him. Broken, just like the rest of Them. He was one of Them now, whether he wanted to be or not.

This, paired with his refusal to fight, was the last straw.

The Metatron was the one to tear him away from his home amongst the stars in which he had hid himself in. It was the end of the war now: Heaven had began to execute their plan to purge the pure fields of this evil presence.

They say that he went without struggle or complaint: that he was unmoving, with no voice or emotion.

In particular, Uriel was in shock at his reaction- though they would be damned if they showed any sympathy towards him.

Demons, that was what the angels were now calling the Damned.

But this wasn't the true form of these Demons; no, they would only be truly turned after the next step of the plan.

Uriel knew what was to come, and they had prayed to the Almighty to protect and to forgive their dearest brother- to no avail.

They had watched as Raphael was dragged towards the chasm that was the first created sector of Hell. They had heard his first words and screams since during the war as he was thrown down.

They had looked away as their brother pleaded for his status. They had ignored him, and perhaps that was a greater sin than the now-demon had ever commited.

But Uriel had also pleaded with the Metatron to reverse what had been done. Had cried out after Raphael's Fall. Had ran away to walk amongst the stars, just like they had promised, even despite the orders of the Metatron and their siblings.

That reaction had earned them centuries of punishment, led particularly by the archangel Sandalphon.

At first, this had been what had felt like an eternity in a dark place- darker than any spot of Heaven should have ever been. Instantly, Uriel had though that they, too, had Fallen. But the overwhelming feeling of Grace still resided in their body, and the sensation of love that lingered throughout Heaven still made it's presence known.

Then, there was a shift in the air: even in the complete, torturous solitude and darkness, Uriel could tell.

Time had been invented. And the Earth had, too.

After that, it had only been a matter of centuries before Sandalphon and the Metatron, had entered the dark splace- the first contact with others that Uriel had experienced in a while.

"Let there be light." The Metatron's voice called out, reverberated and distant, though, as light shone in the darkness, turning the space a startling white, Uriel could see that the two were actually rather close to them.

"Archangel Uriel," Sandalphon began before they could even begin to question what the purpose of this visit was. "As punishment for your sins during the Great War, you are sentenced to penance on Earth, until further notice."

They didn't have time to react before they found themselves on Earth in the blink of an eye.

Everything on Earth from that point on was a blur- they had spent a total of two thousand years travelling from place to place; body to body; identity to identity.

Uriel saw their siblings' faces in every place that they went. In the starts that painted beautiful stories into the sky. In the crowds of onlookers watching the building of Noah's ark. In the School of Athens. Everywhere, every place, every time.

What they had found was that humans were, for lack of a better word, demonic. They were punched and kicked; careless words cut deep into their mind; they were murdered in battle; and they were alienated from society.

Of course, Uriel had been temporarily discorporated; it had taken a while to get to grips with a mortal body, in a completely new place than what they had known.

Demonic, indeed.

Each time that Uriel lost their mortal body, they were brought straight before the Metatron and Sandalphon.

Each time, the Metatron would ask, "Will you accept your prior sins, and be welcomed back to Heaven?"

Each time they would reply, "Bring my brother back."

And each time they would be sent back down to Earth again, ready to face more harm, growing weaker and weaker by the moment.

That was, until, one day, they could not take it anymore.

So, Uriel agreed to accept that Raphael was gone. As they walked along the endless, bright corridors of Heaven, they began to wonder if they were no better than the demons or humans. Evil. A sinner.

Broken.

Immediately, Uriel threw themselves into work; there was the life of Christ to plan and watch over, after all. They had already missed so much- they could not miss this, too.

Gabriel and Michael did not question where Uriel had been. Nor did they question why their expression was more serious and experienced.

And what they certainly didn't know was how Uriel, sometimes, walked amongst their brother's stars, as promised aeons ago, a betraying, human tear tracing golden lines down their cheeks before they fluttered away, back to their work and emotionless demeanour.

They were never the same again.

/////////

"Uriel?" A voice called out from the door, snapping the Archangel from their loop of memories.

Hope chilled Uriel's body as their blurry eyes fell upon a red-haired figure- familiar in height and body language.

But their eyes focused to reveal the serpent Crowley, and their face fell immediately, something which the serpent instantly noted.

They swiftly stood, backing up into a corner, feeling threatened by his ability to read them. Had he seen Uriel during their loop of memories? Would he use this information against them? Would they be reported to the Metatron? They didn't think they could take another... Encounter... With Sandalphon.

"Relax," Crowley whispered, and something about it reassured Uriel. "I won't hurt you. You're safe here. I promise."

"I'm fine." They stated, hating the way their voice shook with uneven tone. They sat themselves back down onto the tiled floor next to the bathroom sink.

"Honestly, I don't believe that for a second. I mean, if you need, I'm here to talk through anything that troubles you. But I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to, with the whole angel and 'demon' thing."

Uriel paused, but didn't think when they said, "It's just bad memories. That's all. Finally catching up to me, I guess."

Michael would have Uriel's head if they knew that Uriel was sharing their thoughts with a demon. But they supposed they could do as they pleased while their older sibling was not there at that moment. And there was something there... Something familiar and calming about Crowley, that just made them feel that they were fine to do so.

Unjudged. Safe.

Crowley nodded empathetically and sat besides them, "I get that, too. It's not fun, is it?"

Silence again, but Uriel clearly agreed with him. The two sat like that for a while: not talking, yet an element of understanding shared between them.

Eventually, Uriel stood once again, slowly making their way out of the room. However, just as they turned the handle of the door to exit the room, they spun around to face Crowley, who was looking straight back at them.

"Thank you." They just about got out, the emotion clear on their face for only a moment before regaining their composure.

"Anytime." The serpent replied, tilting his head in acknowledgement.

With that, the Archangel left the room and Crowley behind.

And if he smiled softly at the thought of helping the angel... Well, nobody was there to see it.

Chapter Text

Nobody got any sleep that night.

It wasn't like a group of celestial beings particularly needed to sleep anyway- but the hours of mental rest would have likely been beneficial, seeing as staying awake only heightened the levels of nervous anticipation and panic inside of the apartment.

In the kitchen, Beelzebub was fussing over their angelic partner, constantly reminding him to not do anything that could end badly, and to follow strict safety guidelines that they were making up on the spot.

Dagon had returned to Hell after the meeting, having not had a permit to travel to Earth. They were yet to get onto Shax's bad side: that was something that nobody wanted at all, seeing as they were vital to the plan.

Muriel and Eric had retreated to their shared bedroom, and the sound of the strumming of an electric guitar to "Seven Nation Army" echoed faintly through the grey walls- a sound that had haunted the house ever since Eric had discovered online sheet music a few days prior.

That left Crowley and Uriel sitting in silence in the living room, waiting restlessly for the ticking of the hand on the old grandfather clock to strike. They occasionally shared an understanding glance between themselves, although no words were spoken.

The serpent found himself otherwise alone with his thoughts, and, more worryingly- his memories.

Something that had happened almost two years ago had felt like only yesterday. He rembered the feel of his angel's lips against his own; the feeling of fighting back the tears that threatened to scorch and scar his face.

He could remember the way the fabric of Aziraphale's jacket felt against the palms of his hands as he begged for him to stay in one, final, almost human plead.

He remembered how it wasn't enough.

It wasn't ever enough. Perhaps nothing ever would be.

But he also remembered the years of freedom that came before that fateful day. The intricate life the pair had carved out for theirselves. How Aziraphale lit up every time he looked Crowley in the eyes: sunglasses long discarded when they were alone.

How Aziraphale had asked Crowley to dance at the Whickber Street Shopkeepers Association. How Aziraphale had placed his hand on Crowley as if to say "Look. Like us." when Beelzebub and Gabriel made their relationship known to Heaven and Hell.

And perhaps, one day, it would be enough. Crowley would be enough.

If all went to plan, then that day could be soon.

Crowley just hoped that Aziraphale would come back to Earth with him willingly.

The clock struck six, then seven, then eight in the morning, and, slowly, a crowd of angels and demons congregated into the living room, taking their respective seats. Even Maggie and Nina eventually joined them.

"We're heading up North with you." Nina explained to him as Maggie chatted with Muriel to the side of them. "Maggie has family in the Lake District. We're renting out a cottage for a few days to go and see them, and, you know, to get away from London for a bit. It's been a tough couple of weeks. With the fire and everything."

Crowley tried not to wince at the mention of the fire. There were moments were he still saw the flames dancing mockingly before his eyes, an all too familiar face melting into the background behind them.

It wasn't long before Uriel announced that they would be leaving shortly, and for everybody to start making their way to their respective places for the plan. As he stood, Beelzebub beckoned Crowley towards them, giving him the same "We need to talk" glare that he had received several times over his career as Hell's Representative On Earth.

Nobody seemed to notice the unusually more serious expression that Beelzebub had carved into their face as they spoke.

"If a single thing happens to him," they began, "I will personally discorporate you."

Crowley nodded his head, a slight hint of fear sending a shiver down his spine.

"I'll keep him safe."

"Good." They didn't promise it. Demons could not promise. Just like how demons could not forgive. Not that it would do them any harm, or anything. In fact, Crowley had broken this unspoken rule several times over his time on Earth. It was just a commonly accepted fact: demons did not promise.

Anybody could betray another at any time. Best not to befriend a potential enemy (another thing that Crowley had broken several times, given his past with Aziraphale).

"Anyway, that wasn't my main point of calling you over."

Oh. Unexpected. "Go on." He prompted.

The Lord of the Flies reached into a pocket on their blazer, pulling out an object, and holding it up for Crowley to see. "Do you recognise this?"

He leaned forward to get a closer look. In the palm of their hand, Beelzebub held a messily crafted, beaded bracelet: the wire appeared thin and sharp, and Crowley identified that it would likely pose a danger to any wrist it disgraced itself upon.

But that wasn't the true horror that the bracelet produced- no, it was something so much worse. The 'beads' that he had thought had adorned it were a strange, terrifying mixtures of flies and fly eggs- with an odd, greying pearl at what he assumed to be the top of the bracelet.

It was completely and utterly grotesque, and so, so, intriguingly wonderful: Crowley would recognise it anywhere.

"It's the pearl bracelet that Dagon made you at the final office meeting before they were shut down, right? Except you've made some... Modifications." He gestured to the flies, a faint buzz echoing through the air between the bracelet and his ears.

"Spot on. I chose from the best of the best of my flies, so you know that they'll be on their best behaviour." They held their hand out and looked between the bracelet and Crowley. "Here, I want you to have it."

The serpent took a step back. "No way I'm going near that. Not a chance."

They rolled their eyes. "Stop being so dramatic! Just take it!" A fly flew from the bracelet and on to his hand, which he quickly shook off.

He shook his head. "Argh that is disgusting! Do you know how many flies I've had to clean out of my car? Not having any more. Nope. None."

"You'd bezzzzzzzt watch who you're talking to, Traitor." Beelzebub buzzed, grabbing onto Crowley's arm and promptly putting the bracelet onto his wrist, muttering something in the process. He tried to take it off, but was met with a supernatural force that just would not budge. Damn it.

His former boss continued on, "They won't attack you, or Gabriel, or Muriel, or anybody else in this room." Crowley relaxed slightly, but was still on edge. "Besides, this is very much a last resort kind of option. For when things go down in the up."

Crowley nodded his head. "And, what does it do?"

A familiar smirk crawled it's way onto Beelzebub's face- a kind of mischief he had not seen in decades. "When things get bad in the good place, you twist that pearl, and things will go even worse." Upon seeing Crowley's raised eyebrow of confusion, they clarified, "For them, not for you."

"Right, okay." He cleared his throat. "Well, thank you, I suppose?"

"No need." They grew more serious once more. "Just make sure he comes back alive and not harmed. We have a date night at The Resurrectionist planned for tomorrow, and I'd hate for you to be the one to ruin that plan."

"Of course." He nodded his head, trying to hide the fact that he was thinking that maybe he, too, would have a meal planned with a certain angel the next day. At The Ritz, perhaps. They could finally have that extremely alcoholic breakfast and-

Best not to get his hopes up. One step at a time, he found his brain reminding him. Although his heart ached for the knowledge that they could possibly be reunited and he could watch his angel eating desserts and drinking the finest wine The Ritz had to offer, all in a matter of twenty four hours.

"Crowley. Gabriel. Muriel. We leave now." Uriel called out from the doorway, and the celestial beings in the room said their goodbyes and wished eachother luck.

Crowley stood alone in the centre of the room, waiting for the others to finish their conversations, when Maggie approached him.

"Mr Crowley?" She asked after the serpent did not notice her presence at first. She held out a basket in front of her, offering it to him. He felt oddly reminded of the delivery of the Antichrist to St Beryl's, but shook away the thought as he took the basket hesitantly.

"What is this?"

"Oh, just some food for the trip." Maggie beamed brightly. "I get a bit hungry on long drives like that, and, well, I don't know what angels and demons eat, so we just kind of, well, threw some stuff together. So there's all sorts of cakes and sandwiches and other picnic style foods. And some drinks, too."

Crowley highly doubted that the others would eat any food. Perhaps Muriel would not be opposed to trying some food- they had more recently warmed up to the idea of what they called a 'cupperty'.

Maybe Crowley could use it to persuade Aziraphale to come back to Earth. Unless they had crepes and cakes in Heaven, of course...

"That's lovely, thank you, Maggie."

She was practically radiating happiness. "Oh, thank you! I've been worrying about it all night, that you wouldn't take it at all, or would think it's stupid."

The serpent smiled softly, and, after Maggie returned to Nina's side, he made his way over to Uriel, where Gabriel and Beelzebub were now stood. Noticing everybody else had congregated around the door, Muriel skipped over to the rest of the group, Eric following shortly behind.

"Right, is everybody ready to go?" Gabriel asked, earning nods of the head from everybody around.

Wordlessly, Uriel left the apartment, essentially creating some kind of chain reaction as the three others who were journeying to Edinburgh filed out the door- closely followed by Beelzebub and Eric, and then Maggie and Nina

Before Crowley knew it, he was sat in the driver's seat of the Bentley: Uriel sat to his left, while Muriel was directly behind him, and Gabriel was behind Uriel, with the basket of food and drink sitting between them (for some reason, secured behind a seat belt).

The car immediately burst to life, with 'I Want To Break Free' being the Bentley's choice of song for the moment.

A fly buzzed around the front of the car as if scanning the confined area, before resting on the former Supreme Archangel's shoulder. If a tray of travel sweets miraculously appeared in the front, nobody noticed or commented upon it.

Crowley pressed his foot on the pedal, reversing out from where the Bentley had been parked.

Gabriel and Muriel waved to the two demons who stood on the pavement. Uriel smiled slightly- although it drowned in their otherwise emotionless expression.

As soon as he had gotten out of the parking space, Crowley sped up immediately- 80mph; not the fastest he'd ever driven the car, but he imagined that driving ang faster would probably send the Archangel next to him into some kind of cardiac arrest, despite their attempts to hide their slightly panicked look.

Gabriel and Muriel seemed to be having a good time, though. Perhaps he should take them to Thorpe Park or Alton Towers one day. Let them burn off some angelic energy that they seemed to share there.

The car eventually levelled out into a steady rhythm of continuity- with Gabriel and Muriel taking it in turns to ask "Are we nearly there yet?", and Uriel occasionally commenting about Earthly things, such as the music, and the different styles of architecture.

Crowley knew this was going to be a long ride, even despite the speed (which he had slowly increased to 100mph).

But he'd be damned if he didn't admit that he was enjoying it, even the tiniest bit, as he drove down country lanes and city roads.

And that, above all else, was what had shocked him the most.

Chapter Text

Much like everything else in Crowley's life, things went wrong all too quickly.

Something bad. Something unexpected.

Something that wasn't meant to happen at all.

It had taken a total of four hours to drive to Edinburgh- that was three less hours than a regular human driver in a regular human car would take to get from Soho to Edinburgh.

