First GO fic--I've been working on it too long to know what I think of it anymore, so apologies if it's awful :) Never seen this biblical story brought up in a GO fic before, so just thought I'd try it.
The only place I could find with my limited knowledge of Abraham that might make sense was Beersheba; if it turns out he couldn't have been anywhere near there for some reason I apologize :P I wrote this story, finished it, was relatively proud of it, then read somewhere that Isaac would have been at least 25 at the time. Ooooops. This is what I have, folks. Apologies for inaccuracies :)
Just reread this intro; realized how much I apologised. Apologies for apologies.

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Ligur do not belong to me; they belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Although if the time comes when they don't want them anymore I will gladly accept them.

On Doubting and Blessings

The man in black sauntered across the desert. He was whistling a merry tune, and smiling at nothing in particular, which is a pretty good trick, as anyone who's tried to whistle and smile at the same time will know.

Crowley was pleased.

He was pleased because he wasn't being bossed by his superiors. In fact, he had recently received a commendation for something he didn't really know anything about (something to do with a couple of cities or something. From the sound of it it had been rather messy). And now Hell had left him alone for a while, and he was beginning to think that it would stay that way for a while longer.

So it was a source of great disappointment when, as he was coming upon the city of Beersheba, a small lizard scampered across the rocks in front of him and turned into Ligur.

"Hello, Crawly," he said.

"It's Crowley now, actually," said Crowley, a bit nervously. "I changed it a while back--you know, it didn't make so much sense once I lost the snake body and all, and anyway it never really--"

"We must recount the Deeds of the Day, Crawly," said Ligur testily.

"Er. Right. You go first."

"I have tempted the people of a small house in Beersheba," said Ligur. "They were sure it wasn't stealing if they didn't really mean it, just this once. But they will find it difficult to stop, now that they have begun, and we shall have them."

"Well. Very impressive," said Crowley.

"And what have you done?" asked Ligur.

"Well, you know, actually, I was so busy with the last couple acts that I haven't quite gotten to it yet. You know," he pushed on hastily, "The ones that earned me the latest commendation?"

Ligur's eyes narrowed. (The commendation thing was a bit of a sore spot between them).

"Well then, Crawly--"

"Crowley."

"It would seem that you are well suited to this next task."

What was left of Crowley's good mood vanished completely. "Right," he muttered gloomily.

"We have received some very disturbing reports concerning the human Abraham," said Ligur stonily. "He is a man of God."

"Er," said Crowley. He could see where this was going. "Well then, I suppose we'll just have to work around him, eh?" He gave what he hoped was a cocky grin.

"The master wants him Taken Care Of," said Ligur. He was really feeling the capital letters today.

"And you want me to do it."

"We are certain that you are capable of the job. With the number of commendations you've had--" here Ligur smiled unpleasantly, "this should be simplicity itself."

"Ah. Right. So. What exactly should I be doing?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something." Ligur turned away from him. "Now go and do your duty. And we'll be waiting to hear news of Abraham's tainted soul."

There was a smell of brimstone, because it was Tradition, and Ligur disappeared.

Crowley blessed loudly once he was sure Ligur was really gone. He knew Abraham from a couple years ago. A nice enough chap, but Crowley hadn't been able to tolerate his general goodness for very long. The man positively reeked of holiness. It was enough to make a demon weep, except of course demons do not weep under any circumstances.

And, of course, Abraham had been hanging out rather a lot with Aziraphale.

This complicated things. Aziraphale would be constantly thwarting whenever Crowley was really getting a good wile going. It was infuriating. And, well, last time he and Aziraphale had parted company they had been getting along rather well, mostly because they hadn't been working directly opposite each other. Seemed a shame to spoil it.

But what could you do? It wasn't like they had free will, anyway. Crowley resumed his trek towards Beersheba, the sands of the desert flowing around him.

It had taken a while for the idea to fully manifest itself in Crowley's head, but once it did he was sure he had a winner. Crowley was particularly proud of this plan.

He waited until night fall, then crept into Abraham's encampment. The old man was already asleep, his mind peaceful. It was an easy matter for Crowley to step into his dreams. "Abraham," he called, in his best Mysterious Voice.

In his dream, Abraham looked around, but saw nothing. "Lord?" he called. Crowley grinned to himself. Abraham had been visited by so many angels in the past that Mysterious Voices were nothing new to him. It also meant he wouldn't doubt Crowley's words, either. Crowley used Aziraphale's voice, just in case. "The Lord asks of you a sacrifice, Abraham," he said.

"I shall give on the fire the finest of my lambs, Lord--"

"No," Crowley intoned again. "Hear me, Abraham. With your beloved son Isaac you must go to the land of Moriah, to a mountain that I will show you. There the sacrifice is to be made, and instead of goat or lamb you must sacrifice your son on the fire."

