When they had finally made it back to the flat the night before, Crowley had headed straight for the bedroom, flopped down onto the bed, and fallen unconscious in seconds. He'd left Yeshua and Freddie to make their own sleeping arrangements.

Still, he'd been a little surprised to find them both sprawled together on the couch in a tangle of limbs, under a single blanket. He would have expected Yeshua to have miracled up a bed of some kind.

Three of the four cats had managed to find space on the couch as well. The white cat, whose name still remained a mystery to Crowley, padded silently out of the kitchen and stood, staring up at him with blue eyes.

"Good morning, angel eyes" he said, over the noise of Yeshua's snoring. "I think it's going to be a beautiful day for a wedding." He inclined his head toward the couch. "Mind waking them up for me?"

Crowley sent a very tentative psychic command to the cat. He was generally good with small mammals. He'd once gotten a whole swarm of rats to infest the BT Tower, but cats could be tricky. They had their own agendas and weren't as susceptible to his magic. Still, he sent the suggestion that Yeshua's face looked like a comfortable place for a nap, and went into the kitchen to make some coffee.

He was rewarded a moment later with a guttural groan from the son of God.

"Wa's goin' on?" Freddie's voice said sleepily, and then, more awake, "gah, watch where you're putting your knee."

"The CATS, Freddie! Why do there have to be so many cats?"

Crowley smirked to himself. Old habits died hard, and he loved the smell of a little low-level discord in the morning.

oOoOoOo

Adam's alarm went off and started playing They Might Be Giants' I Am a Paleontologist from the other side of the room. Adam groaned and snuggled closer to Oscar.

"Your mobile machine is singing at us," Oscar observed.

"It's time to get ready for the wedding," Adam grumbled back. "We need to pick up Aziraphale by 8:30."

"What time is it now?"

"Assuming that's the first time that my alarm has gone off, 7:00."

"That's all right then," Oscar said, sliding a hand down Adam's ribs and over his hip.

Adam groaned. "We need to shower, and get dressed, and probably eat something, and be out of here in less than an hour."

"I can wash and dress quite quickly, I assure you."

They were twenty minutes late, and Aziraphale was less than pleased.

"We should be there by now," he grumbled, as he got into the back of the town car that was the Citroen's current incarnation. "What on Earth kept you? I thought the whole point of staying in the city was to avoid being late."

"Er," Adam said.

Oscar coughed, and smirked at him, no help at all.

"We got a bit… caught up… at the hotel," Adam mumbled. "There was some trouble when the valet went to bring the car around. The battery was ignition is a little finicky, and they must have pulled the key out without turning it all the way off, last night. It was taking them too long to handle it, so we had to walk to the garage, and I gave it a little magical jump-start."

Aziraphale huffed.

"Don't fret," Oscar said. "There's still plenty of time before the ceremony, and it isn't as if they can start without you."

"If yesterday was anything to go by at all, the whole thing will be a shambles when we get to the park, and that horrible decorator we hired will have a thousand inane questions for me."

"All the more reason to be a little late then," Adam said. "Make them figure it out on their own. You'll still be married by the end of it, whatever the bouquets look like, or if the band plays the wrong song, or the chairs are the wrong color."

"That's easy for you to say," Aziraphale grumbled. "I'll have you know that I've gone to a lot of effort planning this wedding."

"Save your efforts for the honeymoon," Adam advised. "Today is meant to be about you and Crowley, and how stupid you are for each other. The rest of it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"Well sure," Adam acceded quickly, "but that's what you have me, and Tracy, and your horrible decorator for. Delegate. Just leave us to sort out anything that doesn't involve you walking down that aisle and saying, 'I do.'"

"Ah, yes. The punctuality with which you've performed your first assigned task gives me great faith in your abilities."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Are you going to be like this all day?" he asked. "I realize that you're only covering your nerves by fixating on things you can control, but I'm not sure I can handle a groomzilla with divine, heavenly power."

"But you're my best man. If I decide to destroy Tokyo, I fully intend to delegate the reconstruction to you. After all, you did such a good job with it the last time—when somebody decided to wreak havoc on the Japanese."

"If you mean releasing the kraken on a bunch of whalers," Adam said. "I may not have been…particularly thorough with that task either."

"Oh?"

