Chapter Text
Never had he felt the street this cold before. Even through the heavy haze of alcohol was clouding his brain, his nearly unconscious mind still registered the hardness of the pavement, the dirt, the stench. As he lay there, curled up and searching for protection within himself, he found the rats almost comforting. At least they were something warm, something alive — something that neither feared him, nor despised him, nor abandoned him. This was where he belonged: among the unloved, the outcasts who had no place anywhere — not in this world, not in Hell, and certainly not in Heaven.
Yet even the rats were better off than he was. They had a home, another one even, down there in Hell. They had friends, a family, a pack. Only he was alone, abandoned, with nothing and no one. He surrendered himself to his bitterness along with all the drama he was capable of, retreating into it more and more often lately so that he would not have to think.
His entire world was broken, lost; his heart — the one he had always claimed he did not even possess — was shattered. One sentence circled endlessly through his mind:
What’s the point of anything?
Thinking hurt. Especially because he had become so good at avoiding it. If he had been in his right mind, if he hadn’t been drinking so much, he would now have gone to the bookshop, curled up like a snake on the soft sofa, pitied himself, and cried into the cushions.
No one would notice anyway. There was no one there, and no one would ever come again, because he had long since turned the sign on the door to “Completely Closed,” so everyone ignored the former bookstore just as people were now neglecting him while he lay in the dirt.
The shop would have been the most reasonable place to go. But he was not reasonable, did not want to be reasonable. He wanted to suffer, wanted to feel his existence through pain, through cramped muscles and stiff limbs.
Ha — if only he could see him now, he, the one who had abandoned him so shamefully! The one to whom he had revealed himself, the one who could have had him, completely, without holding back. Only not here. Not on Earth, not on this godforsaken Earth.
Eventually the brooding became too exhausting, and he fell asleep.
“Hi.”
Someone tugged gently at his hair.
“Hello. I don’t want to disturb you. But you’re Crowley, aren’t you? The angel?”
An unfriendly grunt should have been enough to shy everybody away. It wasn’t.
“I need your advice!”
“Go away. My valuable passing out drunk time is sacred to me.”
“Passing out drunk time?”
“What about that don’t you understand? Who are you anyway?” Crowley half sat up. “I don’t want to be, so I don’t want to remember. I simply don’t think, therefore I am not.”
“I don’t understand that either.”
Crowley sighed and lay back down. “I don’t care who you are,” he mumbled with difficulty. “Just imagine how wonderful it would be if you were a fish, only opening and closing your mouth without anything coming out. Then I could go back to forgetting.”
“I still don’t understand.”
Crowley turned his back on him. “Go away. I’m numb. I am broken. I want to die.”
“But that’s impossible!” his visitor replied in alarm. “You’re an immortal being. You are an angel.”
“That was a very long time ago. Besides, you couldn’t possibly know that.” Crowley awkwardly sat up. “I am a — ah no, I was — a demon. Now I’m a demon out of service. Retired. Immortal, but retired. Without powers. I… ah. Forget it.”
“I’ve already forgotten far too much,” came the reply. “Everything is only slowly and gradually coming back. I suppose that’s what happens when you get a new body.”
“Uh-huh,” Crowley replied intelligently.
“Usually it isn’t so noticeable because at first you normally have a very small body that can’t talk yet. The memories have a full nine months before they realize they’re supposed to inhabit a new body. Unfortunately they usually fade again after a few years, because once you are finally able to speak, nobody believes you.” He paused to think. “Last time I never lost my memories, though. I could test all my abilities, but nobody ever believed me anyway.”
“What nonsense are you babbling about? Who are you again?”
“Don’t you recognize me? You showed me the world back then, in the desert. It was so very interesting, and I was grateful to you my entire life. It made my final days so much easier because I realized that, despite everything, I had seen it all, and I had actually lived. Even though I died so young.”
“Jesus!”
“Well, yes, of course. Do you recognize me now?”
“You’ve changed a little.”