The Bentley had been parked on the same road as The Resurrectionist- taking the familiar spot that it had been in when Aziraphale had driven to Edinburgh two years before. The three angels stood on the pavement while Crowley looked for any signs claiming that the parking spaces beside the road were a pay-by-the-hour spot (he did this frequently, having received memos from Beelzebub scolding him for the large amount of expenses that Hell had to pay because of the fines from parking in paid spaces and car parks in the past).

Uriel checked their watch. One in the afternoon. "We're earlier than expected." They commented. "That's not good."

"Ngk, don't tell me that we can't get in until a certain time slot."

"It's the only unguarded entrance to Heaven." Uriel commented, rolling their eyes as if it were obvious. "Of course it's going to have certain entry times."

"Right, yes, obviously." He paused. "So, what time...?"

"Not for another five hours."

"Great." Crowley looked towards the other two, "Anything either of you want to do for five hours?"

Gabriel immediately pointed towards The Resurrectionist, "We can go in there?"

Crowley shook his head, "Ange- Aziraphale said that the bar staff were very adamant that they remember you. Best to not go in there, we don't have time for all their questions."

He looked disheartened, so Crowley added: "Plus you're going there with Beelzebub tomorrow, which I'm sure you'd prefer." That seemed to cheer him up, at least. "Right, any other suggestions?"

Muriel raised their hand slightly, "Oh, I'd quite like to buy a new journal. See, Eric and I are writing down our experiences when we try new human things and-"

"Can we get hot chocolate?" Gabriel interrupted, eagerly.

"Sure. Shopping it is then."

It was only seconds before Gabriel raced ahead down the street, seemingly knowing the way, with Muriel following suit. Crowley and Uriel didn't catch up, instead walking side-by-side in the same direction.

There was silence for a selection of moments. Crowley was first to break it.

"So, any shops catch your eye, or is shopping too human for your angelic mind?"

Uriel glanced towards Crowley, stern expression hiding their slightly agitated emotions. "Not all angels view themselves as superior to humans." They spoke, sternly. "I have spent enough time on Earth to know that they are developed far beyond our original plans. I can respect them, and what they have created, perfectly well."

Crowley nodded. If he had been told this three years prior, he likely would have been shocked by Uriel's words. However, after spending a little under a day with them, he couldn't say he particularly was surprised. He assumed it was another of those feelings of familiarity and safety that he seemed to feel around them, which he couldn't quite place.

"Any place in particular, then?"

Uriel scanned the street, switching from shop front to shop front and sign to sign before their eyes finally landed on one in particular.

A pottery shop, with intricate designs elegantly painted onto the clay surfaces- some in ancient styles, while others were more modern and abstract in taste.

Slowly, the pair migrated towards the shop. As they reached the window, Crowley noticed one pot in particular that reminded him a lot of the pot that one of Job's children had made. The small one, who wasn't as annoying as her siblings. Jemimah? Jemimah. He smiled at the memory.

"Well, do you want me to go with you, or...?"

Uriel turned to face him. "I'll be fine on my own." They said, expression neutral as ever. After a moment, they added, "But thank you."

Uriel left Crowley's side and entered the door, a faint ding echoing from inside the shop.

The serpent surveyed his surroundings, wondering where he could spend his time.

One quick check of all of the shops in the area revealed that Muriel was in The Works- which was, arguably, out of place in the otherwise small business street- and Gabriel was already sipping on a hot chocolate from a local café (Crowley had wondered if the former Archangel was missing his Costa hot chocolates, but it was clear that he would take any hot chocolate from anywhere).

However, one shop stood out to Crowley. Not because of any personal interests, but because of a habit he had picked up over the years on Earth.

About two shops down from the café where Gabriel was sat, stood a bookshop- the paint on the sign still shimmering in the light, and windows gleaming as if they had just been cleaned. And, in the window, a large card sign stating "NEW FIRST EDITIONS JUST IN".

It was nothing on Aziraphale's bookshop, that was certain for Crowley.

But it intrigued him in a way that no other shop on the street had. Perhaps, if all else failed, Crowley could give his angel a first edition to try and convince him to come back to Earth...

Without thinking, Crowley crossed the road, ignoring all of the beeping cars as he entered the shop.

"Hello and welcome to The Edinburgh Native Booksellers- is there any book in particular that you are looking for today?" A cheerful voice chirped from behind the counter, in an accent that he couldn't quite place.

Crowley looked towards the shopkeeper- a pale woman with dark, thin hair that reminded him oddly of wires. She wore an even darker coloured suit, with a grey tie and a brooch depicting a grey mouse. He found it odd, but Crowley wasn't one to comment on people's choices of animals on clothes- he did have a tattoo of a snake on the side of his face, after all.

"Yes, there's a sign on your front window. First editions?" The woman looked surprised for a moment, but regained her composure quickly.

"Right over here, Sir!" She shuffled towards the back of the shop, then headed through a door. Crowley wasn't too sure if he should follow, peering through the doorway to see her beckoning him over to a table filled with old books.

He looked down, glancing over the titles as the woman chatted mindlessly about the books, listing off facts as if she was reading out Wikipedia entries.

"-they're all from the first round of printed copies, and some are even signed! The signed ones go for more expensive than the others. And-"

"That one's not a first edition." The bookseller turned in shock.

"What do you mean?"

"That one," he pointed at a copy of Frankenstein, "Is nowhere even near the first edition." He had helped Aziraphale organise his bookshelves (or, rather, watched the angel do so, in most instances), to know the difference between his first editions, and any other old copies that he owned.

Crowley could see the bookseller try to wipe away the anxious bead of sweat that had materialised on her forehead. "Ah, sorry for the mistake... The others, I can assure you, are all first editions-"

"That one isn't, either. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one." He turned to the nervous bookseller. "I think you need to change your sign."

"Surely, you must be mistaken! In fact, I can check now for you if-"

He shook his head, "I've seen many first editions. I can tell you now that a lot of these aren't first editions." He picked up a copy of Pride and Prejudice. "It's a shame, really. I have a... Friend, who would have loved one of these."

He placed the book back onto the table, and turned to leave. "Well, it was nice talking to you, but I'll be off now. Have a good day!"

"But Crowley-" He halted in his tracks.

A pause.

He hadn't told the bookseller his name, had he? As quick as he could, he shuffled through his memories.

No mention of his name. At all. And he wasn't wearing anything with his name on it...

He spun around. "How did you know my name?"

The bookseller clasped a hand round her mouth and slowly backed away.

"I... I didn't say anyth-"

"Do not lie to me. How did you know my name?" He demanded, a hiss lacing his tone as he spoke.

The woman did not reply: a new voice echoed from behind him, sending shivers down his spine.

He knew that voice. He could recognise it anywhere.

And he had not heard it in over one hundred years, since his last encounter with him.

"Crowley, it has been quite the while, hasn't it?"

The serpent turned to stone, in some sort of metaphorical, self-inflicting Medusa scenario.

Another familiar voice chipped in, "Yes, we have waited a long time for this moment."

Shit. This wasn't good.

Not that it could be good in the first place, considering that the voices belonged to beings who could only be bad.

"Lord Asmodeus. Duke Ligur." As he spoke, he didn't turn to face them. He hated how weak his voice sounded: how it didn't carry the weight of his words, or the pointed nature he had initially intended.

But they were both meant to be dead. Not just discorporated dead, but destroyed completely.

And then, it hit him.

The name of the bookshop; the choice of a mouse brooch; the supposedly destroyed demons showing up- they were Natives.

Just like Crowley, yet unlike him in so many ways.

Asmodeus took hold of Crowley's shoulder, spinning him around to face the Natives. His arm burned with the pain of familiar touch.

"Get your handsssssssss off of me." Crowley hissed, beginning to find strength within himself, although he flinched at the touch. Asmodeus didn't make any attempt to remove his hand.

The two didn't have any noticeable differences; Ligur looked the exact same as he did the day that Crowley destroyed him with Holy Water, with Asmodeus the same, excluding the chipped goat horn now resting on the left side of his head.

"You've grown stronger-minded since we last met, darling." Asmodeus commented, and the nickname made Crowley feel physically repulsed.

Asmodeus had always taken a liking to Crowley, yet he wasn't too sure why. He imagined it was something to do with the whole Prince of Lust thing- though the serpent had never seen him act the same way to others.

The day that Asmodeus acted on his desires was a day that Crowley would never speak of again. His mind had convinced him that it was meant to happen- it was in between punishments for helping Elspeth, after all.

His heart knew otherwise. He was more careful after that, despite his usual somewhat reckless nature.

Ligur sighed. "Enough with the reunions. We've come to kill you. Avenge ourselves for the suffering that you have caused us."

"How about no." Within a flash of light, the bookseller had scurried over to him, holding his arms firmly behind his back so that he couldn't move. Her face had warped into mouse-like features, and her dark eyes had turned red with vengeance.

Native, too. Or an incredibly rogue demon.

Asmodeus pulled a vial from his pocket as Ligur stepped closer.

"Where's your little angel friend, Crawly?" Ligur laughed as Crowley gritted his teeth, not speaking a word. "There's nobody to help you now. You're all alone."

Asmodeus handed Ligur the vial. Crowley chose his words wisely.

"What is that?" He asked instead of giving in to Ligur's mockery.

"That," Asmodeus replied, "is Holy Water. Sourced just for you, darling, isn't that impressive? Some trouble that we had, getting that from the Church."

Ligur smirked and nodded his head, "Letting the punishment fit the crime."

Crowley paused for a moment, thinking over the situation that he was in.

He imagined that their brains had disintegrated the moment that they had been hit with Holy Water, because clearly they did not know that Holy Water doesn't exactly destroy demons, but rather turns them Native instead.

Lucky for Crowley, he was already Native. All this would do is sting.

"Go for it."

Asmodeus was taken aback. "You are openly accepting being condemned to complete destruction?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "As Ligur said, there is nobody to help me. It's not like there will be some miraculous, divine interception to help me. I'm a demon."

Ligur and Asmodeus shared a glance. The Prince of Lust nodded his head, and Ligur removed the lid of the vial, adding a spray bottle cap into it, then prepared to aim, and-

"Get your hands off of him!" A searing burst of light shone through the bookshop, causing Ligur to drop the vial.

It shattered onto the floor, burning Crowley's feet- but, from the sounds of his screams, Asmodeus had it worse.

Serves him right.

The light dispersed, revealing Uriel stood in the doorway, looking sternly over the scene of the three Natives crumpled onto the floor, and Crowley stood, shaking, in between them.

"Are you alright?" A genuine look of concern laced their face- the first true emotion Crowley had seen them wear so far.

"Fine." He responded, slowly walking towards them. "We need to get out of here before they get on their feet." Crowley whispered as he passed through the doorway.

"We still have-"

"Four hours. I know."

Uriel still seemed concerned as they followed the serpent through to the main part of the shop.

Hastily, Crowley scrambled around the bookshop, searching the front desk, eventually finding what he was looking for.

A key. He locked the door to the back room.

"Uriel, I need you to cast a protection mirscle against all beings, onto this door."

"But Heaven-"

"Stuff whatever Heaven will think! At the moment, there are three very dangerous immortal beings who could chase us at any given moment. This will buy us time." Uriel still looked sceptical. "Please." He pleaded.

Something within Uriel flipped like a switch, an expression of grief passing through their face before they regained their composure, setting the protection miracle on the door.

"Thank you." Crowley whispered before swiftly making his way out the door. He turned to his right- Uriel following swiftly behind- to see Gabriel, still happily sipping away at a hot chocolate, now with Muriel sat in the seat opposite him, looking at their Cupperty.

Crowley all but sprinted over.

"Guys!" Gabriel exclaimed joyously, "You have to try this hot chocolate, you know, it's-"

"Yeah, yeah, no time. Hurry up. Come with me."

"But-"

"Now." Uriel stated, and the two angels stood, and walked over as fast as they could.

Crowley didn't wait for them to catch up before he was off again.

"Crowley!" Uriel called out.

He ignored them.

"Crowley!"

He carried on walking.

"Crowley!"

He turned, annoyed.

"What?"

"Where are we going?"

"A safer place where we can stay for a few hours until we can go to Heaven."

Uriel paused before speaking, and the other two angels finally caught up.

"I don't think it's in your best interest now to go to Heaven. We can try again another day, let's just head back to Soho."

"No!" He was fighting back tears now. Who did Uriel think they were? He wasn't just going to go back to Soho because he had a run in with the Natives.

Uriel stepped down from the argument, nodding their head. "Okay. Lead the way."

Gabriel and Muriel did not question, but Crowley could still hear their chatter as he walked slightly ahead, with Uriel sometimes falling into step beside him before he walked further forward again in retaliation.

After about thirty five minutes of walking, and twenty eight minutes of angelic complaining, the four reached a block of apartments.

The serpent didn't hesitate to ring the buzzer at the front of the building.

Within seconds, a teenage boy appeared at the door, peering through the window that was built into the door, eventually opening it when he saw who it was.

"Mr Crowley!" He exclaimed. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"Logan," He acknowledged with a nod of his head. "Is your mother in?"

Logan smiled, "She's just upstairs, cleaning out one of the apartments. Renters only left this morning." He looked behind Crowley to see the three angels stood somewhat awkwardly on the driveway.

"Do you want to step in for a bit while I go and get Mother?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

Logan gestured for everyone to enter the block of flats, shepherding them into a room to the left before racing upstairs to find his mother.

The four sat themselves down onto a couch in the room. Crowley didn't take too long to look around his surroundings- he had been in that same room hundreds of times since the family had first bought the flats. The fireplace had been restored a few decades prior, and the furniture had changed many times- but the primary feel of the room remained the same.

So much history in such little space.

Time seemed to be moving at double the speed for Crowley, as a middle aged woman, with the same fair hair as the teenage boy, clambered down the stairs within minutes.

"Well, if my eyes don't deceive me, it's Anthony Crowley! It has been so long!" She took one glance around the room, surveying the beings there, noting the lack of Aziraphale. "How's Aziraphale?" She couldn't help but ask.

Crowley winced. "Away on a business trip, I'm afraid, Beatrice."

"Ah, a shame, I do hope you will both drop by when he returns."

Beatrice Elspeth Loughty, adoptive great-grandaughter of Elspeth, the poor girl who Crowley and Aziraphale had helped back in 1827.

Upon the death of Beatrice's great-grandmother, the angel and demon had visited the family over the course of three generations. With the money that Aziraphale had given her, Elspeth had bought a farm, and had saved her money for her adopted daughter, Mary, who, in turn, had bought the very building that Crowley now sat in so that she, her husband, and her daughter Elspeth Morag Loughty, would have a place to live.

Now, the Loughty family rented out a handful of apartments, primarily to tourists, and Aziraphale and Crowley had made a point to travel to Scotland every now and again to visit them.

The family knew of angels and demons- it had been Mary who had seen straight through their usual plan to take on the identity of a son or a grandson. They hesitantly told the truth to the family, making them vow to never share their knowledge with anyone else.

It was much more difficult than simply never visiting them again, but, in truth, the pair were rather fond of the Loughty family.

"Will you and your friends be staying long?" Beatrice asked. "I can sort out some rooms for you, if you need."

"Just for a few hours, if you don't mind." Crowley confirmed. "We'll be off by about half past five. Just needed somewhere to stay for a bit, 's all.'

Beatrice smiled softly, "Well, I'll be upstairs if you need me. Drinks and food are in the kitchen as always." With that, she left, making her way back up the stairs.

"Well, she was nice-" Crowley didn't hear the end of Gabriel's sentence before he placed his head in his hands. He spaced out: the only words he could hear were the repeating memories and phrases in his mind.

The feel of Holy Water burning his feet as the vial smashed onto the floor turned to the burning sensation he felt as rain poured, heavy, from the Heavens before he collapsed.

The cold, heavy grasp of Asmodeus' hand on his shoulder turned into the choking feeling he had felt on that day, the panic rising in his chest as he tried his hardest to get away.

And now he couldn't get away from the memories, crashing over him as if a dam had broke.

How he was already imprisoned in that room from his punishments for saving Elspeth from Hell.

