Work Text:
1986 Augusta, Arkansas, United States
Aziraphale would miracle himself a warmer coat or change the weather altogether. However, he had fulfilled his miracle quota for the month, so he'd have to live with his quaint brown cloak and scratchy blindfold.
Earlier in the day, Aziraphale received precise orders to steer Augusta's adolescents away from Satanic practices. And now he is being utilized in a Satanic ritual.
"Is there any way we could talk this through?" Aziraphale's voice wobbled as he asked his two captors on either side of him. They responded with silence.
"Just so you know, it is pointless to sacrifice me. I do not have a soul. This would be a waste. That is not meant to suggest sacrificing someone with a soul; you should never sacrifice anyone! Murder is a one-way ticket to the bad place…well usually, sometimes, there is a moral argument regarding certain circumstances. But sacrificing someone will undoubtedly condemn your soul…I mean, there might be a moral justification if sacrificing one person meant achieving world peace, I suppose…"
"Oh, will you shut up!" A grumpy-sounding teenager shouted from the right side of Aziraphale.
Aziraphale kept his mouth shut for the remainder of the trip.
They eventually stopped. The air surrounding them was still. Aziraphale anticipated a wave of fear to overwhelm him, but instead, he began to feel comforted.
"We have brought you a sacrifice, master; he matches the description you were looking for," the teenager to his left said.
"Take his blindfold off." The master commands with a hiss in his voice.
Oh, Aziraphale knew that voice. A voice that has been there for both the good and bad. A voice that has accompanied him through many sleepless nights. A voice informed him they would be traveling to America three weeks prior. THE voice that will be accompanying an apology dance after this!
"Crowley?! Is that you?"
Aziraphale's blindfold was removed by a teenager behind him. Crowley, still wearing his leather attire from when he left, was sitting on what looked like some type of concrete altar, surrounded by what looked to be…pie?
"Dear, This is all you're doing, isn't it??"
"Not really; humans start panicking about Satan in their youth. Which leads to the mid-size humans really doing satanic things. I'm just here to use it for an apple pie."
Aziraphale sat beside Crowley on the altar and performed a minor miracle to untie his hand bindings. (Surely heaven will not mind.)
"Apple pie? Couldn't you just miracle the pie if you wanted some? But even then, do you like apple pie? I'm not sure you really like food."
"You like apple pie. and you're the one who said that foods taste funny if miracle."
"It is not made with the same love," Aziraphale mumbled.
"Anyway…I knew eventually heaven would send their most loyal angel, you, to put a stop to the most cunning demon, me, and then I would be able to give you this!"
Crowley picks up a tin-foil pie off the ground and pushes it towards Aziraphale's face.
Aziraphale pushes the pie gently away , "Even though a bit unorthodox, it was very kind for you to do this for me."
"I didn't do it for you; I was low on my quota this month."
"Well, for whatever reason, Thank you."
"Whatever, Angel…Now let's eat." Crowley unwraps the pie.
Crowley miracle himself a fork and stabbed a piece of the pie, moving the piece towards Aziraphale's lips.
Aziraphale took the piece into his mouth, and his eyes lit up.
Crowley smiles proudly. "Is it good?"
The angel nodded cheerfully,
Crowley leaned in slightly, but the sound of someone clearing their throat distracted him, causing him to turn his head to the three 'cult' members standing awkwardly and watching whatever was happening.
"I guess I should award you a lot for bringing my Sacrifice. What do you want?"
"Eternal youth!"
"Eternal power!"
"To Finally finish my 'work in progress'"
"I'm sure I could do all of that. Umm… I'll start the paperwork, and you'll be notified within 7-10 business days…Now leave us alone!"
The three teenagers scattered hurriedly. Leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone on the altar, surrounded by 52 homemade apple pies.
"Next time, how about inviting me to join you in America? We'll make a holiday out of it!"
"Whatever you want, Angle," Crowley nods, partly listening as he takes up another piece with the fork.
"Or how about we stay home and make a pie from scratch!"
"Better yet, how about we lay in bed and watch someone make a pie on the telly."
Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, Crowley slipped the piece into his mouth.