"They were all found to have miraculously survived their respective shipwrecks," Adam was quick to assure. "But, it could be that… the experience, even though they had no memory of the kraken, left them all with severe aquaphobia. They can probably still manage the courage for a shower, but none of them will be hunting any whales ever again, and their fleet is still at the bottom of the ocean, sleeping with the fishes."

"Is that why you were mumbling about whales last night?" Oscar asked.

Adam flushed. "I said something about whales?"

"Quite apart from the crude commands regarding blow holes, I think you said something about not needing whale oil for your harpoon when you're the Antichrist."

"I talk a lot of nonsense," Adam said, eyes fixed firmly on the road, as he pulled the Citroen out into traffic. "You should probably ignore everything that comes out of my mouth."

"He does have a tendency to rant when he gets into a strop about something," Aziraphale agreed.

"Look who's talking," Adam grumbled. "Talk about pot opining on the pigmentation of the kettle."

"It's my wedding day. I don't think it's too much to ask that everything goes smoothly."

Adam snorted. "Have you ever talked to anyone about their wedding?"

"I… What do you mean?"

"Oscar, you've been married. How was it? Did everything go smoothly? Get hitched without a hitch?"

Oscar laughed. "We had a few hiccups. Nothing too disastrous, but it wasn't as grand an affair as this. I believe the worst of it was some temporarily mislaid rings, and a bit of damage to the wedding cake from one of Constance's young and overeager relatives."

"The cake?" Aziraphale sounded absolutely scandalized.

"Oh, that's nothing," Adam said. "The photographer my parents hired never showed up for theirs. Got the dates mixed up. The only pictures they have from the day are a few overexposed Polaroids."

"That's awful."

Adam shrugged. "Mum says that the more things go wrong on your wedding day, the happier your marriage will be, and it seems to have worked for them."

"So, I should hope that everything falls apart?"

"Dad says that Murphy's Law comes with compounded interest for weddings, vacations, and job interviews. At some point today, something isn't going to go exactly the way you planned. Given the parties involved, probably a lot of somethings. You can choose to get upset over it, or you can roll with the punches and let me, Yeshua, Madame Tracy, and Anathema worry about the damage control." Adam paused. "Okay, let's be honest… mostly me and Anathema."

Aziraphale huffed. "Fine. But, if anything happens to the cake, I'm going to… be very upset."

"Understood." Adam laughed. "The cake will be my top priority."

"And the rings," Aziraphale added.

"I have the rings."

"And the photographer."

"I'll call to confirm, as soon as we get there."

"And Crowley."

"What about Crowley?"

"Make sure he's there."

"That's Yeshua's job."

"Just in case."

"Crowley will be my second priority," Adam agreed, "after the cake."

oOoOoOo

Crowley made it to Battersea Park before Aziraphale, parked the Bentley, and walked into organized chaos.

The decorating team, a squadron of young people in khaki trousers, polo shirts, and matching company jackets, had invaded the park, armed with flowers painstakingly crafted by Christ himself. A couple of them rushed past Crowley carrying the runner for the aisle. Another pair had been deployed to wipe the morning dew from the chairs. The band were tuning their instruments, readying to play the head decorator stood on the edge of the bandstand like a general, clipboard in one hand, directing her troops.

Given what they were going up against, Crowley wondered if the shouldn't be hauling in the heavy artillery.

Yeshua put his phone away and turned to Crowley. "They're running a bit behind, but Aziraphale will be here soon. Let's get you into your tent so he doesn't see you. I can help you groom your wings."

"What do you mean, so he doesn't see me? Aziraphale and I will groom each other. You're not touching my wings."

"You're not allowed to see each other before the ceremony. I can take care of it. Just tell me what to do."

Crowley had been feeling a serene sort of anticipation all morning, but as Yeshua whisked him off to his tent, and started pinning on his boutonniere, it was replaced by a rising panic.

oOoOoOo

Adam parked next to the Bentley, and pulled the keys out of the ignition, but the Citroen's engine continued to idle. He tried again, but still he couldn't make it turn off.

Aziraphale and Oscar were already out of the car, and Oscar dipped his head back inside to ask, "Is something the matter?"

Adam frowned at the steering wheel. "I guess we know why the battery was dead. The ignition is all fucked up."