How Asmodeus' words and fingertips had carved scars into his body, burning him with a feeling that he could never quite get rid of, no matter how many times he had tried to wash it off over the course of a century- no, two centuries.

How no part of him had felt like truly his for so long after.

How he thought the feeling of helplessness and fear would disperse the second he stepped back to Earth.

It did not.

How he had flinched every time someone moved towards him. He had kept himself away from people, staying confined to his home at the time for years before returning to society.

Even still, he had flinched around Aziraphale at every one of their meetings afterwards.

How he knew he needed insurance. Holy Water: maybe he could fight the other demon off next time. He couldn't let it happen again...

Then somebody had destroyed him before he had even gotten the chance to in the seventies.

His fear had somewhat subsided after that, and he did not spare another thought to Asmodeus.

Until now.

Now, with the knowledge that he was back, Crowley was drowning in the river of memories that flowed through his mind.

If Asmodeus was back, he was in danger.

If Asmodeus was back, then it could happen again.

If Asmodeus was back-

"Crowley." A voice cut through the threatening darkness, pulling him out of his spiralling thoughts. He became suddenly aware of a hand on his shoulder, sharp and heavy against his arm, and panic encased him.

"Get off of me!" He screamed, light blinding him as he recognised the blurred shapes of the three angels backing away from him.

"Everybody, out." A new voice said from somewhere in the room- though Crowley couldn't quite place it. Through his blurry vision, he could see the angels leaving the room.

"Crowley, can you hear me okay?" The voice asked in what the serpent assumed was an attempt to be soothing.

Weakly, he nodded.

"I don't really know how this works, so just bear with me. Can you list me... Five things you can see?"

Crowley tried to focus, "You. Couch. Ngk- lights. Fireplace. Window."

"Good. Four you can hear?"

"Your voice. My voice. Rain. Hoovering."

"Amazing. Three you can smell?"

He was starting to calm now, and could see that the figure next to him was Beelzebub. How had they gotten here so fast? Why were they in Edinburgh? They were supposed to be in Soho with Eric-

"Fireplace. Tea. The air freshener."

"Okay. Do you think you need to keep listing?"

Crowley sat up straight onto the couch, abandoning his previous sitting position of being curled up into a ball.

"I'll be fine, thank you." He didn't question why they were there.

Beelzebub shifted awkwardly before sitting down next to him.

"Look, Crowley, I'm not going to ask you about what happened-"

"Good. You don't need to know."

The Lord of the Flies sighed. "But, I don't think it's a good idea that you go up to Heaven later."

Crowley shook his head. "I'm going."

"Crowley." Beelzebub warned.

"No." He stood up, legs slightly weak and his hands still trembling. He took a moment to regain his composure. "The plan is still going ahead. Everything that just happened- that is behind us, now."

Beelzebub seemed hesitant to accept this, but they knew from experience that there was no way to convince him otherwise.

And maybe seeing Aziraphale would help him out. The angel did have a rather good impact on Crowley. In both ways.

Crowley looked at the clock that was ticking away on the wall. Five o'clock.

"In fact," He began, "Bring the others into here. We're going to do the hiding Gabriel from Heaven miracle-thingy, and then we'll set off, and you can go back to Soho, and then we'll initiate the plan."

He said it with such confidence that Beelzebub almost believed that he would be fine, and they turned towards the other room to get the others.

Nobody noticed the tremble that shook Crowley's hand as he performed the miracle to hide Gabriel.

Nor did anybody notice how he could no longer force himself to breathe, as he had done to blend in with humans for six thousand years.

He believed that if he could fool the others into thinking that everything was fine, then he could fool himself into thinking the same, too.

But as he stood, facing the Statue of Gabriel in the dull, chilled graveyard, he couldn't help but wonder if he should have waited another day to recover from the events of that afternoon.

And then, he entered the hidden room below the Statue of Gabriel.

"Now," he thought, trying to bury his troubles deep inside of his mind, as he has always done, "Is time to bring Aziraphale back to Earth."

Chapter Text

There were many words that Gabriel could use to describe Heaven.

The Good Place. Head Office. A wasteland of sterile white corridors and open space that seemed to mock him. The Up.

One thing that he could not describe it as, however, was home.

Since his exile from Heaven, Gabriel had not returned once. Not that he had any particular reason to over the space of two years, but... Well, he would have thought that he would wish to return back to the place that he had been so familiar with for the past eternity.

The four beings had decided that they would split into twos in order to shorten the time spent and suspicions raised in Heaven. Crowley and Muriel were the first pair to travel down the stairs that led to the Up, as a sort of precaution to have as much time trying to talk to Aziraphale as possible. Gabriel and Uriel followed behind, eventually turning off to the side to head over to Heaven's collection of files and documents.

Despite forming and building a plan over the course of two years for this very moment, Gabriel was, by all means, lost as to what to do. Would he search the records for Heaven's plots for the supposed Second Coming? Would he listen in on a conversation between the Metatron and some of his assistants? If only he could get his hands on the Book of L-

"Your Beatitude," A voice tore a hole in Gabriel's whirlwind of thoughts. He brought himself back to reality, where he and Uriel had stopped outside of a gated area of Heaven, guarded by an angel, wearing a sheathed sword on their side. Gabriel could practically feel the celestial qualities radiating from the blade. "What brings you here at this moment?"

"Just some quick reading and checking of files. Now, if you'll excuse me, we will be going through there, please." Uriel made a start towards the gate, but the angel drew their sword.

"I'm sorry, Your Beatitude, but the other angel will need permission in order to access this area. It's part of the new security protocol."

Uriel was stunned, and Gabriel gave an awkward smile.

"Well then, I give him permission to access the Libraries of Heaven."

The angel shook their head, "Unfortunately, Your Grace, your permission is not grantable-"

"What is your rank?" Uriel questioned immediately, and Gabriel noted the sternness growing in their voice with each letter.

"A minor Principality, Your Grace-"

"And what would Heaven think if a minor Principality is directly going against the word of the Archangel of Wisdom Uriel in their own Heavenly Libraries? And, by extension, questioning the will of the Almighty?"

The angel's face grew paler than the blinding whites of Heaven.

"My apologies, Your Beatitude. I hereby grant permission for both the Archangel Uriel and- who is this?" They turned to Gabriel.

He shifted the weight between his feet awkwardly. There had been a time where anybody would recognise the presence of the Supreme Archangel Gabriel by the slightest change of atmosphere in the room.

And now that time was long gone. He wasn't Supreme Archangel anymore. Inside, he was, of course, still Gabriel. But right now, he was someone else entirely.

"I'm... Jimbriel. 38th Order." He replied, hoping that his voice didn't shake with the lie that bled from his mouth.

Uriel shot him a questioning look, and he tried to make his eyes somewhat say 'First name I could think of'.

"Of course. I hereby grant permission for both the Archangel Uriel, and the angel Jimbriel of the 38th Order, to enter Heaven's Collection of Recorded Knowledge."

Well, despite the silliness of the name, it did work. With cautious haste, Uriel and Gabriel made their way through the guilded gates.

Although the vast plains of Heaven were easily recognisable from the open, unnervingly bright spaces that stretched as far as the eye could see, small islands of the most elaborate, intricate, beautiful architecture scattered themselves along the ocean of whites and lights. The Libraries of Heaven were an example of such 'islands'.

The first buildings of the library were designed by William of Sens, roughly in the early 15th Century. Before this, records were not stored in a neatly organised system inside of a neatly organised (set of) buildings. Naturally, Uriel, as Archangel of Wisdom, had taken it upon themselves to request the construction of these buildings- Gabriel knew that they always had a strange soft spot for human architecture, although it was slightly odd to him- and they had spent nearly two and a half centuries collecting and organising the records of Heaven.

Gabriel had wanted to redesign the libraries- along with many other buildings inside of Heaven- in order to fit a more modern style architecture, especially since the take off of minimalism on Earth, which he had believed to be rather fitting for the styles of Heaven. However, it turns out that there are few options for modern architects who actually made it to Heaven. A grand total of none, to be precise.

He made a mental note to tell Uriel to ask Hell for some modern architects to redesign some Heavenly buildings. It's not like anybody would notice, anyway...

The Archangel led Gabriel through a labyrinth of detailed, towering walls and entranceways, navigating with a sense of familiarity that he himself seemed to lack. The Libraries were quiet, even by human library standards (he had found out about human library laws after loudly vocalising his opinions on the Greek myth of Pandora).

It was too quiet. Concerningly so.

"With the new limited access to the libraries, they're only allowing Thrones and above immediate access." Uriel explained, somehow knowing Gabriel's thoughts without even sparing a glance at him. "Of course, there are some exceptions. You, for one... At least, as far as they're aware. Most Scriveners have to send their documents to myself or the few Seraphim left in order to get them shelved."

"Well, that makes sense, but what I don't get is why there's all this security now? I thought we have a right to roam all Nine Spheres?"

Uriel looked at him pointedly. "Your little stunt with your Lord of the Flies set off alarm bells in the Metatron's mind. He's been focused on ensuring all Heavenly conections with Hell are reduced to almost zero." They paused, gathering their thoughts that had began to lead their mind astray. "Obviously, I couldn't let him change my records. That's thousands of years of knowledge that would have disappeared... So I promised to implement some restrictions on who could enter the Libraries."

Gabriel felt a pang of guilt at the hardships that the other angels were being forced to endure as a result of his actions. Yet, at the same time, he wouldn't trade his promised life with Beelzebub for anything else.

Maybe that made him greedy, and selfish, and sinful; no better than any of the demons that roamed Hell.

But it was the truth.

He carried on following Uriel through the tunnels of gothic-style (yet still sterile as the rest of Heaven) Library buildings, before they eventually stopped in front of the smallest one.

The building was round, with a porch-like extension of pillars connecting to the entrance of the Library. Despit it's grandiose exterior, it was, by far, the smallest amongst the others. Gabriel could vaguely recall a library in the city of Manchester that he and Beelzebub had visited while searching for Crowley.

"It's this one." Uriel stated, simply, before pointing to the sign, engraved with a neat, cursive font of text that was written in Enochian.

"Iadnah marb a drilpa angelard." Gabriel read from the golden markings. 'Information about the Great Idea', the name clear enough to state the building's purpose.

Uriel had only ascended one of the steps towards the large, heavy doors before Gabriel spoke again.

"Not to sound ignorant, but what exactly... Is the plan?"

The Archangel rolled their eyes, but an element of patience (that could only have been practiced through the centuries) lingered around them.

"We search for as many records about the Second Coming or the New Armageddon that we can find, and we use all means and methods to destroy them."

"Okay, and how exactly do we search for the records?" Uriel swung the doors open and sauntered with purpose towards the right, where a celestial machine- beyond human comprehension- stood.

"You just... Search up key words. It's simple." There were no angels scattered through the Library, yet Uriel still spoke in a hushed tone.

They started typing Enochian words into the machine so fast that Gabriel struggled to comprehend them- of course, three years ago, the former Supreme Archangel would have read them with ease, but after spending two years on Earth? Well, it was safe to say that he was a bit out of practice.

Uriel seemed to know the routes through the Library like the back of their hand; they passed Gabriel a vial of celestial ink, golden and shimmering and quillless, before disappearing into the maze of records.

When Gabriel could no longer locate Uriel, he turned his attention to the machine. The machine was predominantly transparent, with the searches littering the screen; it vaguely reminded him of the device that he had often seen Michael carrying around- a mobile phone, as humans knew it.

After acknowledging that Uriel was probably already searching most of the documents that had been listed on the screen, Gabriel decided that he might have more luck manually finding the records. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see several already open records; surely those would be the ones that were more likely to contain information about the Second Coming? It was the ongoing 'big' plan, after all.

Slowly, he made his way over to the closest open record near him. Confused, he flicked through the pages: he had seen books before, in Aziraphale's bookshop, and books had words. He has organised them by the letters, after all.

So why didn't these records have any words? Surely they must, to even be records in the first place?

Gabriel almost jumped out of his skin when a familiar voice echoed from around him. He spun around, scanning the library to try and see where his favourite sibling was, only to find large projections of Michael, Uriel, Saraquel, Aziraphale, and the Metatron, witheach shimmering image stretching from floor to ceiling inside of the building.

He could instantly recognise that it was a meeting. They had first adopted the concept of 'digital' meetings in 2020, after the COVID 19 pandemic proved to both the world and the Heavens that Zoom calls were much easier to carry out than in-person meetings.

"-and Earth will be destroyed, balancing the admissions to Heaven post-Armageddon, and allowing us to begin our Eternities in peace and harmony." Michael finished, and their PowerPoint-style slides disappeared from the screen in the centre of the pillars of Archangelic faces.

"An excellent presentation as always, Michael." Gabriel couldn't help but notice the joy in Michael's eyes at the compliment. They always strived for the approval of the Metatron. "Now, I do believe that our Supreme Archangel will hold some questions on the matter. It is his first introduction to the plan, after all."

Aziraphale seemed much more paler than he had been two years earlier- it was almost an ill, sickly shade, and bags formed under his eyes. Where his chin was once clean-shaven, a beard had grown, similar to the likes of the one that the Metatron bore. Gabriel could see his past self in how Aziraphale was in the record, between the tailored, unnaturally white suits and the figurehead power that radiated from him.

Somehow, Gabriel knew that this record was from a much more recent time than two years before.

"Right, yes, I... I do have questions... I suppose the one I should start with is... Why does the Earth have to end? Surely it is more beneficial to keep people alive- it grants them more time to be virtuous, of course!" His voice was small, and laced with nerves.

"The death of the Second Coming will mark the forgiveness to all of humanity before they enter Heaven at the start of Armageddon. Henceforth, all will be virtuous, as the New Christ will have forgiven all." Michael was quick to respond.

"Well, yes, but, I rather thought that we could save the humans and, well, avoid the whole war part. It seems quite the unnecessary struggle... I don't suppose there's a suggestion box for things like this?"

The New Supreme Archangel chuckled nervously. Uriel looked to the side, fighting a look of grief from their usual stern, unchanging expression, and Gabriel found himself unable to meet any of the apparations' eyes either.

"Do you have something that you wish to share, Archangel Aziraphale?" The Metatron questioned.

"Oh, yes, I-" Aziraphale paused, flinching at the gaze that the Voice of God cast upon him, his excitement at being asked for his thoughts disintegrating into the frown that scarred his face. "Sorry, no, there's nothing I wish to say. Nothing at all."

The spectre of the record slowly began to fade out into the white walls of the library, alongside the Metatron's concluding words that marked the end of the meeting.

Well, there was nothing to cross out there. It was strange how the record had only started after the plan was recounted. Perhaps Uriel had already changed the files before he began to search through it?

Gabriel meandered through the shelves of records until he stumbled across a second open record. Much like the previous one, the document was blank. He reached his hand out, slowly running his fingers over the empty pages: the record was warm, as if it had just been created, fresh from the printing press. An image projected itself around him.

Another Archangel meeting, this time, without the presence of Uriel, and with Aziraphale presenting alongside the PowerPoint-like screen.

The Supreme Archangel appeared much better than he had before- his beard still grew, but now at a clearly more controlled rate, and his face no longer bore the lines of worry and grief. Yet an element of caution and slight concern still surrounded him, suffocating his personality and thoughts.

"Hang on, just, give me a moment... I swear I have my notes somewhere... Aha!" Through the screen of his pillar, Aziraphale adjusted his posture to be as perfect as possible with the nerves of presenting his ideas. He did not spare a glance to the others, instead focusing his glowing, lilac eyes onto what Gabriel assumed to be his notes.

"Yes, so!" Aziraphale continued, "I... I have been tasked with searching for the couple who will raise the Second Coming through it's early life. And I believe that I have found the perfect pair." He fumbled to change the slide of the PowerPoint, accidentally switching to the wrong slide several times and apologising profusely.

"Well, get on with it." Michael mumbled, barely audible, but Gabriel had learned to listen for even the quietest comments from them over the course of 6000 years.

"Sorry. I propose that... Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer, of Lower Tadfield, shall be the human parents of the Almighty's second mortal child."