Even in his sleep, Abraham went white. "Lord--"

"The Lord's will be done." Crowley sent him a picture of a mountain he'd seen once in Moriah, and left Abraham's dream. Well, that had been fairly easy. Now to sit back and wait for the commendation, preferably while holding several bottles of wine.

Abraham awoke, and lay for some time where he was, trembling with waves of emotions he could not name, nor fully understand.

His son.

Aziraphale was enjoying a good lunch in the nearby city of Beersheba, outside which Abraham's people were camped. He was watching the encampment over the wall, thinking about Abraham. It would be most difficult to find a human more worthy of the Lord's favor.

Aziraphale allowed himself a smug feeling. Much of that had been his doing. Abraham was an easy man to talk about God with.

Later that day he went down to the well, only to hear that Abraham had left earlier that day. Which was strange, Aziraphale though, since Abraham hadn't informed him of a pending journey. But it was probably nothing.

When Abraham still hadn't returned the next day, Aziraphale went to his tent. Sarah sat alone, gazing at a pattern she had woven. The bright colors gave sharp contrast to her shadowed face.

"Sarah," said Aziraphale quietly, "Where is your husband Abraham?"

"I do not know, she replied, turning away. "The told me that it was God's will that he make a sacrifice somewhere far from here. He took Isaac with him. I do not know where they are now."

Crowley was feeling uneasy. He was certain to get a commendation for sowing seeds of doubt into a mind like Abraham's, but... the man had shown such obvious distress at the thought of killing his son. It made Crowley slightly uncomfortable to think about it. He was aware that this wasn't a very demonic thing to feel and tried to forget about it. If anyone Down There caught him being uncomfortable for doing demonic things, well... he doubted they'd take it kindly.

He wandered the streets of Beersheba, looking for a place that sold decent wine. He turned corner, ran straight into Aziraphale, turned around and managed to get about five steps before the angel had recovered from his shock and had him by the back of his shirt.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale tried to shout noiselessly. "What are you doing--"

"Look, I get my orders, same as you--"

They both stopped and stared at each other for a couple seconds.

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's arm and dragged him into a doorway. "We can't fight here," he said, nodding towards the general population of the city, "so why don't we give it a miss this time, okay? I'm sorry about Abraham, it's not like I had a choice!"

"Who's fighting? I won't--Crowley, you--what about Abraham?"

"Let's get out of here," Crowley muttered. Street people were beginning to give them funny looks. He dragged Aziraphale out of the city. Once outside the walls he turned back to the Angel. "Look. I'm given orders, I obey them. It's not like I can say 'Oh, sorry, not this human, he's been hanging out with this angel I know,' I just have to do it, all right? You know that! So there's no point in getting mad."

"But Crowley," Aziraphale spluttered, feeling several steps behind in the conversation, "What exactly did you do?"

"Huh? He didn't tell you?"

"What?"

"Well, you went to see what was wrong, didn't you?"

"Wrong?"

"Huh?"

"What?"

"Huh?"

"Crowley!" Aziraphale shouted, "What the hell is going on?"

"I was told to screw up Abraham's spotless reputation, so I visited him in a dream and put the seed of doubt into his mind. Now, I assume, he's sitting around moping because he doesn't know what to do, despite your explanation. Am I wrong?"

"Yes! Crowley, what exactly did you tell him?"

"I told him it was God's will that he sacrifice his son on a mountain in Moriah--Aziraphale? Shit, are you okay?"

Aziraphale's face had gone completely white. "You told him what?" he gasped.

"That he's supposed to sacrifice his son! It's supposed to make him doubt! How is this so hard?"

"Crowley," Aziraphale said in a low voice laden with horrified realization, "Abraham left his camp about two and half days ago, with Isaac."

Crowley went almost as pale as Aziraphale. "He's not going to do it?" he exclaimed.

Aziraphale answered by suddenly unfolding his wings, momentarily blinding Crowley. Then he leapt into the air and sped towards Moriah.

Crowley sat down in the sand. "Shit," he said.

Abraham knelt by the altar, his knife in his hand, tears of anguish streaming down his cheeks. His son, tied to the wood, was shaking and crying from fear. Their emotions flared strong above the mountain: Abraham's grief, Isaac's terror.

Abraham covered his son's eyes. "Don't be afraid," he whispered through his tears. "Heaven awaits you." He choked on the words as he raised the knife.

"Abraham!" Aziraphale screamed.

Abraham looked up and gaped at Aziraphale, who managed to stop in midair above them. "Abraham," he said a little more calmly, "do not hurt your son." Now what? He thought hard for a moment. "You have proved your perfect love of God by your willingness to sacrifice even your own child."