He twirled a finger at it, and still the Citroen continued to run. Adam's frown deepened.

"Is now really the time to worry over it?" Aziraphale asked.

"I guess not," Adam said, but he was scowling as he got out of the car.

He wasn't more than a few steps away, when the radio started playing.

They call me Baby Driver
And once upon a pair of wheels
I hit the road and I'm gone
What's my number
I wonder how your engines feel
Ba bababa
Scoot down the road
What's my number
I wonder how your engines feel

Adam tried directing another dose of infernal power at it, but still it didn't respond. Grumbling, he started walking away again, but then the Bentley started.

She's a Killer Queen
Gunpowder, gelatine
Dynamite with a laser beam
Guaranteed to blow your mind

"What the-" Adam stopped again, and just stared at the two cars, wondering what manner of fuckery he had to deal with now.

"Are you coming?" Aziraphale demanded.

"But, the Bentley…"

"The Bentley is the very last thing that I care about right now. The guests will be arriving soon, and I'm not even dressed yet."

"But, don't you think it's a bit odd that they're both," Adam waved a hand at the two cars to elucidate.

Aziraphale huffed and strode purposefully off in the direction of the bandstand and the group of tents.

Oscar glanced between Aziraphale's retreating back and Adam, and gave him a questioning look.

"Yeah, all right," Adam said, "one thing at a time. I'll deal with this later. Let's get those two idiots married first, and then I'll worry about playing mechanic."

"You wouldn't want to spoil your suit, in any case," Oscar agreed, extending his arm for Adam to take.

oOoOoOo

Crowley twitched.

He squirmed.

He cursed.

He jerked his wing away from Yeshua's hands, and whirled around to glare at him. "Did you just pull out one of my fucking feathers?"

"It was broken," Yeshua said, holding up the dark feather, bent nearly in half, for Crowley to see.

Crowley maintained his accusing glare anyway and kept his wings tucked behind himself, well away from Yeshua's reach. "Get Aziraphale."

"Stop being such a baby," Yeshua said. "I'm almost finished."

He reached for one of his wings again, and Crowley took a step back. "Get Aziraphale."

"Just come here."

"Don't touch me," Crowley growled.

"You can't see him before the wedding."

Crowley ruffled his feathers in agitation, produced a flask from the inside pocket of his jacket, and flopped into a chair.

This was ridiculous. How was he expected to be able to face all of this, without Aziraphale there to nag him about his attitude, or fuss over his suit? Was he meant to just let a ham-fisted carpenter mangle his wings and keep him sequestered in this damned tent like some kind of virgin princess? Would he be expected to just stand up there, in front of all those people, waiting for Aziraphale, and feeling like a moron, without being able to at least talk to him first?

He wanted his angel, damn it.

He took a slug from the flask and silently seethed at Yeshua.

oOoOoOo

Lucifer pulled out his pocket watch for what seemed like the hundredth time and checked it.

"I don't think there's such a thing as fashionably late to a wedding!" he called up the stairs.

"Cool your hooves," Azazel called back. "I'm coming."

Lucifer's breath caught as Azazel descended the steps like the ugly-duckling girl from a 90s teen movie, who takes off her glasses and gets a makeover just in time to take the star quarterback to prom. Or, given it was Azazel, maybe more like Carrie White before the pig's blood and mass murder. In any case, Lucifer thought she looked sexy as hell in her silver evening gown- split to the hip, plunging neckline, and matching stilettos with criss-crossed laces up her calf. Her wings were out, and she'd given them a sprinkling of stardust. It glittered gold and silver among the dark feathers. Her horns were buffed to a glossy shine, curling out from that lovely mane of silver curls.

"You.." Lucifer cleared his throat. "You didn't tell me that you were going female."

"I don't think I could pull off this dress otherwise," Azazel said.

"Somehow I think you'd manage it," Lucifer said, looking her up and down greedily.

"I probably could, but do you have any idea how much work goes into all of that? Those humans, you really have to admire their ingenuity sometimes—what they manage the think up to compensate for their shortcomings."

Lucifer hummed in agreement, too busy ogling to pay much attention.

"Well, we'd best get going, if you don't want to be late."

"I've changed my mind."

Azazel licked her lips, but said, "There will be time for that after."