Chapter Text
Being appointed to Earth is probably one of the greatest things to ever happen to Minho. Granted, there aren’t that many great things on the list to begin with, and most of them are a direct consequence of being on Earth in the first place, but the point still stands.
It’s been about 5,000 years since he first arrived, give or take. Only a millennia after he was casted out from Haven for smacking one too many butts. Who would’ve thought Lucifer’s buttocks were going to be the one thing to damn Minho to an eternity of grimey coworkers and a faint burning sulfur scent following him around? At least it had been an excellent ass to slap, and he’s learnt to take pride in being one of the few demons that got to do it. For sure nobody would dare do something like that now.
At first, he wasn’t that happy about being sent to Earth. He was used to the grinding gears of Hell’s bureaucracy, stamping damnation certificate after damnation certificate in a small cubicle under a faulty light bulb. Of course, it wasn’t perfect, but with time it had become a safe space of sorts. It was predictable and monotonous, and he got to bring his cat familiar with him and make fun of the nasty familiars other demons were assigned with. Frankly, he doesn’t know what he would've done if he’d been assigned maggots or something equally icky. A shudder runs down his spine at the thought.
The downside to being content with his job was that he was ultimately considered an adequate employee, at least in comparison to the other demons, therefore deserving a promotion to East Asia Tempting Demon, getting to damn the humans himself and relying on someone else to stamp the certificates.
At the time, Minho was unaware of the existence of an East Asia. Or a West Asia, as a matter of fact. Not his fault, really. Everything earthly was happening in some place called the Middle East, and it was rumored that the son of God herself would be born there as well a few thousand years later, so who would’ve thought that there were other places at all?
So he was sent to Earth with only his company-issued body, a warning not to suffer discorporation because the paperwork would be heavenly - in the sense only a demon would use that word - and one mission: gather souls for Hell. Tempt them, make them take the wrong path and condemn themselves to serve Satan and be part of their troops for whenever the ultimate war between Heaven and Hell would occur.
The first few millennia were rather peaceful and successful. Despite the initial hardships of having a body - he didn’t need to nourish himself, sleep or even breathe, but he could feel pain just like any other living being on Earth1, which would’ve been nice to know before he petted what turned out to be an angry tiger that one time -, Minho settled well into his new job. At first, it was quite laid back, if only because there weren’t that many people to tempt at the time. And when humans started to get better at not dying during childbirth - on either part of the whole business -, filling the planet as a consequence, they also got creative with inventing their own self-condemning activities, which means that Minho’s work has basically consisted of taking credit for this or that man-made nastiness and writing imaginative reports about it.
Despite being well aware of humanity’s worst side and taking advantage of it, Minho has taken to cherishing Earth and humans alike. Of course, all that unnecessary, self-inflicted pain isn’t to his liking, but there are also many enjoyable things too. Take cats, for example. Camping. Star gazing. Comfy beds. Heating in the winter and air conditioning in the summer. Warm baths. Nice clothes, good food. Better company. Plenty of fun things that make Minho happy to be on Earth.
And to say that Earth is about to be destroyed.
“Chan,” he says as soon as the other picks up the phone. “We need to meet now. I’ve got news from… Down There.”
Minho is sprinting down the streets of Seoul, his mind running a thousand miles per hour. First step, of course, is discussing the matter with Chan.
“Sure. It’s not like I just made myself some ramen that I can leave unattended indefinitely without it getting soggy,” the angel says on the other side of the line.
Minho rolls his eyes.
“Just miracle them to stay as they are,” he replies. Chan might be out of sight, but Minho can perfectly see him pouting. He sighs. “I’ll make some for you later.”
“Really?” Chan’s voice perks up at the prospect. “Thank you, you’re so ni-”
“Yeah, yeah. Rendez-vous point number eight?” he cuts Chan off before he hears him say something nasty.
“Was that the karaoke place or the cat cafe?”
“The Korean spa,” Minho says. “See you there in fifteen,” he adds, and hangs up the phone.
The spa is buzzing with activity, which makes it a good spot for sharing confidential information without drawing attention to oneself. Also, they get to pamper themselves a bit, which is always welcome.
“So, what did you want to tell me about?” Chan asks with a pleasant smile, his full attention on Minho. They’re sitting by themselves on the floor, towels wrapped around their heads and face masks already applied. Chan looks a little bit funny and Minho suspects he does too.
“Right.” He straightens up. “I went to Hell this morning to hand in my monthly report, as one does, and I overheard Beelzebub themself tell a minor demon to prepare The Shipment.”
“The Shipment?” Chan asks, puzzled.