Abraham stared for a moment, then seized his knife again and with one swift motion cut Isaac's bonds. Then he sagged, letting out a sob of relief, and hugged his son tightly.

Aziraphale miracled a ram, caught in a nearby thicket, for Abraham to sacrifice. (It was an old ram, that had lived a long and full life, in case you were worried.) The old man killed the animal with unsteady hands, still shaking with relief.

"Because your love of God is so strong," Aziraphale continued, "You and your sons shall be blessed, and your descendants shall be as many in number as there are stars in the sky."

Abraham wasn't listening. He was holding his precious son close, his relief spilling out of him in torrents.

Aziraphale retreated around the mountain until he was sure he couldn't be seen, then dropped inelegantly to the ground on all fours, wings still outstretched, breathing heavily. He leaned his back against a rock and closed his eyes.

After a while he felt someone drop to the ground next to him. "It's all right, then?" Crowley asked anxiously.

Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley sat next to him and made a wineskin appear. Normally he liked to have human-made wine as opposed to stuff created out of thin air, but the circumstances called for something a bit more accessible. He took a drink, then passed it to Aziraphale.

"What did you tell him?" he asked.

"I said it was a test," Aziraphale replied, taking the wine. "He proved his love of God by being willing to give up anything for Him."

Crowley shook his head. "I didn't think he'd actually do it," he said quietly.

"I should be angry with you," said Aziraphale calmly. "What you just did could have caused no end of trouble. I should probably be killing you now, in fact. Or something."

"You won't, will you?" Crowley asked nervously.

Aziraphale chuckled slightly. "No. I'm not even angry with you, although I can't imagine why. What did you think you were doing?"

"I was trying to get him to think he'd disobeyed God!" Crowley explained, agitated. "He was supposed to refuse, and in doing so, begin to doubt the Lord's words. He wasn't supposed to actually..." He gave up and took another drink.

"It's my fault too, I suppose," said Aziraphale. "I should have gone to see what he was doing the moment I noticed him leaving... I just didn't think anything of it. I can't really blame you entirely."

"Hold onto that thought." Crowley stared across the desert. There would be no commendation, of course, but he had managed to stir up some trouble, which was never a bad thing Down There. All in all, not such a bad outcome.

"'s a funny thing," said Aziraphale distantly. "He did right after all."

Crowley stared. "What're you talking about?"

"Well, if he'd disobeyed you, he'd have doubted. But when he did what you told him, he was blessed."

Crowley thought about this. "What you're saying," he said after a while, "is that I told him to do a bad thing, hoping that he'd do the good thing which would have ended up bad, but instead he did the bad thing which ended up being good?"

Aziraphale nodded.

"That's mental."

"Ineffable," said Aziraphale. "It all comes back to ineffability."

The sat together, watching the sun. "Do you think that's what He meant?" said Crowley finally.

Aziraphale glanced at him. "Whatever do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, what if this is what He had planned for Abraham? All this could have been some sort of test--of him, of you, of me..."

"Ineffable," said Aziraphale again.

They sat in silence some more. Crowley broke it again. "What would've happened to you?" he asked.

"If Abraham had gone through with it, you mean? Or if he'd truly doubted?" Crowley nodded. "I'd have been recalled like a shot, of course. They don't look kindly on that sort of thing."

"But--but what about ineffable mercy? and second chances?"

Aziraphale laughed grimly. "Goodness, Crowley, you don't think they think about second chances when it comes to something like this, do you? Abraham and his descendants have quite a role to play for the future. I'd certainly never set foot on earth again. I daresay you'd have been pleased, though," he continued, without bitterness. "It'd be a real feather in your cap, wouldn't it?"

Crowley thought about that very hard. He opened and shut his mouth a couple times. "That's not what I meant to happen," he said finally.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, it would have caused your lot problems, which is what I wanted, obviously," Crowley pushed on, "but...I didn't mean to get you recalled, or anything. I--well, I've sorta gotten used to having you around, is all."

Aziraphale gave him a genuine smile. "My dear, I do believe you are trying to say something nice to me for a change."

"Don't get all soppy, Angel," Crowley grumbled. "I just don't want you replaced by some holier-than-thou righteous bugger who doesn't misplace his flaming swords. He'd only make my job harder."

"Well, I appreciate the sentiment all the same."

"Besides... well, you understand, you know? About everything, I mean. All this."

"You know, I was just thinking the same about you."

They sat together on the side of the mountain, watching the sun go down, while sand, time, and the Ineffable Plan flowed around them.

Thanks for reading, please review! because I'm sure there are many places I could have done things better. Like... all of it. -sigh...-

EDIT: OK I just reread this and I think the middle section moves way too fast... I'm going to try working on that now... any suggestions?