“Well. That happens when you don’t get a say in the matter. They simply woke me up and told me it was time. And then they gave me this body.”
“I… uh…”
“Wait. I’ll help you. I’ll make you sober again.”
“No really, don’t bother …”
But it was already too late. Jesus had placed his hand on Crowley’s heart, and the brainfog lifted. A little of his darkness lifted too, though that had sunken so bone deep, it would have taken much more time to heal.
Not particularly grateful, Crowley made a chewing motion and clicked his tongue. “That would not have been necessary, Jesus.”
Jesus merely smiled. “Now that you recognize me: it’s good to see you again!”
“So you’re here. That means…”
“Yes, unfortunately I don’t really know that either. I sneaked out. They wanted something from me that sounded suspiciously like the end of the world. But I don’t know the people of today yet, so I wanted to get to know them. But they won’t listen to me, and I’m not fully back in shape yet. I loved them despite everything, back then. Shouldn’t they deserve another chance? God gets so picky whenever something isn’t exactly the way She imagined it.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. She loves making bets, and judging, and punishing, and also cheating a little. She likes a good joke, and She constantly needs reassurance; everyone has to tell Her how wonderful She is. It can be rather exhausting.”
“Well then. What am I supposed to say? How can I help you?” Crowley held his aching head. The curtain before his eyes had fully lifted, but apparently it had wrapped itself too tightly around his forehead in the process. He longed for his self-pity, which had seemed far more justified while drunk. When he was awake, there was still something left of the former demon within him. At the very least one could still hear him growl dangerously or laugh sarcastically.
“Why am I here?”
That question chased away the last alcohol-soaked mist and replaced it with irritation.
“You’re asking me that? Me, the former demon? Without powers, living on the street?
That’s my question, understand? Mine!”
“You ask yourself that too?” Jesus sounded surprised. “Do you also have a mission?”
“I ask myself that because I DON’T HAVE a mission,” Crowley grumbled. “I don’t know what any of this is supposed to mean. I’ve lost everything — my apartment, my friend, my Bentley. My powers. And you got everything all at once: your life and the whole world.”
“That’s true”, Jesus admitted. “Too much, and too quickly. I never fully understood the whole destruction-of-the-world thing either. Have people really become so evil?”
“Not worse than they used to be,” Crowley answered dryly. “They killed you, remember? Humanity though hasn’t forgotten about it; they celebrate your death every year, even if nowadays it involves eggs and bunnys.”
“What do rabbits and eggs have to do with my death?”
“And chocolate. But I’ll explain that later. In any case, they learned nothing from the whole affair. They refuse to acknowledge that it was their own jealousy, envy, pride, and greed. They actually believe you voluntarily subjected yourself to that torture in order to redeem them.”
“So because they tortured me, their sins are forgiven? Funny they think that.”
“They never really evolved beyond the scapegoat concept.”
“I remember how difficult it was back then to make them think and to make them understand that they should be kind to each other. I remember all the stories I had to tell just to get my message across because otherwise they wouldn’t have understood me. Haven’t they at least become a bit smarter?”
“Not really. Still, I like them. Somehow they’re lovable idiots. They believe they’re important, which is amusing. They love parties, enjoy eating and drinking, make a huge fuss about sex, and beat and shoot each other whenever they get the chance.”
“When I once helped out with the drinks at a wedding, they liked that very much.” Jesus smiled dreamily. “But when I told them they should love each other, they beat me up.” His smile faded. “And you’re saying they’re still like that?”
“I’m afraid so. But their cooking improved.”
They both fell silent. Sober, Crowley felt even colder than before.
“We could go to the bookshop,” he suggested. “It’s definitely cleaner there, and we could make some cocoa.”
“Gladly,” Jesus agreed. “I don’t think I know what cocoa is. But if you like it, then I’ll like it too.”
Jesus took Crowley by the hand because he was still rather unsteady on his feet. Together they staggered towards the bookshop. At the door, the ex-demon reached into his pocket and fished out a key.
