Chapter Text
“Just a couple of notes to highlight at the next meeting, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale nodded, mental notebook at the ready. The angels, though visibly annoyed that they had been overlooked for the role of Supreme Archangel, had actually taken quite well to his last message. Granted, it was mostly about the cleaning roster, and it wasn’t actually his message, moreso The Metatron’s message that he was passing along, but still. A very important duty. An honour.
The Metatron cleared his throat.
“In order to better prepare for the Second Coming, it is imperative that we are more strict about the quality of life…Down There. We need more angels working on earth, encouraging humans to do Good, rewarding them when Good is done…you understand.”
Aziraphale sat a little straighter, elated. This is what his job was all about. Helping angels help people.
“Of course, Metatron. Shall I assign fifty angels to start?”
“Mmm, double that. Fifty for inspiring Good, and fifty for defence.”
“All right, fifty for – defence?”
“Yes. Well, it is of vital importance now more than ever that the earth is at its best. Think of it as a bit of housekeeping. Fifty angels to clean up, and fifty to get rid of pests. Such creatures that would get in the way of our Great Plan.”
Aziraphale suddenly felt very cold as The Metatron elaborated.
“Demons.”
“…right.”
“Split the group of one hundred into halves and tell half to focus on killing any demons they see. We don’t have time for any dilly-dallying, any nonsense.”
“Metatron, if I may –”
“You may.”
“Thank you. It’s just that, well, killing. That seems rather harsh.”
Based on the look the Metatron was giving him, Aziraphale would have to quickly change his strategy.
“Well, I just have a…concern. What if the humans see angels doing this killing and get the idea that it’s all right to do it themselves? Surely killing is one of the least Good things a human could do.”
“They won’t see it if you’re smart about this, Aziraphale. Make sure to remind the angels to be swift in their attacks and to utilize their miracles to make certain that the humans of earth don’t notice, or that they forget what they saw.”
Perhaps it was rather selfish, but Aziraphale was really only thinking of one demon in particular.
“Right. Jolly good.”
The Metatron closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. Aziraphale was dismissed.
“Ah, excuse me.”
The Metatron cracked an eye open.
“Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to make sure – well, I’m sure this is the case, of course, since you’re the one who said – well, that is to say, you agreed – my point is, I’m really just asking to make certain about something that I’m sure is already the case ---”
“Spit it out, Aziraphale.”
“The demon Crowley. He would be exempt from such…activities, I’m sure.”
“Whyever would that be the case?”
“You agreed that he’s worthy of being an angel. Meaning, you agree that he is Good, and Good is not something we are planning to…clean up, as you say.”
The Metatron closed his eye again, manifesting a coffee from thin air and taking a sip.
“I said nothing of the sort, Aziraphale. No. In fact, I only offered to restore angelic status to the demon Crowley as a service to you, in case you needed a partner to help you do your work. Though, in truth, I had a feeling that he would refuse. Now you’ve been here several weeks, you see why this refusal didn’t bother me one bit. You’ve settled in nicely and are doing a fine job, no demon pet needed.”
“But surely you wouldn’t have offered if Crowley wasn’t ---”
“I tire of this, Aziraphale. You are dismissed.”
The Metatron waved a hand, and the small white office disappeared. Or rather, it was replaced with Aziraphale’s own small white office.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was in the newsletter. The Angelic Truth. Crowley used to snag copies from Aziraphale to read at the park and laugh to himself about what angels deemed as newsworthy. It was usually workplace drama, nothing more.
He wouldn’t normally go out of his way to get one, but bless it, he was curious what they were saying about Beelzebub and Gabriel, so he grabbed Muriel’s copy from their desk and settled into an armchair in the bookshop to skim through it.
He’d been gritting his teeth and bearing the pain of visiting an Aziraphale-less bookshop because he wasn’t going to let his feelings or whatever it was get in the way of a perfectly comfortably place to nap. He just hoped that if he was here enough, it would fade into a dull ache and then disappear completely.
Speaking of aches and pains, Muriel was reading over his shoulder.
“Oh! Um, glad that’s not my job. That would be awkward.”
Crowley realized he had been thinking about the bookshop and its previous inhabitant instead of reading and tried to focus. Oh, there it was. SINFUL RELATIONSHIP OF THE MONTH: GABRIEL AND BEELZEBUB. All of heaven shocked that former Archangel Gabriel would stoop as low as to ---
Wait, what was Muriel chattering about?
“Not your job?”
“Yeah, under the work column. There, in the bottom left. It says ‘angels assigned to earth to encourage good deeds and/or kill demons. The five angels who kill the most demons in the next two weeks get a secret prize.’ They’d probably assign it to those lucky buggers in 17th class.”
They glanced at Crowley.
“The good deeds job, obviously, would be the lucky one. Wouldn’t want that other one. That’s what I meant by awkward. Hope that helps!” They laughed nervously.
