Disclaimer: I own absolutely none of the characters or setting to be found herein.
A/N: This was originally intended to be a Christmas fic. In the end however, it was finished a month over scheduel and eight thousand words over the original estimate.
It was Hogswatching Night, and the Lancre hills were most certainly not alive with the sound of music. They were however, very much alive with the sound of two supernatural beings having a heated mid-air argument.
"It's all your bloody fault," muttered Crowley. "If you hadn't got it into your head to go and visit the blessed monkey we wouldn't be flapping aimlessly around this Go... taste forsaken backwater."
"Well it's hardly as if I asked you to come with me," snapped Aziraphale, in a distinctly un-angelic manner. "I was only going to the university to deliver The Librarian's Hogswatch present... and I notice that you didn't call him a 'monkey' to his face this time. Besides, if I remember correctly, I wasn't the one who suggested that we go for a drink or seventy-eight in the Mended Drum."
"But you were the one who suggested a nice long flight to clear our heads afterwards. You know, as oppose to just wishing ourselves sober."
"As I recall there were no objections made on your part."
"I was otherwise occupied at the time. Anyway I thought you knew where we were going, and, somewhat more importantly, how we were going to get back."
"Occupied, is that what you're calling it these days," said Aziraphale, his tone now veritably seething. "I rather thought it looked more like a three-way clinch between you, a barmaid, and the son of Ankh Morpork's leading moral crusader."
At this Crowley smirked in a way that only served to exacerbate the angel's annoyance. "I am a de..."
"Don't you dare try and tell me it was because you were fulfilling your tempting quota for the week. Anything you do here isn't going to count as far as Down There is concerned. No, you were doing it purely to spite me."
"Well it's not as if you've been particularly forthcoming in that particular area recently, is it?" said Crowley, the statement sounding far more bitter than he'd actually intended.
"And you know full well what the reason is. Or do I need to remind you: mass brawling in the European Parliament, group sex on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, a stadium full of Arsenal fans talking in tongues, the entire Greater Manchester Constabulary simultaneously experiencing a moment of divine ecstasy; oh, and lets not forget that whole debacle with the Hogwarts Coat of Arms. We can't afford to let that happen more than say, once every year."
Crowley scowled. Their recent discovery that amorous encounters between angels and demons invariably resulted in the release of massive amounts of divine and diabolic energy at the moment of climax had really put a crimp on certain, newly discovered, aspects of their relationship. "I don't see why it has to matter. I mean things even out as far as Upstairs and Down There are concerned."
"And what about the thousands of people affected pray tell?. As constantly amazed as I am by the human ability to disregard anything that doesn't fit into their personal conception of reality, they will, believe it or not, eventually start to notice that something's a bit different than usual when copies of the Financial Times start to appear with lurid illustration from the Karma Sutra under the headline NASDAQ Rises By 30 Points As Demon Gets Shagged Senseless By Angel."
Unable to find flaw in the angel's reasoning Crowley opted to vent his displeasure by swooping downwards and vaporising a few large trees . Aziraphale made a great show of pointedly ignoring him. Both were too caught up in their personal feelings of annoyance to notice the three women on brooms flying just fifty metres behind them.
—
"What are they?" asked an awestruck Agnes.
"Angels," replied Granny Weatherwax, dismissively.
There was a medium to loud bang as several venerable old oaks went up in flames.
Agnes looked shocked. "That's not very angelic behaviour."
"Well, I reckon that the bad-tempered one with the silly black glasses on is probably a fallen angel," said Nanny Ogg, sagely. "Get them a lot in religions."
"I know the difference between a proper angel and a fallen one Gytha," said Granny, tartly. "Can't abide by either. Going around meddling in other peoples business all the time. It's not right." If there was one thing that Esmeralda Weatherwax couldn't stand it was supernatural entities muscling in on other peoples private affairs; that was her job.
"Wonder what they're arguing about," said Agnes.
Nanny Ogg strained her neck to get a better look at the pair. "Lovers' tiff by the looks of things. From what I could hear - not that I was deliberately trying to overhear anything of course - the light-haired one's angry with the one in the silly glasses, because the one in the silly glasses was getting a bit too friendly with some other people. And the one in the silly glasses is throwing a paddy because the light-haired one won't get too friendly with him often enough."
Agnes blushed. "But I thought angels didn't... well, you know."
