((Note: Hey guys! So I don't think I've posted on here for a year or maybe more, but I figured, it's summer, I'm bored, and I've been writing it anyway so I may as well see who else wants to see it! I don't know when I'm going to update this - I intend to gauge whether it gets any attention or not. If it doesn't, chances are I won't bother. But I just got really into Good Omens so I may put some more of that on here, as well as some Star Trek. Thanks for clicking, y'all, good to be back.))
It had been about two years since the apoca-wasn't had happened, and Aziraphale and Crowley had been quite entirely left alone for every moment of it. Feeling much safer, they soon gave up on their original tasks and moved in together, the both of them living in Crowley's rather spacious apartment while Aziraphale continued to work at the bookshop instead of living there. Eating out was common but other things were common too, and overtime they soon fell into the lifestyle of humans, and it was a lifestyle they were fond of. Experiments and advancements that were never possible before began to emerge, physical affection, open conversation, a real, true, totally risk-free partnership. Breakfasts in the morning and wine at night. It was perfect - for the both of them. They'd even gotten a cat.
But as it always goes, the peace couldn't last forever. The two of them were partway through a fairly habitual dinner out, Aziraphale explaining his stance on a human television series they'd been catching up on, when Crowley sharply held up a hand, sniffing the air. A look of dread appeared on his face.
"Can you feel that?"
Aziraphale took a moment to sense his surroundings, and then he quickly shared Crowley's concern. "Angels," he said, "Powerful ones."
"And demons," Crowley told him, "In London."
"Well… they could just be here for… routine tasks. It's not… necessarily about us," he insisted gently.
"Or," Crowley went on softly, "They've figured out the stunt we pulled. And they've teamed up to get our heads."
Aziraphale's eyes widened, looking terrified. "Well, what do we do?" he asked.
Crowley thought for a moment. "Run?" he asked.
"Wh… well we can't - we can't just leave everything and go!" he answered softly, sadness clear in his eyes, "We've got the apartment, and the bookshop, and friends here, not to mention Freddie!"
"Well, we'd take Freddie."
"That's not the point," said Aziraphale, "We finally have a life, Crowley. I don't just want to abandon it all if this isn't… you know, the real deal."
Crowley considered this, knowing that he himself agreed. But it was better to be careful - if they were stuck in a room with the powers of Heaven and Hell, this time, there wouldn't be an easy way out. He sighed. "I really thought they were going to leave us alone," he complained angrily, "Is it that important to find us again?"
Aziraphale looked down wistfully, "To them we're just a mistake that has to be erased. I don't like it any more than you do, but every moment we exist the way we are I'm sure it bothers them profoundly."
Crowley seethed at that, crossing his arms. "Well, they can stuff it," he said, "We'll stay in London. And if they come for us… we figure something out. Always have before."
Aziraphale smiled. "Thank you," he said, but there was still insecurity in his voice.
"They won't stop us, angel," Crowley assured him, "They've been trying to stop our being together for six thousand years, I'm sure whatever new tricks they throw at us we'll be just fine."
"I certainly do hope you're right," Aziraphale responded, "But it is rather concerning. I can only imagine that after two years the strength and stability of their forces are quite beyond what they were last time we saw them."
This, largely, was not the case.
To see exactly what a powerful angel and a powerful demon are doing back on Earth we must jump back somewhat. As leader of Heaven (aside from God, of course) Gabriel had been promising the angels for quite some time that not only would he find a way to reinitiate the war, he would also find a way to find and destroy the two deviants Crowley and Aziraphale without Hell ever being the wiser. Well, as it turns out, the apocalypse is a very specific set of events meant to happen at a very specific time, and it can't really be booted up again like an unused snowblower. Furthermore, Gabriel had, frankly, no idea how to go about finding the two deviants, much less killing them, as he knew that Aziraphale at least had developed some un-angelic powers and he could only guess Crowley had too. He knew where they are and had been monitoring them closely, waiting to strike, but so far he had had no chance to gauge their magical abilities. They never seemed to use them - they just ate and slept and walked around like a pair of humans - truly, a disgusting pastime. But despite his disdain for them, Gabriel was 'concerned about their situation' - a very prideful and comfortable way to say he was downright terrified of them.
But the fact that it had been two years and the forces of Heaven had seen no results meant bad news for the Archangel. He had known this from the beginning, but entering a room and seeing nearly the entire forces of Heaven in a perfect circle around him was a particularly nasty reminder. He took a cautious step forward, looking around at the angels, all of whom were stone faced. Before he had time to comment, Michael and Uriel stepped forward in unison.
"Gabriel," Michael spoke up.
Gabriel spun around. "Michael," he responded, nervousness clear in his voice, "What um - what's - going on here? Exactly?"
"You have failed us, Gabriel," Uriel spoke up, "You told us two years ago you would destroy the deviants and restart the apocalypse and you have done neither."
"I - am working on it, I never said it would be immediate," Gabriel said defensively.
"It's been two years, Gabriel," Uriel went on.
Michael spoke up. "I was able to organize a petition throughout Heaven. By an outstanding majority you are no longer wanted as a leader."
"You organized a petition without telling me?!" Gabriel demanded, "Michael, you don't have the authority to do that."
"I'm afraid you're quite mistaken, Gabriel. I have all the authority. It's you who has become quite obsolete."
The confident smile was finally wiped off of Gabriel's face, replaced by a look of terror. "This is anarchy!" he accused.
"This is politics," Michael went on, "You, Gabriel, the archangel, have failed heaven and therefore will be cast out of it, your angelic abilities and authority stripped from you."