“The Shipment,” Minho confirms. “You know,” he says, gesturing with his head towards the ground. “The Shipment.”
“What Shipment, Minho? I don’t know what you’re on about.”
Minho drags his hand over his face before replying.
“The Hellhound, Chan, the Hellhound!” he says just a bit too loudly, making a group of gossiping ajummas stop their chatter and turn their heads towards them. Minho smiles apologetically and turns back to Chan, raising his eyebrow pointedly.
“Ah, yeah,” Chan nods. “I knew about that.”
Minho’s eyes and mouth open to showcase how betrayed he feels.
“What do you mean, you knew?” he asks, frowning. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He adds way too loudly, prompting some patrons to shush them. He doesn’t apologize, for he’s a demon after all.
“Well, I thought you knew too. It was announced a couple of weeks ago, and we knew it was coming sooner than later anyway,” Chan says, unfazed. “You were notified of the Antichrist being delivered a few years ago, weren’t you?”
“Weeks ago!?” Another shush is directed at them and this time it’s Chan who apologizes on their behalf. As usual, his friendly dimpled smile easily appeases any disgruntled passerby. “Okay, I could maybe understand why you didn’t explicitly tell me, but why haven’t you, well… been panicking?” Minho asks, trying to wrap his head around how chill Chan is currently acting.
“What do you mean, panicking?” Chan’s brows knot together in confusion. “Minho, you knew this was going to happen. It’s hardly news. The Antichrist has been brought up by a wealthy American family, which surely has made him evil, for about twelve years now. Which means he’s about to turn twelve, so we’re due for the Hellhound and therefore him fully becoming the Antichrist, we will battle in the war and Heaven will prevail. Surely this isn’t surprising to you?” Chan shrugs, like all of it is just another day at the office.
“You are aware that Earth will disappear, right?” Minho says.
“And Heaven will prevail,” Chan insists, smiling.
“No ramen in Heaven. Or Korean barbecues. You know that, right?” Minho needs Chan to understand. “Only psalms and other cringey religious music, probably. Forget about EDM and hip hop. Watching soccer while eating a burger? Highly doubt it. Australia, for that matter? Poof, completely gone.” Minho pauses, gauging Chan’s reaction. He can see the wheels turning in his head.
“But- Well, I suppose you’re right, but… it will be for the Greater Good,” Chan says, his voice wavering almost imperceptibly.
“Chan, angel. Listen to me.” Minho bites the inside of his cheek, unsure if he’s bringing a little bit of a heartbreak upon himself. “No more demons either,” he finally lets out in a whisper, looking at Chan like his life depends on it.
Well, it kinda does, doesn’t it?
Chan looks back at him and Minho looks away, afraid that Chan will still put the awful Greater Good before him. There’s a tense silence, a moment too long in which Minho doubts if all their relationship is that of mere coworkers, brought together by shared ordeals but kept separate by competing companies that will force them to give everything they have for something they don’t actually believe in.
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Chan finally says, worrying his lower lip. “Surely there’s something we can do.” Minho’s metaphoric heart skips a beat, a smile starting to spread over his face. This is exactly what he needs. With Chan’s penchant for problem solving and his own wits, they can stop this nonsense and remain having their little dates on Earth forever and ever. “I bet if I introduce you to the higher ups they’ll see that you’re not so bad for a demon and be able to make an exception for you, maybe even turn you back into an angel.”
Minho’s mouth opens of its own accord, while his mind tries to come to terms with what he has just heard. After all these years Chan remains just as gullible... He can only blame himself for forgetting that Chan, unlike Minho, is an angel.
“Where are you going?” Chan asks when Minho gets up, already headed to the exit.
“Dunno.” Minho shrugs. “Somewhere where they don’t want me to be turned into a stuck-up angel,” he says over his shoulder, and leaves.
1 There had been a heated debate about which physiological functions bodies should have at the Department of Body Procurement To The Ethereal and The Occult, the joint Heaven and Hell commission dedicated to providing both angels and demons with human-like bodies. Angels argued that the ability to suffer pain was a requirement, since angels mustn’t forget the true essence of who they would be working with - humans. Demons, however, thought that both angels and their own peers suffering pain would be hilarious. Once both sides got their points across and realized that they were on the same page all this time, they added it to the list of bodily functions. For some reason - namely, it was tea time - they closed the meeting and forgot to discuss other physiological processes such as breathing and eating. It was only after the Big Oopsie of 1,430 B.C., in which an angel tried and, to a whole village’s trauma, succeeded in inhaling a full melon because he didn’t want to appear rude despite his lack of knowledge about human nutrition techniques, that those other features were introduced. ^