Silence.

"Is that it?" Michael asked, bewildered by the lack of context.

"My explanation for choosing these two truly wonderful humans, is that... Mrs Device is the descendent of Agnes Nutter, who correctly predicted the sequence of events that led to Armageddon. I travelled through Heaven to find her soul, and we discussed quite a few of her other prophecies. In fact, she predicted that the conversation would, in fact, occur, and, during her time on Earth, wrote another book of prophecies, of which she made two copies, that will be helpful in the raising of the New Christ. Not only that, but the couple are... Lovely people. I believe that they are, truly, the right people for this task."

"You seem like you know them well." Saraquel commented.

"We have... Met upon a few occasions."

"And how would you benefit from this arrangement?" Michael shot back, her expression clearly stating her suspicions of his plans.

"Well, that leads me on to my next proposal. I help to raise the Second Coming."

The meeting erupted into barely comprehensible chaos.

"-what makes you so qualified?"

"-raised the Antichrist!"

"-cannot go to Earth!"

"-impossible!"

"SILENCE!" A voice boomed, the Archangels falling so quiet that they could hear a pin drop. Even Gabriel found a shiver of fear running down his spine as he looked up towards the Metatron.

"The Supreme Archangel," he continued, now with the attention of all of Heaven's Leaders, "Has the final say in these matters. However, Aziraphale, I cannot grant you permission to look after the Second Coming, as we need you here to run Hea-"

"Apologies, Your Grace, but I have, in fact, thought this solution through. In case of my absence, I appoint the Archangel Michael as acting Supreme Archangel. They are most capable of us for the job, after all."

Damn. Two birds with one stone. Pleasing Michael while standing up to the Metatron with a solution that he could not refuse? Genius. Gabriel wished that he would have figured something like that out sooner.

"Very well, then." The Metatron begrudgingly agreed. Michael was smirking now, obviously trying to hide their smugness. "The Second Coming of Christ will be delivered to Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer, on Friday the third of April, one thousand, nine hundred and ninety three years after the death of Jesus Christ. Be prepared."

The image faded back into the record.

They were too late. They were always too late! If only Crowley didn't-

No. This wasn't the time to be pointing fingers. He needed to tell Uriel about the date of the Second Coming... Or did they already know? Surely not, they would have told him... Right?

He hurried away from the record, navigating his way through the labyrinth of shelves, only to get lost in the section of Records of Significant Angelic Beings.

And that's when he saw it.

Yet another record, open on top of a blindingly white desk. Other documents were also opened onto blank pages, but this one was different.

This one had writing.

Obviously, Gabriel was intrigued. Why wouldn't he be: it was the only record in the entire Library that held writing in an intricate, practiced font of golden ink.

He flipped to the very first page. Unlike the other segments of the record, it was empty, apart from one phrase, scrawled neatly in the centre.

'Records of Raphael: Archangel, Starmaker, Angel of Healing.'

The record was open, surely that meant...

Raphael was still alive.

In hindsight, Gabriel knew that it was silly to assume that his brother was not alive. He didn't die: he fell. But the radio silence had always made him think that maybe, just maybe, Raphael was not alive...

But, here the record was. The evidence. The truth.

With just a mere turn of a page, Gabriel could find out where his brother is. What happened to him. Who he is now.

"I can't read it. He wouldn't want me to." Gabriel whispered to himself, slowly and reluctantly making his way back through the shelves.

He turned a corner. There the record was again.

"I can't read it."

He walked away. There the record was again. Mocking him with an enticing glow.

"I can't!" His voice was raising now to a shout as he grew more frantic, trying and trying to get away from the record, and-

There it was again.

One step.

Another.

His curiosities got the best of him.

He turned the page.

Then the next.

And the next.

And the next.

Gabriel smiled with the notes about the creation of his brother's stars. The mischief that Raphael and Uriel caused before the beginning.

His smile fell to a frown as he read of Raphael's battle against the angel Asmodel- the truth of his reluctancy to fight and the pain that it caused him, rather than the story that Michael had carefully concocted about Raphael's bravery against a rebel.

The build up to the fall. How he had hid amongst his stars, refusing to fight. How he had been kept away from the other angels and rebels at first due to the shame that his siblings felt about an Archangel rebelling. How he had been chained at mocked by other angels as his siblings stood and watched.

How it wasn't Lucifer who was first to fall: it was the Archangel Raphael, never to be seen or acknowledged again.

Until now.

Gabriel took in a breath, then turned the page.

The breath was stolen from him as his body turned to a statue.

No. No, no, no. It could not be.

There was no time in Heaven, yet Gabriel felt as if an eternity had passed.

How could he take in this news after 6000 years of deceit? His thoughts pained him, and a hurricane of emotions brewed and destroyed his heart.

He felt sick and faint. He could feel too much. It was too bright, and the silence was deafening. His head was spinning.

He shouldn't have looked through the record.

"Gabriel?" Uriel's voice questioned, and he couldn't quite make out where it came from. It felt distant and distorted; detached from the rest of the Archangel in front of him.

No. No, no, no. It could not be. He wasn't...

"Gabriel, are you alright." He barely noticed the concern lacing his sibling's usual mundane, indifferent tone.

He tore his eyes away from the record to meet their's.

Lips trembling, he struggled to admit what he had just discovered, and his voice was small and shaky when he confessed.

"Crowley is Raphael."

Chapter Text

Admittedly, Mr Anthony J Crowley was renound for his nature of 'going too fast for people'.

Aziraphale had said so, back in the sixties, in the Bentley. Countless police officers had said so throughout the years (though it was nothing a quick miracle couldn't fix. Besides, he was a demon, after all).

But this? The time passing by was too fast, even by his own standards. And he drove through Central London at over ninety miles per hour, sometimes crawling his way up to over one hundred and twenty.

They say that time flies when you're having fun. But to Crowley, time was flying because he felt as though his nerves were choking him.

One moment, he had been underneath the Statue of Gabriel in Edinburgh, sauntering vaguely downwards in a staircase that led to Heaven. He found it rather odd, really. The Main Entrance was an escalator leading upwards to Heaven, but it was clear that this stairway to Heaven was one way only.

And, ironically, the only way up was down.

Yeah, even the three angels who he was with couldn't understand it, either.

"We'll need to split up." Muriel had said before their descent. "I'll go with Mr Crowley to go to Aziraphale. The Metatron trusts me to talk to him, considering I, well, run his bookshop currently. And then Gabriel and Uriel will go together so that they can read through the records while we do that."

It was a good plan. More things in less time, with less chances of being caught. Nobody seemed to oppose the idea, so Uriel and Gabriel set off down the stairway first, with Crowley and Muriel following slightly behind.

The stairs were steep, and seemed to stretch on for an eternity. No wonder it wasn't a guarded entrance, nobody would ever be able to get up and down them in the first place!

Eventually, the duo approached a point where the stairs seemed to fall into a gradual incline. Crowley groaned audibly as he clicked his fingers, changing into a similar attire to that which he had worn two years before, when he had last entered Heaven.

"Don't tell me we have to go all the way up again?" He asked, wondering if the journey to Heaven was really worth it (which his brain quickly shot down, because, in truth, he would walk, barefoot, over the firey pits and the lava lakes of Hell if it meant that he could even set his eyes upon his angel for even a moment).

"Oh! It's an illusion!" Muriel said confidently, though seemingly as if they had only just understood. "...At least, I think it is. I haven't been this way before. But, it's similar to what I've read in-"

"Aziraphale's magic books? Yeah, I wouldn't read into them too much." Angel's stupid magic books, of course Muriel would find an interest in them, especially when Aziraphale had only gone and done the most mysterious and thrilling magic trick of all.

The disappearing act.

He channeled his frustrated thoughts into continuing the ascent (descent?) to Heaven, only to be met with a blinding, omnipresent brightness.

They had arrived.

Emerging into a vast, endless plane of sterile light, Crowley surveyed his surroundings.

"So, do you actually know where you're going, or...?"

Muriel chuckled nervously, looking around the area of Heaven that they had arrived in. "Not really, no... But I might be able to find my way around! Maybe..."

Damn. Not even a moment since they entered Heaven, and they were already lost.

Slowly, Crowley pointed a finger upwards, tracing patterns into the open space above, squinting his eyes to see, despite the abundance of light.

"We're in the right sphere, at least. Empyrean." He commented, bringing his hand back to his side. "Well, 'suppose we'll just have to walk around for a bit. Y'know, try and find him based on luck."

Muriel nodded their head, and Crowley took this as a sign to carry on walking. Their silence left him alone with his thoughts once again.

He was mere steps away from seeing his angel for the first time in two years.

What would he even say? Or do, for that matter?

He could imagine that the nerves that had taken his throat hostage would prohibit him of his ability to talk. The panic would set in; his breaths would become unsteady, and his voice would shake.

He would tell his angel that he was in danger, and that the only place where he would be safe is on Earth.

He would ask him to run away again- to Earth, to Alpha Centauri, or even any other celestial object in the sky for all he cared.

Anywhere but Heaven and Hell.

He'd shout, scream, beg- Hell, he'd even pray- that Aziraphale would listen.

But would he?

Aziraphale had told Crowley to trust him many times in the past, but did Aziraphale trust Crowley at all? After all of the times Crowley lied to his angel's face? And even if he did, would he trust Crowley enough to take his word, and return with him to Earth?

Crowley had always been, underneath it all, an optimist. But perhaps the bright whites of Heaven outshone the spark of hope that burned like a candle inside of him.

"That's... The place where the 37th Class meet! I know where we are!" Muriel exclaimed, pointing frantically to a strip of open space that looked practically identical to every other area of Heaven around them.

The serpent turned to them, confused. "How can you even tell? It looks the same as everywhere else."

The angel frowned, "Well, it's just a feeling, really. It's-"

"Well-loved." He recognised, despite his general inclination to only be able to understand negative feelings of an area as a fallen angel.

"Yes!" Muriel beamed. "Oh, and the meeting area only looks the same because we don't have any offices or designated areas in the 37th Class. That's only for the 35th Class and above."

Crowley wondered how Muriel continuously stayed dedicated to the- quite frankly awful- conditions that they were placed under in Heaven.

Though he supposed it was that mentality that made him fall in the first place.

"Well then, lead the way, Inspector Constable."

The angel raised their eyebrow in an expression of confusion, "You do know that I'm not actually an Inspector Constable... right?"

The serpent just smiled softly, and followed Muriel when they set off in the direction towards the 'meeting area'.

The pair had only just reached the open stretch of Heavenly land when Crowley felt the overwhelming presence of negativity, flooding in waves of stormy waters through the open air.

And it was coming towards them.

Frantically, Crowley physically distanced himself from Muriel, and, when they shot him a perplexed glance, he whispered, "Stay put. Don't engage with me. Just trust me."

They nodded and turned away, only to be faced with the Metatron, dull eyes shimmering with power, and greyed hair as neatly cut as ever.

"Ah, Muriel, just the angel I was looking for!" The Voice of God boomed, and the angel seemed to shrink in his presence. Crowley attempted to make himself look busy to avoid any suspicions.

Thankfully, the Metatron took no notice to him, his focus entirely on Muriel instead.

"Your... Your Grace... Your Beatitude... To what do you- I, I mean I! ...Owe this pleasure?"

"Well, I just popped over for a quick chat about the-" The Metatron glanced around, and Crowley held his breath as he tried to not appear out of place. "How about we walk and talk, Muriel?"

"I- I..." The young angel's eyes quickly flickered towards Crowley, before focusing back on the Metatron a half second later. "Of course, Your Beatitude."

"Splendid! So, my plan is to move you from..." The voices swiftly died away alongside the footsteps.

Damn. This was going to be difficult. How was he meant to get to Aziraphale now that his sole guide had been taken away from him?

Those cheesy human romance films would say that true love would allow you to find your own way back to your soulmate.

But cheesy human romance films had clearly never been set in Empyrean Heaven, with many ways to turn, and a lack of signs pointing the way to the places you need to get to.

It certainly wouldn't stop him from trying, though.

And, after what felt like an eternity of traversing Heaven, and a river of determination coursing through his veins, he finally stumbled across...

Another open plain of brightness.

But this area in particular... It felt different.

It was colder. Uncompassionate. Marked by the disgraces of centuries of importance and aimless, blind followings of outdated ideas.

He had seen it before- no, he had been here before.

Yes, Crowley remembered it now. Flashes of fragmented memories, long buried under the sands and sediment of millenia.

Meetings between his former self and the other Archangels, with frantic angels passing by, tending to all Celestial matters.

An announcement- though he couldn't quite remember what it entailed, only that the pain he felt after was unmatched to any pain that had been felt before life on Earth began.

Laughing at someone's jokes- who was it? He could not recall.

The overwhelming presence of the Almighty's love; a candle that had been extinguished from within him over six thousand years prior.

Imprisoned. Helpless. Chained.

Falling. Falling. Falling.

"The Demon Crowley, Serpent of Eden." A voice proclaimed from behind him, and Crowley almost jumped out of his own skin. Damn it, he knew he shouldn't have used the same disguise as last time. "What right have you to walk on these Heavenly lands with your Demonic presence?"

"Archangel Michael." He replied, sarcasm lacing his voice as he spun to face them, though the angel didn't seem to pick up on the tone of his comment. "I think you and I both know why I'm here."

Michael folded their arms across their chest, looking Crowley up and down with the same judgemental glare that they had always bore. Against the sterile white background of Heaven, their suit was a light grey.

"You're not allowed to see him." They stated simply, as if it was obvious. He supposed their resistance was to have been expected.

Not that he'd have expected to run into them in the first place.

"See, that is what you don't understand. I'm a demon, I don't follow the rules. Now if I could just squeeze past-"

Michael held up their arms to form a physical barrier.

"You're not allowed to see him." They repeated, and Crowley found himself taking a step back.

Great. How was he meant to get past Michael's stubbornness and want to follow the rules?

It would have been much simpler if he had been with Uriel. Or, at least he assumed.

The serpent surveyed his surroundings; there were no other angels in the area, he supposed that he could resort pushing the Archangel over and running for it, if it came to it. Though he did have a strong distaste for violence. He always had.

But what were his other options? Turn back around and leave Heaven, or try to find the others? Unlikely to work. Plus Michael probably already had a number of angelic guards on their way over to imprison him as the moments ticked by.

Crowley traced his fingers along his wrist, the scars of celestial material had faded over the course of 6000 years. But he certainly didn't want to experience the pain that was permanently scarred into his memory again.

And then, in a sudden, strange moment of realisation- as if some ethereal source had whispered the answer into his ears- he had his answer.

Crowley had frequently visited Greece and Rome before the Birth of Christ- in fact, he would even say that he spent more time there than in many other places at the time. He saw it as a break from the reality that was being a demon: the belief systems intrigued him endlessly, and he knew that there was some truth to them, in the sense that many of the Gods were inspired by rogue demons, who either had a lot of time on their hands, or didn't care enough about Satan's orders to follow them.

One particular myth that had always stuck out to him was the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. How Orpheus, stricken by grief, had moved entire worlds and Gods, just to crawl his way through the Underworld to beg for the release of his dear wife, using his skills in music to charm Hades and Persephone to form a deal.

Heaven was no Underworld, Michael was no Hades, and Crowley certainly was not about to begin playing his violin to charm the Archangel (not that he believed it would work on them, anyway). But he supposed that the story could apply to this in a sense, too.

"If you let me see him," Crowley began, choosing his words carefully, "Then I'll put in a good word for you to him. I'm sure a higher position would be much better for you, don't you agree?"

The Archangel paused, as if they were truly considering it. Their arm shook unevenly for a second, but only so much that the keen-eyed would notice.

Michael's high achieving nature and desperation for recognition had always been their fatal flaw.

Slowly- uncertainly- Michael shook their head.

"You're tricking me. I'd get into trouble. Archangels don't get into trouble... Except for Gabriel, and Raphael." Michael muttered the last part under their breath. Crowley frowned. "Besides, I've already been offered a higher position. Which I will be taking, thank you."