“Is this your house? Then why are you sleeping in the street?” Jesus asked in confusion.
“It’s complicated.”
“I have time. I don’t want to destroy the world before I’ve even gotten to know it.”
Crowley shrugged and set about preparing cocoa.
“ThestupidMetatronstolemyfriendfromme.”
“Sorry? Don’t mumble like that. Please say it again.”
“The… Metatron…” Crowley’s voice cracked with long-suppressed outrage. “He kidnapped my angel.”
“Kidnapped?”
Jesus’ voice was so gentle that something inside the demon finally broke. He wanted to tell the Light of the World everything that weighed so heavy on his soul, wanted to feel the comfort of the young man kneeling beside him with such sincere concern. Why should he hide anything? From the Messiah? It felt like the perfect opportunity to truly let loose and accuse the Metatron, to cry out Aziraphale’s betrayal, to confess to someone that he loved the angel beyond all limits, to no longer carry the secret alone. Someone who knew. An ally. Someone who could ease his pain. To say everything aloud, confess everything, empty himself completely.
The hot cocoa in the winged mugs landed rather roughly on the side table in front of Jesus.
“Aziraphale is working with the Metatron now.”
He could not manage to say more than that. Even forcing out that one sentence twisted his entire body. Once a snake, always a snake. But Jesus seemed to understand him.
“So Aziraphale is your angel. I know him. He’s kind, though a little confused.” He looked into the shining yellow eyes opposite him and recognized the torment, the pain, the endless loneliness. The bottomless disappointment. Crowley turned away and showed the Light of the World his back.
“I see you,” said the one with the stigmata that were gone now. The new body no longer remembered the crucifixion or the pain, yet the knowledge of it still remained. “The pain will pass away, but my words will not pass away.”
It was well meant, and Crowley actually found it comforting. Mostly because it was so cryptic that neither of them really understood it.
“He tricked him,” Crowley whispered. “He used that old, damn… sorry… that stupid card trick again. It was probably the reason for the switched babies back then, too. Nobody knew what was going on anymore. Confusion encourages bad decisions. When we’re confused, we’re more likely to follow our superiors. God must have planned all of this from the very beginning.”
“There’s something to that,” Jesus answered gently. “I didn’t know back then whether I should make a run for it, or surrender to the mob, because I simply couldn’t cope with human illogic. So I left the decision to God.”
A loud, heartbroken sigh was Crowley’s answer. “I remember it well. Aziraphale tried to explain it to me, but he ended up again with God’s ineffable plan. I’m sorry you had to suffer so much and that I couldn’t help you.”
A brief silence followed, in which both entities reflected on God’s inscrutability. It is not known whether they reached the same conclusion concerning the cruelty of it all, because Jesus was a little more inclined toward martyrdom, while inside Crowley, despite all his love, there still remained the old demon who wanted answers.
“But what did you mean earlier by a ‘card trick’?”
“Ah, that.” Crowley had no desire to go into the subject and was still caught in painful memories, which showed plainly on his face. His facial muscles practically danced and told a story of their own. “After a very, very long time… I finally… found the… courage… to talk to Aziraphale.” He had to close his eyes briefly before continuing. “I was so sure he would agree. We had reached a point where we couldn’t keep fooling ourselves anymore. So many thousands of years together, so much experienced and achieved side by side — there could only be one explanation.”
“Love. For the world.”
“Uh. Yes. That too. Then the Metatron arrived with his stupid, shallow, seductive claim that Aziraphale was the right one to solve the entire dilemma of Heaven, Hell, and humanity. He flattered him. He even pretended he could take me along as his assistant. I could have become an angel again — in that corrupt environment up there that you can only endure if you emigrate from it. No thanks.”
“Whenever humanity invented an authoritarian god, they always built intrigue and jealousy into the system as well. Zeus, for example, was one of those who made corruption socially acceptable.”
“Exactly. But Zeus wasn’t real. None of the gods were real; they were only a way to give meaning to natural phenomena.”