“Got it.”
Crowley wasn’t surprised. After all, angels had never had any qualms with killing demons before this was an official assignment. He’d had some close calls himself with overzealous angels. Still, he was glad to finally have gotten his flat back – he’d be a bit too exposed for comfort in the Bentley with the increase of angels on earth.
It’s fine. This was fine. He should check his locks though, just to be sure. He was pretty certain he’d left his flat unlocked this morning, actually. If some angel managed to find out that that was where a demon lived and got in when he wasn’t there, he wouldn’t want them to take their anger out on his plants.
He folded the paper and got to his feet, heading to the door.
“Oh, bye, Mister Crowley! See you later!” Muriel called.
He didn’t bother saying goodbye back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aziraphale had had a plan. What he had wanted to do was to encourage the angels to focus on the good deeds part of the assignment, even if they were meant to be in the ‘defence’ half. To only harm demons that were actively causing harm themselves, and to be ready to defend their decision to him personally if they chose to harm even the most Evil of demons.
But then the newsletter went out. It was not good. As soon as the paper had crossed his desk, he went up to The Angelic Truth offices to ask around about who had printed this inaccurate assignment.
“We got the news weeks ago. Yeah, I don’t remember who wrote this, but I approved it. I don’t see why you have your panties in a bunch, Supreme Archangel.”
The head editor had said this with an exaggerated bow. Aziraphale had gone in with the intention to intimidate, all stern face and deep voice, but it seemed as though no one was frightened of them as they were of Gabriel.
“Anyway,” she continued, “it seems pretty accurate to what the Metatron said.”
“The Metatron never specified a prize of any sort, or how lenient angels should be when it comes to killing demons.”
“I feel like I remember a prize.”
“There was no prize!”
“It makes it far more exciting for the readers anyhow. Like a competition, you know? We can print the names of the winners. Maybe the real prize can be the bragging rights they earned along the way.”
Then the angels had barely listened to him during the meeting itself, instead arguing about what the prize could be. Aziraphale could barely get a word in – they seemed to think his presence was useless when they had already gotten their instructions relayed to them via the newsletter.
Maybe he could think up a way to protect Crowley with some time, but the angels had started to go down to earth as soon as the assignments were relayed. Every moment counted.
There was no way around it – he would have to go down himself to warn Crowley.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seeing as the bookshop was protected against angels, Crowley had decided to bundle most of his plants into the Bentley and bring them there. He carefully arranged them by the windows.
“I see any wilting, drooping, or spots, and I chuck you into the street, got it?” He reminded them as he misted.
He dropped the plant mister and grabbed one of the bottles of wine he had stashed beneath Aziraphale’s – the old desk. He took a swig, melting into an armchair. The plants made the bookshop look different. It looked more his. He would have to remember to tell Muriel not to be lenient with them – he had a feeling they’d let the plants get away with imperfections.
He spotted a flash of white at the door and was behind a bookshelf before his brain had time to catch up with his body. Aziraphale. That was Aziraphale. He peeped out, still clutching the bottle, just to make sure, and yep, that was the angel, his angel, fiddling with his jacket in front of the door, his back to Crowley. He seemed to be looking around, as if worried that he was being followed.
Crowley gently put the bottle down on the shelf in front of him and backed up until he hit the stairs. Suddenly his idea to visit the bookshop as much as possible because he didn’t want one sour memory to ‘ruin a good nap spot’ seemed like a pathetic excuse to cover up the fact that he was sitting here waiting for Aziraphale to return, because he doesn’t have a life other than the one that revolves around Aziraphale. The moment Aziraphale saw him here, he’d recognize that. And as much as he ached to see the angel again, it’d be really, really embarrassing.
So, he fled up the stairs into the spare bedroom and clambered out the window, pulling out his wings and jump-flapping up onto the roof. He dropped onto his back, letting the small patches of sky visible through the clouds ground him. If he really focused and honed in on his demonic hearing, he could sense Aziraphale walking around the bookshop beneath him. He’d just have to wait him out.
He let his eyelids droop, counting the birds that flew through his field of vision. He was almost asleep when a thought made him jolt back up. The plants. How could he have forgotten? Aziraphale will have seen the newly misted plants and known that he was there often, that he was there recently.
Crowley groaned, sitting up. This was ridiculous. Here he was, hiding from Aziraphale to avoid embarrassment, when Aziraphale already knew Crowley had made a habit of hanging around the bookshop waiting for him.
Should he just go down and see him? Talk to him? His heart raced at the thought, mostly with anxiety. Why was he even back? How long ---
Something slammed into Crowley. A very large something, given the way they both skidded across the roof like they were in a cartoon.
The figure stood up, revealing its own pair of wings, glistening white. It was an angel, and not one he’d met before.
The angel grinned, triumphant, brandishing a wicked-looking sword.