Michael pulled out some sort of translucent device and started typing- Crowley assumed it was Heaven's version of a mobile phone.

Shit. Was the Archangel calling for reinforcements to kidnap Crowley and hold him hostage? Hell certainly would not pay that ransom, but Aziraphale would free him... Right?

Aziraphale wanted Crowley in Heaven. He wouldn't let him out if given the chance.

So, that was Plan A failed. Time for Plan B.

Come on, Crowley. Think, think...

He dove at Michael, knocking the celestial phone out of their hands, which shattered like diamonds across the bright floors of Heaven, and down went the Archangel too.

"What was that for?" Michael screeched at him, scrambling to stand back up. Crowley took this opportunity to begin to back away.

"Tell me where he is." He said through gritted teeth.

"No! You're not allowed to see him! I-"

A sudden wave of emotion hit Crowley with the force of a tsunami. The very fabric of the universe changed- it would have been subtle to humans, as if they were just having a bad day, but to celestial beings? This was huge.

A look of realisation dawned on Michael's face. Then anger. Then grief. Then sadness.

"Raphael..." They whispered, meeting Crowley's eyes.

It couldn't be... Surely? How did they know? No angelic or demonic entity knew the former identities of demons. Not even Dagon, who the files of registration went through...

Crowley could feel the memories stabbing at the gates of his mind, as if the moments of the present were battling with the ideas of the past.

His memories could wait until after this was all over: the dam holding them back could survive a little longer. As could the questions.

"Tell me where he is." He commanded once again, and Michael seemed to have a genuine look of grief upon their face.

"Raphael..." They repeated, the word unspoken for centuries, and their voice unpracticed after so long.

Great. That was just so useful. He set off in the direction that his gut told him to follow: straight ahead. It probably wasn't the correct route, but trial and error would surely prove much more effective than Michael's state of bewilderment.

And, as he slowly slithered away, he heard the unusually soft voice of Michael whisper.

"I will keep the others away. Go forth, my sinful Brother. He needs you."

Chapter Text

"Crowley." Soft and angelic as ever, his name cradled gently on his tongue, spoken as it had been for entire millenia.

The Serpent turned to face him, and- oh, there were those eyes. Blue as the sky on a summer's day, a glint of sunshine sparkling within them as he stared back at Crowley.

"Angel..." He whispered back, his voice not quite carrying across the large void of space between them.

When Michael had whispered their words to Crowley, the Serpent had ran as fast as he could; whether that was running because of the lack of time, the excitement to see his angel, or to run away from the memories that were still bleeding through his mind, he was unsure.

Though none of that mattered, not at that moment, because there, only fifteen paces away, sat at a desk that didn't quite fit his height, was Aziraphale; face aged with creases, like when he had had a particularly stressful day; clothes a shade of bright white that could not quite be replicated on Earth; and, the most notable edition, was a dishevelled beard of fine, brittle, blonde hairs.

It was as if his angel was a completely different person- Crowley knew it had been two years, but... Aziraphale rarely changed his appearance. Aziraphale hated change.

Yet the angel still looked as beautiful as ever, in Crowley's eyes.

Slowly, he paced towards him.

"Crowley... Crowley, you can't be here." A look of sternness hardened Aziraphale's face.

"I know," Crowley answered, honestly. One step. Another. Five paces away. "But when have we ever followed the rules, Angel?"

Aziraphale maintained a painfully unexpressive face, but if six thousand years had taught Crowley anything, it was how he could, ironically, read Aziraphale like a book. A slight flicker of the angel's blue eyes which broke their gaze immediately told Crowley that Aziraphale felt conflicted, as if he were trying to hold something back.

But hold back what, exactly?

Another step closer.

"Crowley, it's dangerous for you here. You need to leave. Go back to Earth, where you're safe! Please!" Those blue eyes were pleading now, and the Serpent was, admittedly, struggling to say no.

But he wouldn't leave without the angel, that much, he was sure about.

"Come back with me, Angel, please. We can put all of this behind us! We can fix this! We don't even have to run away. I'm not so scared that we'll have to run anymore, I swear! Anywhere you'd like, we can go. Just be an us. We can be on our side. Together. Us. What do you say?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "Oh, Crowley, we both know that I can't." Crowley hated the devastation that laced his angel's voice. "I need to be here. In Heaven. Doing good."

"Angel, Heaven and Hell... Well, they're just the same, can't you see that? You were even just talking about how it isn't safe here! And whatever Heaven is planning is just as bad as whatever Hell will be."

The angel frowned. "Well, yes, but... That's why I am here!" Crowley raised an eyebrow. Another step closer. Aziraphale fidgeted anxiously with his hands. "The... Thing that Heaven- we- are planning... Well, I need to be here to- oh, you know... Make a difference-"

"And what is it?"

"What?"

"What's the thing that Heaven is planning?" The serpent rephrased.

Aziraphale chuckled nervously. "Ah, well, I can't really say-"

"Angel, how long have we known eachother? Six thousand years. More than that, even. After all we've been through and all we've said and done... Surely you can tell me what the Plan is?"

Those blue eyes flickered towards different points in the vast, empty expansions of Heaven, not quite meeting Crowley's eyes.

"I can't tell you."

"Angel, please, I need to know... We can fix this, together, I promise-"

Their eyes met. "Crowley, I can't say! Just trust me! Please!" Desperation.

'Trust me'. If there was one thing that Crowley always did, it was trust him. Whether it was willing or not, or against whatever he thought, he would trust Aziraphale.

He supposed it was ironic, really, and, on many different levels, wrong of him to do so. A 'demon' who would follow an angel to the ends of the world if it came to it.

But when had Crowley and Aziraphale ever played by the celestial rules of the universe?

"Alright then." Crowley caved. "I trust you."

The angel took a step back. "A- And even if I could tell you, I wouldn't!" He stuttered, his eyes frantically searching the blank area behind Crowley once again. "We're on opposite sides! I am an Archangel, and you're a demon! I don't even like you!"

They were words spoken before, and six years had felt more like six lifetimes to Crowley.

He knew that these words weren't necessarily Aziraphale's- the angel was just protecting him... Right? In truth, he wasn't all too sure anymore.

Besides, the slither of hope that this wasn't Aziraphale's true thoughts didn't make the burn of his words sting any less.

"I forgive you." Was the only thing he could think to say, the one of his voice slightly more sarcastic and mocking than initially intended.

Aziraphale recoiled, pressing a hand to his mouth, and the devastation in his eyes made Crowley regret it instantly.

He wondered if this was how the angel had felt after he said the same thing to Crowley two years prior.

"Ah, perfect, the demon is here! Just as needed!" A voice thundered from behind him. It was easily recognisable, and sent shivers down his spine.

Shit.

Crowley spun round to see the Voice of God, standing there in his full body form, as if he owned Heaven (though, Crowley supposed that, in a way, he did).

"Your Grace, I- I promise that this isn't as this seems-" Aziraphale swiftly removed his hand from his mouth, adjusting his too-white suit as he stood taller than before.

"Hush now, Supreme Archangel. Your... Fraternising with the demon will be addressed later." The Metatron turned to his side. "Michael, would you bring the Traitors in?"

Crowley hadn't realised the strange physics of Heaven before that point. The area they were in- Crowley presumed it was Aziraphale's office- had an invisible door of sorts. Instead of opening and closing a door, the beings simply just materialised into the space while walking.

In walked Michael, their usual confident stride reduced to a mere meander as they led two angels (chained and forcibly escorted by four angelic guards), with a reluctant Uriel by their side. Crowds of chattering, nervous angels were already forming around the white fields.

It didn't take much time for Crowley to figure out who the two chained beings were.

Immense guilt washed over Crowley as his eyes fell upon Muriel, their body shaking as they sobbed, and arms chained behind their back as they stood.

This was all his fault, he thought. He shouldn't have let them leave with the Metatron. Just as he shouldn't have let his angel leave with him, either. Maybe if he would have just stood up to that damned sinner of an angel, Muriel wouldn't be there, innocent eyes welling with tears as they pleaded with Crowley to help them from across the room.

He'd been here before. Before this. Before Earth. When it was just the Heavens, his nebulae, and the angels.

And he knew what was going to happen next.

It pained his heart to see the innocent angel like this, as he had been all those years ago, knowing that he could do nothing to save Muriel from this fate.

Perhaps that made him just as bad as Michael, and Gabriel, and Uriel in that fateful moment. Watching, unable to move or change their brother's fate as he plunged into the pits of Hell.

He could only hope to be there to help Muriel afterwards. That was something he didn't have when he fell, but was something that Muriel would need.

Oh, and, of course, there was Gabriel.

The thing that surprised Crowley the most was how unsurprised he was about Gabriel's reaction. Unconcerned. Not fighting against his fate. Not at all distraught.

Though, he supposed that Gabriel had been expecting this for a while now. In fact, he hadn't been all that upset about being demoted two years prior.

If anything, Crowley was panicking for Gabriel more. 'If anything happens to him, I will personally discorporate you.' Beelzebub had told him. While he would have previously taken that as a joke, Crowley didn't particularly want to see that through.

It's not like he really had much choice at that moment, though.

With a flick of the Metatron's wrist, two more guards emerged from the crowd, and, before he was able to react, were already chaining Crowley's hands behind his back.

He didn't resist. What was the worst they could do, in actuality? He couldn't fall- or, at least, he presumed he couldn't fall twice. And the Metatron would get a big surprise when he tried to destroy him using Holy Water, considering, well... Recent developments and understandings.

It didn't stop the memories from trying to flood through his mind, though. A glimpse of the stars; the feeling of the celestial metal running against his wrists; the ache in his wings; the sinking feeling flowing through his body as he sauntered vaguely downwards.

He decided to build the dam blocking the memories from his mind even higher, instead choosing to smile slightly at Aziraphale.

Obviously, he didn't know what was going to happen to him next, but if these were to be some of his last moments to see Aziraphale... He wanted to provide some comfort to his angel. Let him know that he was okay, even if Aziraphale's views of 'us' really had changed.

The angel did not seem to take this reassurance well as the emotions tried to battle the stern, unmoving expression on his face that his status was forcing him to uphold.

Crowley was dragged into the space next to Muriel. The guards weren't careful with him; if anything, they forced him to kneel before the Voice of God with more power than what they ought to have used.

So much for Heaven being 'virtuous' and the 'side of good'.

The serpent kept his eyes trained on his angel.

"These Traitors," the Metatron addressed the audience of angels more so than the three culprits before him. "Have entered the just lands of the Heavens, without permission, with ill intent to destroy all that we have worked for."

Murmurs arose amongst the angelic crowd, but they quietened the moment that the Metatron raised his hand for silence.

"In accordance to previous punishments, and the guidance of Celestial Law, I see it fit to bestow sanctions on these three Traitors of Heaven."

A pause for anticipation kept the angels on edge, and that was how Crowley knew that this was more than just punishing 'bad' behaviour; this was motivation. Everyone knew the Second Coming was closing in upon them- but the angels had already gone through one war, surely they wouldn't want to go through yet another?

So many lives had been lost in the war, and so many millenia had passed that some angels wouldn't be able to tell the difference between 'good' and 'bad' anymore. Especially after the disastrous recall of 10000 angels preparing for war, being told after centuries of waiting for that very moment, to stand down, and that the war would not continue.

This was a reminder of what could happen if you went against Heaven. This was the motivation needed to get the angels to fight.

Crowley didn't know how he didn't see this coming. The method practically had the Metatron's name stamped all over it.

The Voice of God turned to Muriel first. "Angel Muriel, Scrivener of the 37th Class," he began, "For providing entry to a Fallen Angel and a Traitor of Heaven, you will be stripped of your angelic status, and cast into Hell for your sins."

Muriel's sobs echoed loud across the empty space of Heaven. Crowley wanted nothing more than to reach towards them and tell them that it would be fine- that they would be fine- but the words that would spill from his mouth would be too big of a lie for even him to speak.

Instead, he kept his gaze focused on Aziraphale, whose eyes were now squeezed shut, hands clasped in a strange position.

He was praying.

Aziraphale, the Supreme Archangel of Heaven, was praying. To who? Well, the Almighty, presumably.

But the Almighty never answered their prayers. And surely She wouldn't start doing so now.

"Gabriel, the former Supreme Archangel and Chief of Heaven's Forces," he turned to Gabriel, "For consorting with a Prince of Hell, subverting the Great Plan and the will of the Almighty, and for entering the Heavens with ill intent, alongside several other crimes against Heaven, you, too will be stripped of your angelic status, and cast into Hell for your sins."

"And you know what?" Gabriel called out, and even Crowley turned to face him in shock as he shouted. "I'd much rather not be here anyway! I've been to Earth! It's a wonderful place! Humans are wonderful! They give you hot cocoa and have all sorts of cool machines! It's a much better place than here! And now Heaven wants to destroy it! You're all being manipulated and brainwashed controlled by the Metatron and the Archangels! Heaven is just as bad as Hell, and you all need to accept-"

The Metatron was quick to silence Gabriel. With one swish of his hand, the former Archangel had collapsed onto the floor, somehow lying even stiller than the dead. Chaos erupted across the crowds.

If there were any doubts about him falling... Well, there certainly weren't anymore.

Another sense of familiarity washed over Crowley from the situation, though he chose to suppress any memories of his past in favour of living in that moment.

The Metatron called for silence once more. "And the demon Crowley, Serpent of Eden, former Prince of Heaven, and the former Archangel Raphael." Crowley gulped at the mention of his former self as he brought his eyes back to Aziraphale, who had opened his eyes, but still held his hands in a prayer motion.

'I'll be okay.' Crowley mouthed across the space, hoping that Aziraphale understood. The angel shook his head, the reassurance not quite working well enough.

If he could have held his angel's hand through his mind in that moment, he certainly would have. Instead, he was forced to maintain a gentle smile in hopes that would calm his angel.

"For countless crimes and sins- a list of which is too large to name, but includes breaking into Heaven with ill intent twice, and tempting the Supreme Archangel Aziraphale to partake in his bidding- you, too, will be punished for your sins. However, as you have already fallen, and cannot fall again, we have decided to resort to Extreme Sanctions, in which the demon Crowley will be erased from the Book of Life, permanently."

Shit.

The room was silent.

His smile fell. He could see the words 'no' repetetively forming on Aziraphale's lips, but it was as if everything else was moving in slow motion.

'Extreme Sanctions' had been something that Crowley and Uriel had used to scare the cherubs, back in the days where discorporation could not occur, and there was no Hellfire that could be used to destroy the angels.

Never once did they have the power to do such things.

But the Metatron surely did...

"Objection."

Crowley snapped his head towards the crowd, trying to figure out who had broken the silence, only to find Uriel stepping out from their previous spot next to Michael (who was glaring at them, as if to tell them to take a step back).

"What do you mean, Archangel Uriel? Do you have something to say?" The Metatron's voice was pointed, the message of 'Do not speak one more word' clearly conveyed to them.

They ignored the message behind his words.

"The Scrivener Muriel did not harbour Gabriel and Crowley into Heaven. I did. It is just a pure coincidence that Muriel also happened to be in Heaven alongside them at this time. Therefore, your testament against them should be voided, and the charges should be dropped."

Reluctantly, the Metatron waved his hand, and the chains fell off of Muriel's hands.

"Very well then," he stated, a sense of distaste poisoning his voice, "The charges against the angel Muriel shall be dropped, and they will be free to roam Heaven henceforth."

The angelic guards were swift to drag Muriel to their feet, and pushed them roughly into the crowd, and several gasps emitted from the angels, with most taking steps away from Muriel to keep their distance as they continued to sniffle and wipe their eyes.

Uriel started to pace.

"As for the former Archangel Gabriel," they continued, "He has already served punishment for the majority of sins listed in the sentencing. This punishment was to no longer be affiliated with, or be able to enter Heaven-"

"A punishment of which he has broken!" The Metatron exclaimed, and if a vein could throb on his head, it certainly did. "The punishment does not also serve for his more recent sins, so he, therefore, can still be punished for such, and that punishment is to be cast out of Heaven!"