“Exactly,” Jesus replied and fell silent.
Crowley wondered whether their two “Exactlys” meant the same thing.
“The card trick,” Jesus reminded him after a while, taking a sip of the now pleasantly drinkwarm cocoa. “Oh. So this is cocoa. A miracle cure. I could get used to this. Thank you!”
“You take three cards, one of them is a queen. The task is to find the queen while the dealer juggles all three cards around. The whole point is that everyone looks in the wrong place.”
“Will you show me?”
“All right.”
Crowley went to the cabinet where Aziraphale kept his magic props and pulled out a deck of cards. With melancholy he remembered the many little quirks of his former friend, how endlessly embarrassing he had once found them, and how much he now wished that an overenthusiastic angel would once again pull a coin out of his ear.
For quite a while he occupied himself with explaining the trick to Jesus. “You always think you can outsmart the dealer. But you never win. The Metatron manages to make Aziraphale believe, against all reason, that he can win and therefore search for the solution in Heaven.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re so angry. The Metatron tricked Aziraphale. But how? How does he do it?”
“Only the dealer knows where the queen is, and he skillfully leads you down the wrong trail. He offers you different choices and confuses you so thoroughly that you make the decision the dealer wants you to make. It’s a dance. Try it yourself, feel the rhythm. The trick is never to think of it as merely a trick. The cards want to be manipulated, that’s the whole point. If you yourself are convinced that you’re not cheating, but doing something good, then it becomes easier to deceive.”
“I like doing good. And it would be a new way of connecting with people.”
To Crowley’s great astonishment, Jesus learned the trick very quickly. In fact, the cocoa had not even gone completely cold before they leaned back and closed their eyes tiredly for a moment. Their limbs grew heavier and heavier, and eventually Crowley’s head sank onto Jesus’ shoulder.
“You’re actually not that bad at fooling people,” he yawned.
“I learned from the best,” the Messiah mumbled sleepily.
“And from Her.”
“That too. She was always more talented than I was.”
Shortly afterward, both of them fell asleep from exhaustion.
*
It was the doorbell that woke them both.
Crowley woke first because he reacted to that sound like Pavlov’s dog to its signal. Well, not exactly with his mouth watering; but somehow it was something similar. He jumped up so abruptly that Jesus slid onto the floor.
He simply remained lying on the soft carpet because, after everything new he had experienced, he was still too little himself to face a customer.
A customer?
Who would—
“Azzzzzzzzzz……mph.”
“Crowley. Oh, Crowley.” The highest of the archangels looked at his lost friend with wide, deeply embarrassed eyes. “The entire street is almost deserted. The shops are decaying, the windows shattered. Rats are running around everywhere. Mr. Sandwich told me a great deal and explained how you’ve been doing. She even showed me where you usually sleep. And now I find you here. What happened?”
The answer came out far more sulky than Crowley had intended.
“What do you think happened? You weren’t here!”
“Obviously. But—what happened here?”
“Here? This is your bookshop, angel. Don’t you recognize it anymore? Were you gone that long?”
“Too long, I see,” Aziraphale tried to soften the harshness by gentling his voice. “But… everything around it has fallen apart, while here, here it’s as if time has stood still. A little dust perhaps,” he ran a finger over a book, “but otherwise everything is in order. No rat infestation, everything maintained.”
“You were gone, and I couldn’t lose the bookshop too,” Crowley said so quietly that the angel had to ask again.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You were gone, and I couldn’t lose the bookshop too!” The volume of his voice rose together with the bitterness the demon felt. “I’d already lost my entire world anyway.”
“But Crowley! I wasn’t your entire world.”
“Maybe Hell was? I quit that. And Heaven was never anything for me.”
Jesus, startled awake on the floor, listened to every word.
“But I…” Aziraphale stammered, turning pale, “I only wanted to do the right thing.”
“And I told you that wasn’t possible.”
“With your help perhaps we could have changed something.”
“The Metatron tricked you,” came Jesus’ muffled voice from below. “There is no such thing as the right thing.”
