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“What the Fluff? A Tribute to Union Square Innovation,” Crowley read the giant blue and white banner aloud. “What innovation, angel?”
After the Not-pocalypse, Aziraphale was spending his retirement attending obscure festivals around the world. Crowley accompanied him because there was no reason not to anymore. If a Higher Authority had a problem with their Arrangement, and its new and interesting shape, They hadn’t made it known.
“The Fluffernutter Sandwich!” Aziraphale held up the so-called sandwich. The Wonder Bread slices with sticky, sweet spreads inside resembled food about as much as Famine’s Chow(™) in Crowley’s eyes. “White bread, peanut butter, and Somerville’s own Marshmallow Fluff!” He launched into explaining the product’s World War I origins and how the sandwich became a vital part of New England childhoods. Crowley half listened, studying the events schedule.
“Fluff Jousting, Fluff on the Nose… Fluff Lickoff? Sounds naughty.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, dear. This is a family friendly event!” Aziraphale bit into the sandwich. His eyes lit up. “Oh, I certainly understand why they made an entire festival for this. Try it.”
“Fine,” Crowley said, grabbing the sandwich from Aziraphale’s hands. Sweet treats were only tasty to demonic taste buds when stolen. He took a bite and… that was something. The combination of the nutty, salty peanut butter and sugary white cream (which contained zero trace of the marsh-mallow plant, an etymology Crowley didn’t comprehend but had taken credit for anyway), was doing something strangely wonderful to his insides. He felt like he was floating in the stars he’d made once again. Until everything went black.
***
“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, running to the demon’s side, cradling his limp body. Crowley was still breathing, at least, so they had a shot at avoiding discorporation paperwork. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how that would go in their quasi-retirement. “Ah, nothing to see here!” he said, miraculously redirecting the attention of some concerned festival attendees.
The black rectangle rang from the demon’s tight jeans. Aziraphale fished it out. Lord Beelzebub’s picture showed on the screen. Aziraphale intended to let it go to voicemail (he didn’t like the infernal devices, but had educated himself on how they worked), but a fly emerged from the phone anyway.
“Ah, Hello, Your Infernal Disgrace! I’m afraid now isn’t the best time to pop in…”
“I know. He’zzz still breathing, right?”
“Yes. How did you know…?”
“Figurezzz the idiot doezzzn’t read the memozzz.”
“What memo?”
“The one specifically stating to avoid combinationzzz of nut butterzzz and confectionary spreadzzz? One or the other izzz fine, but something about the combination izz toxic to demonic corporations. Our smartest men have been rezzzearching since the Boston Tea Party.”
“Marshmallow Fluff doesn’t date back that far,” Aziraphale countered.
“The one in 1973. Protesting Nixon. We thought he was one of yourzzz, you zzzee.” Aziraphale made a face. “But they ate Fluffernutterzzz after and our man went down just like this. Even in Crowley’zzz… post-employed state, I can zzzense when his vital signzzz dip.”
“So have your smartest men found a cure?” Aziraphale asked skeptically.
Beelzebub took Crowley’s arm, and a line of mosquitoes latched onto it, pumping something inside his helpless body. Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, wincing. “Thizzz infusion of Hellish intravenous fluids should patch him right up. Once he’s consciouzzz, he’ll require daily intake of either peanut butter OR the marshmallow fluff. Never both at the zzzame time.”
Aziraphale nodded, keeping his eyes closed until he heard Crowley’s voice.
“...Angel? Where are you?” Snaky eyes looked up into his.
“Right here, darling.” He blushed from the endearment slipping out in front of Crowley’s former boss, but if Beelzebub noticed, he said nothing.
“Oh, thank Someone. I had the weirdest dream… oh. Lord Beelzebub. Glad to see you here. Not on Alpha Centauri with Gabriel.”
“What? Why would I be there? With that wanker?”
“It was a wild dream. Felt so damn real, though.”
“You’ll have to tell me once we’re home,” Aziraphale said, teleporting them both to the South Downs.