"See, that is where you are wrong, Your Grace. Under Article Four, Section Six of the New Celestial Law, it clearly states that 'Punishment cannot be given by Heaven to another species or party if the party of the being in question is not in agreement with the ability to punish said member.' As Gabriel is no longer affiliated with Heaven, and hasn't been for two Earth years, then he, therefore is part of a different party, with the members of said party being the former Prince and Grand Duke of Hell, Beelzebub- who, I strongly believe would be in disagreement with Heaven's ability to punish Gabriel- meaning that you are, by Celestial Law, unable to punish Gabriel any further. Need I get Saraqael to bring forth any documents?"

The Voice of God gritted his teeth. "Drop the charges against the former Supreme Archangel Gabriel." The angel was dragged to the side of the crowd, still unconscious.

"And for the fallen angel Crowley." Uriel paused, meeting the serpent's eyes, and he could see their gaze soften a tiny, almost unrecognisable amount, before they turned back to face the Metatron. "Article 7, Section 1 of the New Celestial law means that you cannot erase a being from the Book of Life without the signatures of every current Archangel in office." They stopped pacing. "And one signature that you will never get is mine. So, unless you wish to use destruction by Holy Water- and you and I both know why that won't work on him- then you will be forced to drop the charges against the fallen angel Crowley."

The Metatron sighed, clearly annoyed- no, more than annoyed, infuriated- at Uriel. "Drop the charges against the demon Crowley." He could see the breath of relief that Aziraphale released at those words. The angelic guards seemed to use extra force and hints of violence when removing Crowley's chains and bringing him to his feet. "Take the three Traitors out of my sight, and return them to Earth through the main entrance."

The angelic guards saluted, immediately grasping onto Crowley as they ensured that he couldn't escape from them. He turned, and saw that Muriel was in the same position, eyes frantic and panicked. Gabriel was being carried by a further two angels- one carrying from the upper half of his body, while the other carried him via his feet.

He turned back to Aziraphale, making sure to draw in the sight of his angel, bottling away the image in his mind for him to hold into for later, when he would be unable to see him again. The thought scared him endlessly.

'It will be okay.' Crowley repeatedly whispered to Aziraphale, but the angel was unable to hear him, instead earning him nails digging into and burning his arms from the angels escorting him out of Heaven.

Perhaps the message got to him though, as Aziraphale pressed his hand to his lips once again, as he had done before.

The shameful walk- well, forced removal- to the main entrance felt like it took an eternity- a time frame of which Crowley was at least partially familiar with- and the pandemonium of the crowd of angels had died out fairly quickly after leaving the area of the tribunal.

Yet Crowley was sure that the entirety of Heaven, Hell, and quite possibly also Earth, and all of the stars, heard the Metatron's booming voice echo as he made his final announcement.

"Archangel Uriel, for your countless sins that you have openly admitted to today, as well as your treason against the Great Plan and the will of the Almighty, you will be stripped of your angelic status, and cast into Hell as punishment."

Chapter Text

Uriel was back in that room again.

An empty, vast, depressing field of darkness, stretching as far as the eye could see.

They hadn't been in that space for quite some time. Around 2000 years, perhaps?

Yet here they were, back again. And it was just as they could remember.

Cold. Dark. Harsh.

Lonely.

Despite what the other Archangels would have said, Uriel didn't like being alone.

Sure, they spent a great deal of their time confined to one particular, solitary workspace, or checking up on various records around Heaven, but if there was one thing that Uriel hated, it was not being around other angels.

But Heaven was a place where you could not afford to mingle with the other angels. No, Uriel had to learn to adapt. To learn how to be cold enough, and have enough menacing power, that the other angels wouldn't approach you.

The first time that Uriel had ever been alone had been the first time that they were in the room.

Raphael had fallen. There was no denying that. Their brother- the one who had always been there for them, never once losing that same, mischievous innocence that had always been there- was gone, cast like ashes to the winds, into a deep, bottomless pit of flame and fury.

They had already lost Michael and Gabriel to the enticing pull of war. And now they had lost Raphael, too.

Then came the darkness. Decades, centuries- even before time itself. They had been in the room.

After that, it was Earth. Cursed to wander every limit and curve of the land until their mortal body discorporated.

And every time, they would see Death float towards them, and, just as his thing, sickly fingers encased their neck, they would be transported to the same space of darkness once again, breathing heavy and eyes stained with Holy tears, only to be greeted by the sly expressions of the Metatron and Sandalphon.

After the first few centuries, they had learned how to control their mortal body- had learned how to escape Death's cold, violent, temporary grip.

On Earth, they had spent most of their time near the Mediterranean, travelling from place to place, experiencing the new joys and discoveries of the human world.

Everywhere they seemed to go, the faces of their past seemed to follow. Raphael. Gabriel. Some other angels that they knew less well than their siblings.

But oh, how wonderful the humans were. Of course, there were some more than questionable people. Warriors and leaders who had indulged in a bit too much bloodshed.

But then there were the kindest of souls, and the most creative and intelligent of beings that Uriel could only have ever thought of meeting. So many amazing minds, loving their lives to the fullest before being taken with only a small amount of passing time.

Perhaps, for Uriel, that was the loneliest part of it all. To be the only being of their kind to walk the Earth, watching as the world developed and died before their eyes, growing too attached, only for those close to be untimely ripped from them.

And then it was back to the room again.

"Ah, Uriel." A voice echoed from behind them. The Archangel did not turn around to face the being- no, beings- behind them. "I see you have made yourself at home here."

No response. Uriel continued to look straight ahead into the abyss in front of them.

Looking anywhere. At anyone. At anything but the two angels.

"Not talking, then?" Sandalphon's grating voice called out. Uriel closed their eyes. "You know that will just make what comes next so much worse, Traitor."

"Sandalphon," The Metatron warned. Uriel could almost picture the angel shrinking back as the voices drew nearer. "I'll take it from here."

When they opened their eyes again, two figures stood facing Uriel.

No, not two figures. Damned be the darkness for making Uriel's eyes of worse ability than normal. No, there were three of them.

Their eyes met Michael's for a fraction of a second. Swiftly, Michael turned away.

Uriel wondered if this was how Raphael felt before he fell. The thought disappeared as quickly as it came.

There was no time for such weakness. Not here.

"Are you aware of why you are here, Uriel?" The Voice of God questioned, as patronising as ever.

"I'm here because the system is flawed, and you cannot stop yourself from committing sin. If the Almighty knew of-"

"I am the Voice of God! I am the only being that the Almighty still speaks to! By criticising me, you are directly criticising the Almighty! You understand that such blasphemy is not tolerated. If anybody here has sinned, it has been you, Archangel Uriel." The Metatron's voice was thick with venom, cutting through the dark, empty space.

"And what's it to be? If you are going to make me fall, then you might as well do it quickly. You will find that I will go rather willingly." Their eyes met Michael's again, and the other Archangel simply shook their head before returning to their unreactive façade.

"You shall fall in due course, Uriel, once we receive the signature of the Supreme Archangel."

"And where is your prized Supreme Archangel, then? Surely he should be here, telling me this alongside the three of you?" An almost mocking tone laced Uriel's words.

"Aziraphale is-" Michael began.

"Currently indisposed." The Metatron took a step forward. "Uriel, must understand that your little... Display of sympathy to the Traitors of Heaven has caused complete chaos amongst the forces of Heaven. There have been uprisings in three different Heavenly Spheres."

"I wouldn't know, you've kept me here for an indefinite period of time." Uriel muttered under their breath.

The Metatron sighed. "As punishment for your sins, you will fall from the grace of the Almighty. And I'm sure that Hell will serve you a worthy punishment after you fall."

He turned to face the other two angels in the area. "Well, we must be off. There are several signatures we need and conversations that we really must get to. Archangel Michael, resume your duties immediately. Sandalphon, follow me."

"Yes, Your Beatitude."

Sandalphon shot Uriel a look that would have normally sent shivers down their spine. Then, within mere moments, the pair had disappeared, only leaving behind Michael.

"You've stayed to gloat at me, then? I'm sure you'll receive quite the promotion, soon."

Behind the stoic expression, Michael's eyes looked distraught. "I don't want this any more than you do." Their usual monotonous expression embraced the smallest amount of sadness. "I wish it didn't have to end this way, Uriel."

The condemned Archangel smiled slightly. "You always had to be the last one standing, even back then." That earned them a fond smile from the other angel. "First of us to arrive, and the last of us to go."

A pause. "Tell me something, Uriel."

"Anything."

Michael hesitated.

"Anything." Uriel found themself repeating, honesty coursing through their veins. It wasn't like anything they could respond would change their fate... Right?

"When you left for all of those centuries, where did you go?"

A look of confusion spread across Uriel's face. Then, a look of realisation, dawning upon them. "You didn't know." They stated, simply.

"No." Michael admitted.

"It was here." They began. "At first, it was here. In the darkness. Even in the Beginning. And then it was Earth. A constant cycle of living, then discorporation, then back to this room, with the Metatron and Sandalphon, then back to Earth and repeat."

"And what brought you back? In that century before the birth of Christ, I mean."

"Accepting to never speak of Raphael again." Uriel responded with slight hesitation.

"And Raphael is-"

"Crowley, yes." Uriel sighed. "All of those years of hatred towards demons, completely destroyed once you remember the angels that they were before they fell." A pause. Uriel met Michael's eyes again. "I'll keep Dagon safe. I promise."

Michael looked away. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." They almost hissed, secure mental walls rebuilding right in front of their eyes.

Another pause while Michael searched for a subject change.

"If it is worth anything... I would free you if I could."

Uriel nodded their head, a knowing smile etched into their face. "I know."

With that, Michael turned away, and Uriel watched as the figure of their sibling faded further and further away into the darkness, leaving them alone once again.

/////////

Beelzebub had witnessed exactly nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety eight demons fall after the Great War.

In that sense, they supposed that they could call themselves experienced in handling angels Falling From Grace.

The demons didn't all fall at the same time; at first, there were only ten. Then, slowly, their numbers crept up to one hundred. Then one thousand. Then two, three, four, five- all the way to ten thousand demons.

The last Fall took place just before the first humans were placed on Earth- Hell had already been built up, with only the fourth and eighth circles still under construction.

And now, there would be a new angle who would fall, over 4000 years since the last.

It was terrifyingly easy for Beelzebub to overhear the knowledge from the Grapevine-That-Definitely-Doesn't-Exist (perhaps they should trademark that). Of course, they already knew which angel would be the one to fall, but they didn't know when and where.

Shax- being the everlasting gossiper that she is- had directly told the Forces of Hell of such information, in a speech where only three demons were actively listening (that is, to say, if Eric would be considered as one being, despite the fact that there were seven Eric clones present at the congregation).

Now, why was this significant?

Well, Beelzebub had a plan. A plan that required a rather large safety net, and a great deal of sneaking out of the apartment, and into a completely different corner of the Earth.

Because if Uriel had to fall, Beelzebub had to catch them.

Surprisingly, the decision hadn't had much thought put into it. Sure, Beelzebub could say that they were helping Uriel out of the slight slimmer of goodness of their dark, rotting heart.

But in reality, Beelzebub knew that they had no excuse. It was clear that they were doing this for Gabriel, and, just perhaps, for Crowley, too.

In the early days of their relationship with Gabriel- back when they would sneak away from their respective head offices to meet in whatever pub caught their fancy at that moment- the subject of the other angels and demons rarely came up, bar the whole second Armageddon part.

It had been during those two months on Alpha Centauri when Gabriel first opened up about the Archangels before the beginning.

Of course, Beelzebub knew that the closest of all angels before the Great War had been the Archangels. That was a fact that all angels and former-angels were aware of.

They had been the first angels to be created, crafted intricately from the very essence of the Almighty. They were Her first and favourite children. The rest of the angels had simply been thoughts that had conjured into living, animate, celestial beings.

Naturally, this- paired with their statuses elevated as far as it could be before the concept of hierarchy existed- came with a sort of familial bond between the four of them that no other angel interfered with.

That was, until, Raphael disappeared after the Great War, never to be seen again. And the disappearance of the Archangel Uriel followed shortly after.

From what Beelzebub could gather back then from overheard conversations between the newer-fallen demons, the Archangels had tried to do damage control, saying that Raphael had been sent to the stars to fix and create the universes, and Uriel had gone with him.

On Alpha Centauri, Gabriel had told them that he knew what happened to Raphael- no, not just knew, he saw him fall.

But Uriel? Neither he nor Michael heard from their other sibling until a century before the birth of Christ.

In the present, Beelzebub glanced towards Gabriel, who was sleeping with his head on the desk back in their room of their apartment, a mug of hot chocolate (which, by now, had certainly gone cold) just out of reach in the corner of the table.

Beelzebub couldn't let their partner lose another sibling. It would destroy him.

The former Prince of Hell sighed and checked the time on their new pocket watch which Gabriel had found for them in Edinburgh. Half past eleven- the sky a menacing blanket of darkness enclosed around London- on the second day of March, two thousand and twenty six years after the birth of Christ.

It had been three weeks since Crowley, Muriel and Gabriel had stumbled out of Heaven, skin bruised and bleeding, bodies trembling and hurt.

Gabriel tried to bury himself in paperwork, plans, and the comforting presence of his demonic partner.

Muriel was quieter than usual, and constantly on edge, flinching at every small movement, only talking to apologise, or to say 'please' or 'thank you'. Eric brought them books to read to pass the time.

And Crowley? Well, Crowley only came out of his room for a refill of alcohol; even as the former Demon of Gluttony, Beelzebub found themselves shocked at the amount of whiskey and wine that the serpent was drinking. Though they supposed that everyone had their own ways of dealing with things, so they left him alone to do his thing.

It was an understatement to say that Beelzebub was concerned for the other inhabitants of the apartment.

And now, they would be bringing back another celestial being who would probably not be handling things too well. Wow, they hadn't thought this through, had they?

With one last look towards Gabriel, Beelzebub sighed and made their way into the living room. Usually, the space was filled with chaos and conversation, even at this time of night- but with the events of the past month, it had fallen sombre and quiet. Too quiet.

Eric lay across the couch on the far side of the room, scrolling aimlessly through his phone (which was supposedly the first thing that he had bought when he first came to Earth), laughing at what appeared to be some kind of video story about some person asking if they were an asshole for pouring wine over their mother in law's dress because she wore white to their wedding. Whatever that meant.

Damn, young demons these days.

Beelzebub made their way towards their normal spot, and within moments, Eric had turned off his phone and sat up to face them.

"Lord Beelzebub," He greeted. "How've you been?"

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. "We had this conversation just hours ago."

"Oh, must've lost track of the time, sorry."

A pause. Beelzebub wondered if they had given the right response. "I'm fine, thank you. I'm going to find Uriel tonight." They corrected.

Eric's eyes grew wide at the mention of Uriel. "Already? Wow, that went quick. I thought it would'a been longer than that. Y'know, because it's been a month and all."

"Dagon told me it would be tonight. And we all know that Dagon's zzzzour- sources are... Reliable, to say the least."

The disposable demon nodded his head. "And where are they going to fall? Can you even get there in time?"

"The sea in between the place that the humans call the Bermuda Triangle, but what we know as the Devil's Triangle. There's an entrance to hell in the centre of it, and it's the only pit that is still accessible to fall down."

"Oh, that's funny, I just saw a meme about that!" Eric turned on their phone again, and within seconds, a photo with a caption was on the screen. Silently, they cursed their struggles with reading.

Beelzebub pretended to read the text and laughed. Eric beamed, and Beelzebub knew that dabbling in a slight lie like that was worth it.

"Anyway, Eric, I have an important job for you." Beelzebub grew more serious, and Eric sat up straighter than a demon would normally sit. "I need you to keep everyone distracted while I'm gone. Gabriel is either doing paperwork or asleep, so he should be fine. And Crowley doesn't really leave his room. So it's mainly just Muriel, and I'm sure you'll be able to manage."

"Yes, Lord Beelzebub."

Beelzebub stared at their pocket watch. Five minutes until midnight, five minutes until they could leave.