As if someone had stuck a pin into the angel’s backside, he sprang forward.
“You… have… been hiding Jesus here? We’ve been searching for him like … oh!”
“Of course. Figures you wouldn’t come because of me. You lost Jesus, and I was supposed to help you look for him because you made a proper mess of things up there. Isn’t that right?”
Uneasily, Aziraphale shifted from one foot to the other. The bitterness in his friend’s voice cut straight into his heart. “It’s not quite like that.” He walked over to the sofa and stared at Jesus on the carpet in bewilderment. “What are you doing down there? Why are you even here? And what do you mean by ‘tricked’?”
“I’m getting up.” Jesus hauled himself onto the sofa and eyed his winged mug. The remains of the cocoa were cold. “It tastes better warm.”
“Mmh. I haven’t had any for so long… No, this isn’t the time for that,” Aziraphale interrupted himself. “Or perhaps… maybe… just a little sip…?”
“I’ll do it,” Jesus offered readily. “I watched you earlier, Crowley. I can manage it. And I have the feeling the two of you need a moment.”
Neither of them objected, and Jesus wandered off into the kitchen.
The silence was uncomfortable and stung in the chest like an open wound.
“I’m sorry. I truly only wanted the best for everybody.”
“You heard Jesus. There is no such thing as the right thing.”
“Then there can’t really be a wrong thing either.” If there was a thread of defense to cling to, one could be certain Aziraphale would grasp it. But it did not help much, and he knew it. He could see the wound he had inflicted on his friend, and the weight of his failure on every front grew heavier and heavier.
“Should I apologize?”
“Better not.”
“I could do the dance…”
“Angel, we’re already miles beyond that stupid dance. I don’t need a dance from you. That belonged to another time. Back when we didn’t know each other so well. Back when…” …the world was still all right, he wanted to say. But he realized that wasn’t true either. It had never been all right. There had always been far too much interference from the Up and the Down. As long as Up and Down still played a part in their lives, they would never stand a chance. Never. Not with their miraculous powers, and not without them.
Aziraphale stepped closer to Crowley.
“Crowley,” he tried again. “I am so sorry. It may be that I was wrong and you were right. I wanted to make things better - for everyone — for us too.”
“The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, humans say.”
“I saw a future for us.”
“We never had a chance,” Crowley growled darkly.
“If we had run away to Alpha Centauri, they would eventually have found us and dragged us back into their filthy game. And I didn’t want to abandon humanity to its fate. I wanted to save all of humankind — for us! For us too! Especially for us! So they would finally leave us alone! I’m not nearly as selfless as you may think. Oh, Crowley.” Helplessly, he shook his head. “How could the two of us ever have been happy together while that corrupt Heaven keeps killing everyone?”
Crowley narrowed his yellow eyes to stop himself from bursting into tears. “I know,” he said hoarsely. “I know you only ever wanted what was best for us. Even if that doesn’t actually exist. That’s simply who you are, angel. So very you.”
“You managed for such a long time with what I am. You liked me.”
A growl was the answer.
“That’s why you protected the bookshop too?”
“Mnnngnnnn.”
“Can we talk to each other again? Crowley? Like we used to? I missed you so much.”
“Sssssssssrssss.”
At precisely that moment — a moment that was obviously the wrong one — Jesus returned with the cocoa.
“How do we go on from here?”
Crowley wiped at his eyes while Aziraphale inspected the spiral staircase with interest, the same staircase that had already survived a battle with demons once before. Probably for the best, the ex-demon thought. Who knows what else I might have said otherwise. And maybe I would have misinterpreted everything all over again and been struck straight through the heart once more. I won’t survive that again, not after I’ve already tried so hard and been rejected every single time.
Of course he did not think that in these words exactly. He thought it more with his slender body, twisting again in a serpentine way, and with his stomach tightening painfully, and with his lips pressed together. He thought it with his throat too, which could no longer produce a proper sound. So he coughed and cleared his throat for a long while until his voice came hoarsely back.
