Chapter Text
For the first time in who knows how long, Crawly felt something other than despair.
“Go up there and cause problems,” they had instructed.
Joining the rebels had once seemed the better of two poor choices. Now, he just wanted to go his own way; Hell knew it, and resented him for it. As such, the Earth assignment seemed suspect.
They would never intentionally give him anything he would want to have, he thought.
Maybe they thought Eden the worst assignment, and that as no one else wanted it, he wouldn’t, either.
But why? Perhaps, he mused, they might want to avoid whatever valorous, self-righteous idiots Heaven would place there to guard the place, fearing a post-War smiting.
He didn’t care about any of that. Away was the best thing envisionable—going off alone. And he felt optimistic about his chances.
So, he opted to feign nonchalance.
“Yeah, alright, if I have to.”
“You have to,” the Archduke sneered. “Hail Satan.”
“Yep,” he said flatly. “Hail Satan.”
—
As the Serpent of Eden, he slithered around the garden floor, blending into the cool soil beneath the ardent undergrowth. He took the lay of the land.
It was peaceful.
It was fragrant, too.
He’d mostly forgotten what breathing comfortably felt like. What a change from Hell, where suggested cleanliness measures were met with derision.
Shut up. Why do you care, Crawly? Do you think you’re better than us?
It was just that he had imagination and could think original thoughts. Original thoughts were in short supply among demons as they had been among angels; he didn’t fit with either side, really.
In any case, one of his original thoughts was that “Hell” didn’t have to mean “filth.”
But this filth is here just for you. Keep slithering down low, Crawly. It’s where you belong.
Nahhhh.
Grounding himself in the feel of the cool soil and the lulling breeze, Crawly looked about, curious and clear-eyed.
In that moment, the serpent saw him.
He was there. Dressed in white with a flaming sword. A guardian. Resplendent.
His chief adversary in the Garden was …Aziraphale?
He remembered Aziraphale staunching his wound at the end of the War in Heaven, despite his being a rebel. That secret act of kindness was the very last he had experienced before he sauntered downwards with the Fallen.
What would the angel think of the Demon Crawly? Perhaps, changed as he was, Aziraphale would behave differently – recoiling and smite upon sight. Plenty of angels had done so to rebel angels during the War, after all.
He preferred not to take any chances; he got by in Hell by being strategic, and the same approach would do here.
He slithered away, staying low, low, low, alone at the bottom of the garden, and continued to assess this new, verdant setting.