"Eric, you should go and check on the others while I get ready to leave."

The demon nodded his head, then turned and walked away, eyes now glued to his phone as he closed the door behind him.

The former Prince of Hell sighed. At least he was finding a way to entertain himself. They'd have to have a talk with Crowley about the TokTik app, or whatever it was called- they were sure he received a commendation for that one.

Beelzebub went through their mental checklist for what felt like the thirteenth time.

First aid kit? Check.

A rather large safety net (miracled into a smaller net) that could cover almost an entire sea? Check.

Delayed all flights for the next twenty four hours? Check.

Diverted all ship routes to miss out the Bermuda triangle? Check. That one was probably for the better, too. Perhaps some conspiracies would arise from that. Beelzebub chuckled and made note to ask Eric to check his phone about that, later.

Fire extinguisher? Hm. They might have to borrow one of those from the downstairs hallway of the apartment building. Although there was a rather large body of water where Uriel would fall...

Beelzebub was so deep in thought that they almost missed the serpent slithering into the room behind them. Almost.

The loud clang of an empty bottle hitting the bottom of the tub that they were using as a recycling bin is what gave him away.

"Where'r y' goin'?" Crowley practically slurred, but Beelzebub couldn't tell if that was from the drunken state he appeared to be in, or just his serpentine speech patterns.

"None of your business." Their voice was softer than usual, not too sure how to handle a drunk, depressed Crowley. Aziraphale would know, but, from what they could guess, Aziraphale was the reason why he was like this in the first place. "Go back to your room and go to zzzzzl- sleep or something."

Crowley shook his head and draped himself less than elegantly across one of the couches. "Ngk, yeah, 'm not m'ving 'til y' tell me where."

Beelzebub glanced at their pocket watch. Two minutes. They decided that Crowley was drunk enough that he wouldn't remember where they'd be off to by that time anyway.

"I'm going to collect Uriel after they fall."

Even through his dark glasses, Beelzebub could see the serpent's yellow eyes dilate in realisation.

"Uriel..." He muttered under his breath. "Uriel. 'M comin' with you." He stated, decisively.

Beelzebub shook their head. "No, you're going to stay here, go to sleep or whatever you do, and we'll be back before tomorrow night."

"No, 'm comin' with you. Need t'be there..." Within moments, Crowley seemed to have sobered up. "Where are we off to? Bermuda or Yellowstone?"

Beelzebub sighed. Maybe they should have been greatful that Crowley was taking interest in something that wasn't wallowing in self pity and yearning for the first time in almost a month.

They checked their pocket watch. Midnight. Well, there was no time for discussion or debate, Crowley would have to tag along, unfortunately.

Before they could change their mind, they grabbed on to Crowley's wrist.

"Wait and see. Oh, and I hope you can swim."

And, before Crowley could even protest or respond, Beelzebub channeled as much power as they could in that moment, and teleported the both of them to the Bermuda Triangle.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale had never been in the room before.

At least, he presumed the vast expanse of darkness was a room, in the same way that the rest of Heaven was split into 'rooms'.

But this didn't feel like the Heaven he knew. Sure, the same careless coldness ran through the air, just as it had in his office upstairs- but the lack of blinding light almost made him miss the migraine that had grown familiar to him over the past two years.

He hadn't been in this much darkness since... Well, it ought to have been since before his first run in with Crowley, when the former-angel was creating the nebulae.

But even that darkness could not compare to this. At least back then, he had Crowley by his side, lighting up the void that stretched for eternity around them.

Crowley. Oh, how he missed his dear Crowley.

Aziraphale recalled the events that had just occured. As normal, he had been sat at his desk, filling in endless sheets of paperwork, insisting to read every last word before signing the bottom neatly with his name (even though he knew that it was most definitely nothing important, merely something to just keep him busy and away from other angels).

And then, within moments, his head was tilted upwards to face the very being that he had spent six thousand years with. A familiar figure that he could recognise from miles- no, lightyears- away.

Flaming waves of red hair, falling down to his shoulders- much different from the last time he had laid eyes on the demon, but Crowley always liked to change with the times.

He was supposed to be dead.

Aziraphale could easily recall precisely why Crowley was supposed to be dead. After all, it had been the only thing that haunted his sleepless nightmares for- well, he wasn't all too sure for how long it had been, with every passing minute, Aziraphale seemed to lose his connections to life on Earth, despite a millenia of building his awareness up.

Yet, there he stood in all of his serpentine beauty.

A quick glance, perhaps an exchange of yearning words- that's all Aziraphale had wanted after getting over the original shock of seeing him, alive and well, in Heaven of all places.

The longing had turned to venom on his tongue. 'I love you' had warped into 'I don't even like you', and he found himself, once again, pushing Crowley away.

For his safety. For his protection.

Aziraphale could not rest until Crowley was safe.

Then, in came the Metatron.

And the Supreme Archangel- arguably one of the most powerful beings in existence- was completely powerless, only able to pray for mercy as he stood by and watched the one he vowed to protect be shackled and condemned to a fate worse than death.

He despaired for the innocent Muriel and Gabriel, who were ordered to Fall. But nothing compared to the anguish and grief that surged through his veins as the Metatron demanded Crowley's erasure from the Book of Life.

It was a miracle that Uriel had stepped in and saved them. Aziraphale couldn't picture a life where Crowley wouldn't exist- it would be as if half of his heart- no, half of his soul- would be torn cruelly from him, missing for the rest of eternity.

If anything, it gave him even more reason to stay in Heaven and to follow the Metatron's every command than before. It was the only way to protect Crowley.

And that brought him to here. He had been essentially dragged away from the crowds of Heaven, and left in the room for an indefinite period of time.

Darkness shrouded him, ensnaring him like a much less comforting blanket. He couldn't move- couldn't hear, couldn't see, couldn't leave.

He was completely and utterly alone, left only with the voices and memories inside of his head.

/////////

Sometimes, it was difficult for him to remember- the days all seemed to blend in to one, and everything got muddled up. Although, there weren't really 'days' as such. Not back then, in the beginning.

But there was one moment in particular that Aziraphale remembered the clearest.

Perhaps it was because it wasn't the same, repetitive mundaneness as the rest of the 'days' had been. Or perhaps it was something else entirely.

It had been a while since the Great War ended- Heaven's forces were almost completely recovered, and Aziraphale was flying around as he had been before the conflict even began.

It had only been a mild injury to his wing- a short 'time' resting and he was back in action again, albeit he couldn't fly for long periods of time until then.

Heaven was still under tight security, with people not allowed into different sections without permission from higher authority- it had been like this during the conflict, and had continued on to after, it seemed. And from what Aziraphale has heard, the Almighty wanted to be extra cautious.

Luckily for Aziraphale, he had a permission slip to go anywhere he wanted, courtesy of the Archangel Raphael.

Which was precisely who he was headed now.

Whenever they had the chance, Aziraphale and Raphael would sneak away from the battle to take a walk amongst the stars. It was peaceful- a sanctuary so vastly different from the shedding of ichor across Heaven.

Raphael would rant about the stars, and Aziraphale would listen. He would like to think that the pair got quite close with their regular walks.

And, oh, there was something different with Aziraphale every time he saw Raphael. Even the quickest glance across the battlefields of Heaven would send a tingling sensation through his body. He felt as if his cheeks were burning when he talked to Raphael, and blamed the redness of his face on the light from the nebulae.

Aziraphale didn't realise it then, but that was- well, how would he put it now? A pash? A want to conduct a courtship?

Angels were made to love. But this was something more.

And now he knew why he had been so trusting of Crowley when he slithered his way from Eden, up to the garden walls. Crowley was Raphael.

That more-than-love had never left him, even if he didn't know what it was or why.

But he couldn't think about that here, in the dark room. Present Aziraphale sunk himself back into the crystal clear memory from before the war.

There were no guards at the entrance to the stars, so Aziraphale passed through with complete ease. Initially, the lack of angels struck him as strange- but then he thought of the amount of injured angels temporarily relieved of their duties to recover, and perhaps they were simply just resting.

Aziraphale checked all of the usual places- the Pillars of Creation, Alpha Centauri and Ophiuchus- yet found no Raphael. Maybe the Archangel was busy; he was probably just helping out with the injured as the Archangel of Healing, or perhaps contributing to repairing Heaven post-war.

It was only when a group of ten or so angels- most of the Star Maintenance Team, he recognised- flew past, that he got his answer.

"Oh, erm, excuse me!" He called over, and an angel stopped in their tracks. "Could I ask where everyone seems to be going?"

The other angel's hair was so dark that it almost blended into the dark void behind the colours of the nebulae around them. Currently, he was looking at Aziraphale as if he had grown three heads, or something equally as strange.

"Have you not heard? The rebels are to Fall today. All angels are required to see the Traitors of Heaven." He paused and tilted his head. "Do you work over here?"

Aziraphale pondered for a moment. Did he truly work anywhere? "Well, I was a soldier."

The other angel chuckled, "Well, there will be no more wars to fight for the next 6000 years, Soldier. I'm sure I can put in a good word for you with the higher authorities, if you wished to work here. After all, there are some vacancies, now that Kokabiel is falling. How much do you know about the stars?"

Working with the stars. A true, permanent purpose, not just the assisting the higher-ups that he had previously done. Maybe he would be able to talk more with Raphael! The thought made him giddy with excitement.

"Ah, I know quite a bit. I talk with the Archangel Raphael a fair deal, and he has told me all about them." Oh, that's right! He's meant to be looking for Raphael. The Archangel would be delighted to hear of the offer to work with the stars! "Speaking of, have you seen him at all recently?"

The angel frowned. "I presume he's with the other Archangels overseeing the Falls. You can come with us, if you'd like?"

Aziraphale smiled. "That would be nice, thank you."

As they made their way over to the section of Heaven where the rebels were held, Aziraphale found himself easily falling into conversation with the Star Maintenance Team. Other than talking to Raphael, this was the first time he had ever felt that he had fit in with other angels.

He would never admit it out loud, but the other angels were judgemental. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on Aziraphale and other angels- some good, with soft smiles uncomfortable and not entirely genuine to Aziraphale, while others held a cold sneer of ignorance and annoyance whenever he talked.

But that was just how Heaven's hierarchy worked. Perhaps things would be better if he helped with the stars.

They rounded the corner and were met with an overcrowded expanse of Heaven.

Despite the chatter, the voice of the Angel General still echoed louder than any other noise in the area.

"-pitiful, an Archangel on this list? You should be ashamed of yourself, you monster."

An Archangel set to Fall? That was... Odd, to say the least. The Archangels were practically the epitome of rule following, and the figureheads of Heaven. Surely the General was mistaken...?

"I fear that there has been a mistake, Good Sir. All I ever did was ask questions-"

No. Aziraphale recognised that voice. It couldn't be.

He turned to face the Star Maintenance Angels, with only the angel that Aziraphale first met (his angelic name seemed to evade Aziraphale's memory, though he knew that he was later named Apsinthos and Wormwood by the Greeks and English, respectively) appeared to have came to the same realisation.

Aziraphale began to weave his way through the crowd. He needed confirmation.

"Blasphemy! Thwarting the will of God is the greatest sin of all!" He was in the middle of the crowd now. You are nothing more than a pathetic excuse of an Archangel who has slithered his way into attempting to thwart the Great Plan!"

The Archangel's sobs echoed through the crowd, who had collectively gasped in shock.

No. It couldn't be Raphael. These shaking sobs could not be from the same angel that Aziraphale had previously made joyously laugh only a short while before.

The Archangel was crying out in pain now, and the crowd seemed to be parting as they were dragged by two angels to an area that Aziraphale presumed was where the rebels would Fall.

The angel in front of him moved, allowing him to take sight of Raphael. The Archangel stared back, a far away look plaguing his tear-filled brown eyes.

Aziraphale had to stop this from happening. Raphael was joyful, innocent; he loved the stars and his siblings and asking harmless questions- not at all a rebel, or someone worthy of Falling!

The angel found himself frantically stepping through the crowd, uttering small "Excuse me"s, and "Sorry"s.

Eventually, he found the door, guarded by an angel who seemed much more menacing than Aziraphale ever had been during the war.

Aziraphale nodded politely and tried to make his way through. To no avail.

"Authorised angles only, I'm afraid." The other angel stepped in front of the door.

Oh no. Aziraphale had to think of something, and fast. The more time he took to think of an excuse, the less time he had to save Raphael.

"I, err, I... I have a pass, you see!" He quickly miracled the slip of celestial paper that he had been given. "From the Archangels, yes... And, err... There's Raphael's stamp of approval, right there, yes, see?"

Wordlessly, the angel opened the door, and Aziraphale walked through, with a "Thank you" as he passed.

Only to be met with burning heat, and a book of celestial paper being practically shoved into his face.

"Are you the scrivener they sent? To record the names of the Fallen?" An angel said without casting a glance towards him, instead too focused on the conversation between the Archangels and the soon-to-becondemned Raphael.

"Err, yes." Aziraphale lied, a wave of guilt washing over him as he took the book.

The page was simply a single word, neatly underlined: "Demons".

Aziraphale looked at the spine of the book, but it bore no title, unlike the books he had access to when he had briefly worked in Heaven's library before the War.

"Speak your name." The angel demanded.

"I'm sorry?"

The angel turned towards Aziraphale and rolled their eyes. "Speak your name. To the book. For permission." They repeated, annoyed, before turning back to the scene.

He looked down at the book, before muttering, "Aziraphale". The paper began to glow for a second.

"Okay, I'll be listing off names as they come in, I need you to write them in order of Falling. First we have Raphael, then Lucifer, then Asm- Keep up with me Scrivener, we have ten thousand to get through!"

Frantically, Aziraphale looked up, eyes in search of Raphael. He was being dragged towards the edge, his cries echoing across the whole of Heaven, and the heat only increased in temperature as his feet rocked over the edge and-

Everything came to a stop.

No. No, no, no. This isn't how the memory is supposed to go.

A searing light emitted from above Memory Aziraphale, and Present Aziraphale could begin to control his past self.

"Aziraphale." A calm voice rumbled from above.

The Almighty.

"Y-Yes, Your Grace?" It can't be. This is just a dream. She didn't speak to anyone, not anymore.

"I have been watching you. For over six thousand years." If it had been anyone else, that would have been... Creepy? Strange?

Oh, that was blasphemous to think, surely.

"Do you know why you're here, Aziraphale?"

The Supreme Archangel flinched. "I was... Foolish. I consorted with the Fallen Angel Crowley and allowed him passage through Heaven."

God sighed. "No, I don't mean wherever the Metatron has you hidden away. I mean in this memory in particular. The Fall of Raphael."

Aziraphale could only shake his head.

"It is when you received word that you would be sent to Earth, to watch over Adam and Eve at Eden. They phrased it as a promotion for your hard work writing the names of the Fallen, but it wasn't, Aziraphale, was it? They sent you away because you were too powerful to be here. They were scared, and they needed you gone so that they could be safe."

The Almighty paused, as if to let the thought sink in. Aziraphale was more surprised that he wasn't shocked at the suggestion. Deep down, he had always suspected... Maybe even known.

"Well, Your Grace, I'm glad they did... Life on Earth is amazing- truly, truly beautiful. I would... Hate to see it end."

The light grew brighter for a moment, but it was a warmer kind of light than the white upstairs- not the kind that would give Aziraphale a migraine.

"I presume that you know they called you back to Heaven to get you away from Crowley- with whom you are most powerful."

Aziraphale's face dropped into a deep frown.

"No, not at all."

She sighed once more. "You know, Aziraphale, I would hate to see you separated from Earth and your demon for too long. See to it that you return as soon as possible."

"I do... I plan to return for the Second Coming."

"And when is that?"

Aziraphale thought back to a meeting from months prior. "The third of April, in the year two thousand and twenty six."

"No, no, no. That won't do." The Almighty paused, as if considering something. "Could you bring it forward to, say next week? I'm very invested in you and the de- in seeing Christ return, obviously."

The angel shook his head. "It has to be the third of April. It's Easter Friday on Earth, you see."