“Thanks for the cocoa, Jesus.”
That was not actually what he had intended to say, but he supposed he had to work with what was possible. In his memory he could very clearly hear Maggie and Nina sighing “Men!”. He shrugged. Unfortunately, he could no longer express his feelings through lightning flashes and smoke pouring from his entire body. He would have made an absolutely magnificent column of super-dark gray smoke.
And yet, despite everything, there was a shy atmosphere of peace hanging in the air. And a rediscovery of the old ease with which they had once interacted with one another. He wondered whether he might actually be able to heal the deep wound by shedding his skin. After all, he was a snake.
Aziraphale finished inspecting the spiral staircase. The cocoa smelled wonderful, and even before it touched his lips, he already knew how much he had missed “corrupting his earthly vessel.”
“At any rate, I’m glad we found Jesus.”
“I came to Crowley,” the Savior protested. “You simply should have taken better care of your friend, then you would have known immediately where to find me. He would have told you. He always stood by your side, I remember it perfectly. Back then he told me everything about you while he showed the world to me. He said he would want to travel to all those places with an angel if he didn’t have to be a demon. He was really very kind.”
“Was that really so?” Aziraphale asked quietly, barely able to endure the other’s small nod.
“We don’t have to think about that anymore, angel. Apparently it wasn’t part of the ineffable plan.”
“But then what is God’s ineffable plan?” Jesus grumbled of all people. “What She told me back then can’t still be it. She said I should come back again someday because She would give humanity time to reflect on my words. And if nothing improved, then I would have to judge mankind together with Her. Like Cinderella. The good ones into the pot, the bad ones into the crop. But that’s hardly modern jurisdiction anymore.”
“She always did enjoy punishment. Didn’t she, angel? Think of Noah. And Sodom and Gomorrah.”
“Humans were always just humans, never saints. And nowadays they don’t even believe in fairy tales anymore. Not even in you, Jesus.”
“I noticed that. They don’t even want to hear stories anymore. And I don’t know how else I’m supposed to make them listen to me so I can guide them onto the right path.”
“The right path isn’t any better than the left one,” Crowley mocked joylessly, and Jesus was about to ask what he meant, but then thought better of it and continued speaking instead.
“You can’t let them recognize Good and Evil and then judge them for it. The whole thing is entirely Her own fault anyway. Why did She plant the Tree of Knowledge right in the middle of the garden in the first place? She had that all arranged with Satan from the very beginning!”
“What did I say back then? Aziraphale? Do you remember?”
At that point the floodgates opened, and all three of them began talking over one another. There was talk of the moon, or the edge of the Garden, of God’s fondness for card games and manipulation. Jesus complained that God, like all women, simply could not let go and always had to get Her own way, and then somehow they ended up discussing a lost sword, Job and a wager with the Devil, and incompetent angels who did not know the difference between a rib and other body parts because they refused to defile their temples not only with good food, let alone with knowledge of biology.
For Crowley and Aziraphale, verbal sparring was nothing new and, in a strange way, it was cathartic. It felt familiar to contradict each other, to loudly defend opposing opinions, to try to convince the other — only to apologize moments later when they remembered once again that they all came from different backgrounds and therefore naturally could not share exactly the same views. Or could they? In any case, the discussion was a small step in a direction that stirred old feelings of connection and almost lulled them into a forgotten sense of safety. At times they even laughed, especially when they remembered Job. The ox ribs. The miracle with the goats. Job’s children. Gabriel. Gabriel, who was now together with Beelzebub…
Suddenly Crowley stopped short. “Do you feel that? Something’swrong.”
They all fell silent and agreed. Jesus stood up and placed his cocoa mug on the desk, while Aziraphale, with great regret, hurriedly drained his own cup so quickly that he choked on it. Crowley had to pat him on the back, but abruptly stopped when Aziraphale coughed out: “We urgently need to go upstairs, Jesus. I haven’t even told you the worst part yet. The Book of Life has disappeared.”