"Everyone has urges," said Nanny. "Just look what happens in the stories when they get all frustrated. There's them Omnian ones that go around blowing up cities, them Offlerian ones that go around spying in peoples houses. Then there's that one down there, threatening to burn down the forest. It's not healthy, trying to keep those sort of feelings pent up."
Agnes's blush deepened. Her sense of embarrassment was not helped by the fact that Perdita insisted on wondering whether they did it with their wings out.
Granny sniffed superciliously. "Speak for yourself Gytha Ogg. Some of us have a little more self-restraint than others."
"No need to be like that Esme. Anyway, I don't think our little friend down there has a great deal of that self whatsit."
"Well, I can't be having with all this - what's that fancy word Magrat uses - ecological vandalism It's not right."
"We'll have to have words then," said Nanny.
"Oh there's going to be words all right."
Without warning, the brooms ridden by the two older witches doubled their speed, and began to close the gap between them and the two quarrelling supernatural beings. Agnes followed as best she could.
—
Crowley was mentally debating whether raining fire on some more of the forest, or blowing up that nearby uninhabited hillside, would be the best way to vent his irritation, when he suddenly became aware of an old woman hovering a few feat away from him, on what looked like a fourteenth century cleaning implement.
"What the fuck?" Was the most sensible comment he could think of.
"I do not take kindly to that sort of language, young man," she said, quietly.
Crowley was going to make a sarcastic remark about their comparative ages; however, for some reason the words that came out of his mouth were; "Er, sorry about that." It was almost as though the part of his mind labelled 'survival mechanism' had suddenly hardwired itself to his vocal chords.
"So you should be. What I'd like to know is what you think you're doing to my forest?"
He was going to vaporise her... well threaten to at least. Unfortunately - or fortunately depending on ones point of view - he found himself apologising profusely, and offering to pay for the damage.
Hell didn't teach its demons to resist the terrifying powers of applied headology.
—
"Hello," said Nanny Ogg, as she approached the non-fallen angel.
"Good evening dear lady," said Aziraphale, politely.
"There's something I don't get called very often," said Nanny, cheerfully. "Mind you we don't usually get men with wings flying around Lancre; well apart from Mr. Ixolite the banshee that is, but he doesn't count."
"I'm afraid me and my... associate are a little lost."
"Associate, is that the word you use these days?"
Aziraphale could feel his face start to flush. "You wouldn't happen to know where the nearest library is?" he said, trying to change the subject.
"Well, I think there's probably a small one at the castle. Are you looking for a book. I wrote one once."
"Really?" said the angel, not quite sure how to respond.
Nanny Ogg nodded her head. "The Joy of Snacks, it's called. I could lend you a copy if you like." The old woman's voice was worryingly suggestive.
"Look I don't suppose you could show me where this castle library is, could you? I'd be most grateful."
"See, that might be a bit of a problem. The King and Queen are having a big Hogwatch party tonight, even got some Duke from Ankh Morpork coming with an entourage, whatever one of them is. I don't think they'd like angels coming and nosying around their books; especially a bad-tempered one like your friend there."
"Oh, I don't want to look at any of the books," Aziraphale said. This was of course a lie; he was always more eager to have a nosy at other people's collections. "I just want to get home. That and get Crowley away from here."
"How're you going to do that in a library?"
Aziraphale attempted to explain the wonders of L-Space.
"Cor, Esme was right when she said that books could do weird things," said Nanny shaking her head.
"Esme?"
"Esmeralda Weatherwax. She's the one telling off your mate."
Aziraphale couldn't help but smile at the sight of an abashed Crowley being given a stern talking to by an elderly lady on a broomstick.
"Perhaps if I spoke with the King myself, explained the situation to him? "
Nanny Ogg shrugged her shoulders. "Well I don't suppose it could do any harm to ask. I better go and check with Esme though."
"Is she the leader of your, er.. group?"
"Witches don't have leaders."
"But you just said that you'd have to ask her whether or not you were allowed to show me to the castle."
"Oh there'd be hell to pay if I didn't ask her first."
Aziraphale quickly came to the conclusion that it was probably best not to even try and decipher how the hierarchical structure of witchcraft actually worked.
In the end it took the best part of half-an-hour for the angel to persuade Granny that it would be a good idea to show them where the castle was. In the end it was the promise of Crowley being sent to another universe that did it.