"Can you at least go down to Earth this week, then?" God asked, though he supposed that questions like that were more like a demand from the Almighty.

"Oh, the Metatron wouldn't allow it. They need me... Up here." Aziraphale rubbed his hands anxiously.

"Don't you worry about that, Aziraphale. I'll deal with him. Now, do you have any questions?"

Of course Aziraphale had questions. Where had She been? Why had She left? Why had She let all of this suffering- to the angels, to the demons, to the humans, to the Earth, to him, to Crowley- even happen?

Crowley.

Crowley would want to talk to Her.

"Well, it's not so much a question as it is a favour..." He began, cautiously.

The light beamed brighter. "Go on."

"I would like to pass my ability to ask questions to you on to the demon Crowley. If that's alright, Your Grace?"

God snorted. "Come back when you can make a whale."

And with that, She vanished. The memory continued, and Aziraphale shut his eyes tight as Raphael began to Fall.

Before that familiar sound of Raphael's screams ceased, Aziraphale was pulled from his mind, back to that dark room once more.

He faced the Metatron. Or, rather, the Metatron's head, floating in between Michael and Sandalphon.

"Supreme Archangel Aziraphale," the Voice of God began- or, was he really the voice? The angel wasn't all too sure anymore.

Something about whales. Strange.

"I'm sure you know why you're here?" The Metatron continued, a statement more so than a question, interrupting Aziraphale's thoughts.

"Yes, rather, but I'm afraid I won't be here much longer."

"Well, I'll be the one to decide th-"

"The Almighty has talked to me in my time here, and she has requested that I return to Earth immediately, and I am to prepare for the Second Coming on the third of April, two thousand and twenty six years from Christ's first birth."

The other angels fell silent.

"Balderdash. The Almighty only talks to me!" The Metatron spat out, venom lacing his tone.

Aziraphale stared at him, gaze unshifting and emotionless.

"She said that she would discuss this with you. But I am to return immediately, as I have said." A barely visible smirk creeped on to his face. "You don't mean to subvert the will of the Almighty, surely, Your Beatitude?"

The floating head shone a bright shade of crimson.

"Very well. Archangel Aziraphale, you are to return to Earth to prepare for the Second Coming of Christ, immediately."

Chapter Text

The first thing that Crowley felt after Beelzebub's teleportation trick was the sudden urge to throw up. The second was the feeling of a storm raging fierce around himself and the demon stood next to him.

"Shit." He cursed as he raised his hand to shield his eyes from the torrential rain, scanning his surroundings, only to be met with a vast expanse of cold, endless ocean.

The waves crashed violently against his ankles, yet it still took him a few moments to realise that he was walking on water.

Well, great. That shouldn't have been possible, but neither should half of the things that had happened to Crowley throughout his millenia and more of existence.

All the realisation really did for Crowley was make him thrice more nauseous.

"I suppose we're in Bermuda, then. Doesn't look very... Volcano-y." He stated, trying to distract himself.

Beelzebub rummaged through the bag they were holding, not spinning around to face the serpent.

"Yellowstone was closed off when the humans started monitoring the volcanoes. Bermuda remains a mystery, so we're trying to keep it open for as long as possible. Helps with the understaffing, at least."

A streak of lightning tore through the darkened sky, a thunderous boom following shortly after. The former Prince of Hell glanced upwards before continuing to frantically search through there bag.

"So..." Crowley began, trying his best to ignore the nauseating feeling of sea sickness rising in his stomach- he'd snuck aboard Noah's ark, for somebody's sake, so what made this journey different? "Remind me what the plan is, again."

Beelzebub sighed. "In approximately three minutes, Uriel is going to fall into the Earth's atmosphere. It's our job to- here, grab this," Crowley was met with a piece of rope- no, netting- being shoved into his face, which he quickly took, "It is our job to make sure that they fall into the net, and not the entrance to Hell."

"And you're sure that this is going to work?"

"Well, in theory, yezzz."

Great. That was reassuring.

Or, about as reassuring as the second streak of lightning carving scars into the stormy backdrop.

"We're running out of time. Okay, Crowley, juzzzzt stay where you are and hold on to the net tight. When you hear my signal, head towards the middle of the net."

"But what's the sig- ngk." His voice faltered as Beelzebub swiftly made their way to a diagonal direction across the water, disappearing into the darkness of the storm.

Well, hopefully he would be able to figure that one out.

Crowley could remember most of his Fall. The pain, for one, lasted for centuries- in fact, he would still sometimes get random aches and sensations across his wings or his arms or his head, even today.

The heat of the Hellfire was another thing that he could remember- the feeling as he fell from the cold air of the atmosphere into the burning hot flames.

But the thing that he remembered the most was the betrayal. How quickly his siblings had turned on him.

He wasn't like the other demons, no- all he did was ask a few questions, and do a few things that the Metatron and Michael and Gabriel didn't like.

Uriel, though. Uriel had stayed by his side- he remembered that clearly.

Until they didn't. They turned away as he plunged into the depths of Hell- the first angel to fall; out of embarrassment that an Archangel would do such things.

But Uriel would be falling now, too. After their siblings- well, now it was solely Michael remaining in Heaven- had tossed them out.

They'd feel the same way, surely. The same betrayal.

That was something that couldn't be fixed. No, it would stay with Uriel forever, no matter how much they changed as a fallen angel.

But Crowley would try to, at least, provide them with the comfort that he wished for as he sat, lonely, in the bottom of Hell.

Suddenly, a gleaming light somehow darkened the sky- bright reds and blacks and yellows mixed with the storm clouds as a screaming figure fell, thunder roaring around them.

Within seconds, the figure plunged into the net, almost knocking Crowley off balance as he struggled to remain upright with the force.

Suddenly, a crumbling stone pillar emerged from under the water, adorned with a hook and a note taped on to it.

Reaching over while still trying to keep hold of the net, Crowley snatched the note from the pillar to read it:

'Ty net to huk then go to th midul ASAP'

Crowley presumed that this was the signal. Carefully, he tied the corner of the net to the hook of the pillar, and began to walk across the water, over the net.

Nope, he didn't even want to know the logistics that went into that.

As he drew closer to the centre, so did Beelzebub and the two figures that he could barely see before. Now, their features were fully defined up close- Dagon and Hastur.

But there was another figure, too; there, in the centre of the Bermuda Triangle, curled up in the safety of the large net that they had fallen into.

Their wings were bare and bloody, with the skeletal frames only clothed by a few select feathers, still glistening with the feigned, pearly white 'goodness' of Heaven, saved at least from being charred by the hellfire that raged below the water.

Yet another of Heaven's angels left to rot and decay in the pits of Hell. Or, so it would've been if Beelzebub hadn't decided to save them.

Although, if this was anything similar to Crowley's own fall, the pain and betrayal would linger for much, much longer than the benefits of being saved from the worst of it would.

Crowley was the first to reach Uriel's broken figure. Cautiously, he crouched down, unsure of what to do or say.

"It's going to be okay." He whispered to them, trying to think back to every human he had comforted in his life. The children he had tried to save when the Almighty flooded the Earth. Mary crying for her son as he died on the Crucifix. The victims who he tried to heal during the Black Death and the Great Plague. The children being evacuated during the Blitz. Warlock after falling and scraping his knee.

Uriel didn't move.

He looked up towards the three demons opposite him, as if to beg one of them to say something that will help. Beelzebub simply nodded their head, and just like that, Crowley knew what to do.

"Uriel, it's me, your brother, Raphael. And it's going to be okay. You're safe. I'm safe. We're both safe, here, on Earth. And Beelzebub and Hastur and Dagon are here, and they won't hurt you, we saved you. And it's going to be okay, I promise. But you need to follow me first, so that we can make sure that you're okay, yeah? You don't even have to do much, just grab on to my hand and focus, okay? And I know it hurts, but it gets better, I promise. You just need to come with us first."

Crowley held out his hand near Uriel's arm. Cautiously, the newly fallen angel lifted their head to face him, tear streaks flowing like rivers down their cheeks.

"Brother..." They whispered. Slowly, but surely, they reached out their shaking, weakened hand to grab on to his wrist.

The Serpent turned to face Beelzebub, who took a moment to confer with the other two demons, who nodded their heads in agreement before disappearing into the water. Then, Beelzebub grabbed hold of Crowley's arm.

"Make sure you keep a hold of Uriel so that they don't get lost while we go back to London."

Crowley's grip tightened on Uriel's hand.

The scenery blurred and twisted in front of Crowley, sending another wave of nausea washing over him as the waves of the sea merged with the view of concrete and buildings.

Within seconds, the three were in London, there was no doubt about it- but they definitely not in the Westminster apartment.

"Zzzzzshit." Crowley heard Beelzebub curse from behind him as the pressure on his arm released.

"I thought we were going back to the apartment." He would be able to tell where they were blind. "Why are we on Whickber Street?"

"If I knew that, I would tellzzzzzzzz you, Crowley!"

Soho had changed quite significantly since the last time that he was there- well, that was to say, that it was no longer encased in Hellfire. All of the buildings seemed to be either completely rebuilt, or surrounded by small sections of scaffolding.

Every building, except for one building on the corner. One that had held the same shop for centuries, and had taken the most damage from the fire.

Crowley gulped down the emotions building in his throat and turned to face away from the former bookshop.

"Did you and Gabriel put some wards on the apartment that forbid you from entering?"

The Lord of the Flies shook their head, "No, we included ourselves and anyone who currently resides there. I've gone in and out of the apartment plenty of times... Maybe it was juzzzzt- too far of a distance."

"Well, you could try agai-"

A pained noise echoed from Uriel as they turned slightly. Crowley crouched down to check on them, but they seemed to be in a state of unconsciousness.

"We'll have to travel in the human way. They're too unresponsive to travel my way." Beelzebub admitted.

"It's the middle of the night, it could take a while to find a taxi. Do you even have a phone?"

"Not currently, no."

"Well, me neither. So that rules that out."

"We could walk?"

"It's half an hour away. And we've got Uriel."

"Well do you have a better option?"

"No."

"So we walk."

Crowley sighed and reached over to sling one of Uriel's arms round his shoulder.

He turned his head to face Beelzebub. "Go on their other side. I can't carry them by myself."

"Are people not going to question the wings and their lack of consciousness?" They asked as they helped to carry Uriel.

"You'd be surprised what humans notice."

One step. Another step. Another two.

Beelzebub spun back around, causing Crowley to stumble as Uriel fell towards him.

"Do you know if Nina or Maggie are here right now?" They questioned.

"Considering I have only been sober for approximately an hour and a half, I wouldn't know."

"I'm sure that they wouldn't mind us staying in the coffee shop until the morning when we can return to the apartment. It's only a few hours."

Crowley turned to look at Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death; he was surprised to see that it was one of the few buildings without scaffolding, despite it's proximity to the bookshop.

He sighed, "I suppose not."

Slowly, they carried Uriel across the street, towards the coffee shop. Crowley swiped his hand across the door handle, and it miraculously opened.

Beelzebub dragged three chairs in line with eachother, and Crowley slowly lay Uriel down across them, breathing a sigh of relief as they seemed content to stay there.

"Coffee?" He turned to face Beelzebub.

"No thanks, I don't do that."

"What, drink?"

"Or eat. Gabriel likes hot chocolate- and I know who is at fault for that- but neither of us really do that. It's a bit too... Human, I suppose."

Crowley suppressed his laughter. "You are the demon of Gluttony, and you literally went on dates to the pub. And you're telling me that you don't eat or drink?"

Beelzebub shook their head.

"Somebody- you're missing out. You know, Aziraphale and I, we used to-" He paused before he could continue, realising what he was saying. The mood turned sombre.

"You know," Beelzebub began, seriousness lining their tone. "You can talk about him. Aziraphale, I mean. You've known him for a long time."

He sighed. "I'm just- angry, I s'pose."

"You have a right to be angry at hi-"

"I'm not angry at him. I'm angry at myself for not being able to. For not stopping him from going to Heaven, where he's in danger. For not... Ngk... For not being good enough for him to stay."

"Crowley, it's not your fault."

He shook his head. "He told me that we're the bad guys. That Heaven's good, and that he can restore me to being an angel. What if... What if he thinks I'm not worthy, as a demon? I'm not even associated with Hell anymore, and he knowsssss more than anyone that I'm not like them!"

Beelzebub sighed. "I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone before. And it cannot be repeated, okay?"

Crowley met their eyes, so they continued.

"Back before we found you- and even before we met with Muriel and Eric- Gabriel and I would have these... Fights. It was silly, really, looking back on it. I would make a joke about Heaven, and he would get defensive and make a comment about Hell, and it just spiralled from there. It got to the point where we wouldn't talk for hours to days. And one day, we had the fight as normal- but we both realised just how stupid it was that we were fighting over the system that we both hated being a part of in the first place."

"And, your point is?"

"My point is that six thousand years is a long, long time. A really, really long time. Even if we don't think it as demons and angels, it is. Aziraphale has spent all of that time- and whatever came before it- being told that Hell are the 'bad guys', and that Heaven is the side of good and truth. I know that you were never one to believe in that sort of thing, but you have, at least at some point, thought the same. Both of you wanted your 'side' to win, and that's a difficult idea to rid yourself of."

They paused for a moment, as if trying to figure out what to say next.

"Listen, I don't know what happened after Gabriel and I left for Alpha Centauri, but I know whatever happened was big. But the way I see it, this is just like one of mine and Gabriel's arguments- except instead of taking a week away from eachother, Aziraphale went to Heaven to become Supreme Archangel, and you drove off to Romania to sulk."

"No need to remind me." Crowley muttered under his breath, miracling himself a glass of wine and taking a sip.

"Even though six thousand years is a long time's worth of ideas that is difficult to get rid of, there is a good thing about it. Crowley, you've known Aziraphale for six thousand years- two of those years is just a blink in the eyes of time. And, well, what I'm saying izzzz- you know him better than anyone, and he knows you better than anyone. You'll make up, eventually. It may look unlikely now, but you'll be laughing about this in a few centuries."

Crowley took a concerningly large sip of wine, and then refilled his glass with a click of his fingers.

"When did you get so wise?"

Beelzebub smirked, "Always been this way, just never needed to use this skill in Hell."

Silence for a moment. "You know what I miss?"

"What?" Beelzebub responded.

"The times where we would all- I mean, you, Dagon, Hastur, Ligur, and I- would have little get togethers in your office over the years."

Beelzebub smiled fondly, "Do you remember our little music group back in the-"

"The 1940s, yes! Quintet Diabolique!"

"I think my ears still haven't recovered from Hastur on that drum."

"Well, there was a reason why we kicked him out."

"Remind me again why you forced us to go on the West End?"

"Well, because it was during the war, there was a complete lack of performers, and I was working for Mrs Henderson for a bit, delivering alcohol, but then one day I had a little run in with a certain angel who didn't like what I was doing. Long story short, Aziraphale ended up on stage doing a bullet catch- in fact, there was this whole thing with Furfur about that- and afterwards, Mrs Henderson wanted him back, but I told him to retire the magic act, so then I had to fill in somehow, and-"

No. It couldn't be.

Throughout the story, Crowley's eyes had strayed to look out of the window, scanning the rebuilding twilight street that he had spent so many hours walking down.

And there, stood with his hands neatly folded in front of him, looking up at the ruins and remains of the bookshop, was none other than Aziraphale himself.

"Shit." He cursed, ducking underneath the closest table that he could find.

Beelzebub glared at him, confused, before glancing out of the window.

"Crowley." They stated simply, but the single word carried the message across perfectly.

"No. Crowley's not here."

"We've juzzzzzt dizzzzcuzzzzed thizzzz!" They buzzed.

"I'm not talking to him! I have to... Look after Uriel!"

"I'll take care of Uriel, go and talk to him!"

Crowley sighed, stood back up, and looked back out of the window. Illuminated by the dim streetlights of Soho, Aziraphale still hadn't moved.

Almost as if he was waiting for something. Someone.

Because ofcourse he would know that Crowley is there.

"Fine. I'll go and talk to him."