Gabriel sputtered. "You can't just cast me out!"
"Yes," Uriel responded, "We can."
Gabriel went silent for a moment, in absolute awe of the events that were going on around him. He couldn't survive in Hell - they would be just as angry with him for screwing all this up, and he knew they weren't the political type. He had to think of something. As Uriel and Michael stepped forward, he stepped back. He then recalled what was behind him.
"Wait wait wait!" he objected, "I… I get it, you, you want me gone, I'm out," he laughed nervously, "But I um… I have some last words I'd like to share."
Michael sighed, annoyed. "Make them brief," she commanded.
"Got it, um…" Gabriel thought, his hands laced in front of him, as he continued to step back. Then, without another word, he turned and bolted towards the model of Earth, laying his hand down anywhere it went, not particularly caring where he landed. He saw a mass move towards him, heard Uriel crying out to seize him, and then saw it all fade into white light. A moment later he was enveloped by a most terrible cold and a strange, warbling atmosphere. It took him a moment to register that he was underwater.
Covered in thick wool clothes he struggled frantically to get upwards to the surface, sucking in a breath and feeling how the wind hit against his freezing face. What a horribly unpleasant place, he thought. He'd have to get out of here - to land. Looking out he saw, fairly close to him, the shore. With a minor miracle (which, normally he hated to use for his own benefit, but it seemed to be the only option at the moment) he commanded the waves to pull him outwards towards the shore. Glancing upwards he briefly saw the figures of Michael and Uriel looking outwards towards the sea, and he ducked his head down under the water. His breath held and his eyes shut tight, he waited, counting the seconds. At least fifteen passed in the freezing cold before he cautiously resurfaced, and they were gone.
Relieved, he let the waves bring him further up onto the beach and he crawled upwards onto the sand, his clothes soaked, lungs unpleasantly filled with water. He coughed - an uncomfortable sensation he wasn't used to. He found it quite hard on his chest, and hoped there wouldn't be much more of it. His body was shaking too, and he was tremendously aware of how cold and how wet he was, his body feeling heavy under the soaking wool. It was truly terrible, all these bodily feelings going on at once. With some stumbling he brought himself to his feet, walking warily in the sand. After a few moments, he found that he was getting quite an odd look from a very small girl on the porch of a very nice beach house, doll frozen mid-dialogue in her hand. He looked to her, stepping forward.
"Hey you, uh, little girl," he called to her, "Do you know what… part of the world this is?"
"Rochester," she answered him cautiously.
"England?" he asked, relieved. At least he spoke the language, he thought. "Good." The little girl went on giving him quite a strange look as he continued up the shore.
What had happened in Hell was largely similar. Imagine the same progression of things only Beelzebub had promised she would retrieve the traitors' heads instead of destroying them and the demons gathered in a massive swarm instead of a gentle circle and threatened to drown Beelzebub in holy water instead of expelling her. Demons were also a bit more forceful and a bit more democratic than angels, so instead of gently confronting Beelzebub with information from a general survey they tied them to a pole and started chanting 'kill the false prince'.
"You do not have to do this, I will restart the apocalypse, I will!" Beelzebub insisted, her voice buzzing almost too loudly with panic to be made out.
"When, Beelzebub?!" cried Dagon, who was leading the hoard. "Another year?! Another ten?! We want the apocalypse now!"
There was a roaring cheer from the crowds. "Do you really think it's-zz-z that simple you unholy swine?!" she shouted, "The antichrist refused to help the cause!"
"And who allowed that to happen?" Dagon responded, and then returned to the chant, raising up her arms to indicate that the group continue shouting 'kill the false prince'. "Bring in the holy water!" she cried out.
Beelzebub's eyes went wide as they saw, slowly walking through a quickly parting crowd, Hastur holding a large goblet with thick leather gloves on. "It's the holiest, Dagon," he announced proudly.
"Good," Dagon agreed. Come on, Beelzebub urged mentally. Eventually she felt a small snap and fell slightly forward, only about an inch before she could continue holding onto the pole herself from behind. Slowly, with patience, her swarm of flies had eaten a hole in the ropes. She looked up. Was she close enough to the dirt above her from the small platform she was standing on? "Any last words?" Dagon asked, snapping her out of her focus.
"You're all insane!" Beelzebub cried, "You obey me! I am-mm your leader!"
"Not anymore!" Hastur said proudly, and slowly, he began to rise up, lifted by the other demons beneath him. Rapidly, Beelzebub made her move. She jumped as high as she could, ropes falling away behind her, and grappled at the dirt above her. Panting, she was lucky to find a chunk of rock her fingers just barely gripped onto. As Hell roared below her she dug her other fist into the dirt, finding another piece of something to hold onto, and up she went, climbing through the dirt. She tunneled right upwards, just barely making it out alive without the hands of the demons below her grabbing onto her ankles.
She climbed for miles, and it was just about as excruciating as you'd expect. While she was lucky enough to not have to breathe, breathing was something she was used to doing, and she found it uncomfortable going without, so she tried not to take breaks. Furthermore her human muscles ached, soon burning as if they were on fire, but this time it did bother her. Her pace slowed as she got closer to the surface, beginning to wonder how much further it could be. When she finally popped up in a nice and pleasant flower garden in London she was thoroughly exhausted - and quite a scare to the current gardener. The woman, who was wearing a small apron and holding a plant mister, screamed at the top of her lungs and rushed inside, all the while shouting "Zombie, zombie!"
"Shit," Beelzebub said to herself, brushing the dirt off of her head. However tired she was she knew she couldn't stop - not yet. She brought herself to her weary legs, turned around, and ran.