I am apologizing in advance for any historical or mythological errors. I made some shit up here in this chapter, mixed with some Hebrew/Jewish legends/teachings.

I had to rely on Wikipedia and some articles written by rabbis because I have no former education on any Hebrew legends or Jewish teachings other than what I learned being Catholic for half of my life.

Just know that I mean no offence! If there is anything offensive, please let me know and I will change whatever needs to be changed.


"You know," Crowley says as he gives Aziraphale a slow once over, "I didn't mention it before but," he grins wickedly, "what the fuck are you wearing, angel?"

Aziraphale looks down and sees his borrowed clothing from the owner of the cottage. The dress shirt is royal blue, darker than anything Crowley has ever seen him wear, and of course the infernal denim trousers. He must look like quite the sight. He sends Crowley a glare, and the demon immediately throws his hands up in surrender.

"What?! You look good. Suits you."

"Yes, yes. And snakes have legs," Aziraphale retorts with a huff.

"I mean it," Crowley says gravely, which makes Aziraphale stare at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "The, uh, rolled up sleeves," the demon continues with the beginnings of a blush, "nice touch."

Aziraphale's ears grow hot before a door is heard opening upstairs.

When Angelique finally comes down, she's showered, and changed into casual, comfortable clothing. It's a shame, Aziraphale thinks. He wishes he could have seen that dress on her one more time to appreciate the way it hung off her delicate form. But what does it matter now, anyway? It's not like he can continue with his plans. It's just not appropriate to even consider it. But he can't help the thoughts that have been lingering—imagining how this night should have gone before being so colossally cockblocked.

He swears the demon's done it on purpose.

Aziraphale knows that's not the case, but he squirms in his seat as he takes in Angelique's small, soft, and vulnerable appearance. Her eyes are red-rimmed. Her hair is damp and tucked behind her ears. He damns Crowley internally. All Aziraphale wants to do is bound across the room and hold her, kiss her swollen eyes, the dripping water rolling down her neck. He envies that little drop so much.

Crowley stands, which prompts Aziraphale to end his ridiculous musings and stand as well. They wait patiently as Angelique finally steps onto the landing. She holds the burner phone between her hands and over her heart. She bites her lip and looks at Crowley with all the gratitude in the world.

A heat of jealousy he didn't know he was capable of rises up Aziraphale's throat. How ridiculous. How utterly wrong for him to feel this way, and he knows it. Feeling completely ashamed of himself, Aziraphale bites the inside of his cheek and looks at his shoes. Things get worse for him when Angelique approaches Crowley and softly says–

"Thank you."

Crowley gives a stiff nod. "Least I can do," he mutters.

They look at each other longingly, and Angelique starts and abruptly looks at Aziraphale like she just realised he was standing there. And that hurts. Hurts so much, he can't breathe. What's more, Angelique looks like she's asking him for permission for something or apologising and he can't stand it.

"I'll leave you two to talk," the angel finally says while already heading for the door. He ignores the weak protests from them and marches out into the dark outdoors.

The clouds are obscuring the stars, and the moon only shines through their parting. It's warm, but the breeze is cool. Aziraphale takes a deep breath and feels better almost immediately. He decides on a stroll around the premises, but when he catches a glimpse of Crowley and Angelique embracing, he thinks a stroll around the globe might be better.

He settles for wandering around the town.

It's his third time passing a Catholic church and this time he stops to admire it. There's a flyer on the door flapping in the breeze with the date August 15th in big, bold letters.

"Huh. Angelique's birthday." Maybe it's an event that he can bring her to as part of her special day.

It's right around the corner. So, he climbs the steps to the Church door. There's a whisper in his mind that he has no right to plan that far ahead especially plan anything with Angelique. He holds the flyer still and reads.

Feast of the Assumption

His mind notes the time of the mass and feast after before it feels like it screeches to a complete standstill.

The feast celebrates the assumption of Mary. Assumption. Rare, but it had been done before. He tries desperately to remember who else had been given that blessing when finally a memory flashes in his mind.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

"I am the Metatron."

Metatron had not always been God's representative. In fact, there had been a rumour... that the new Voice of God had a brother.

"You remember Sandalphon?"

"Sodom and Gomorrah. How could I forget?"

They had both been assumed into Heaven and made into angels! They'd been human! Or...

Nephilim!

It make sense. Angel blood ran through their veins and assumption had been done several times throughout history.

"Lord," Aziraphale practically prays as he falls to his knees on the church stones, "please let me be right."

He needs a book. A Hebrew Bible to be exact. An old and rare, and most accurate one at that. And he knew just where to find one.

The bookshop.

Aziraphale's mind races. He needs to go to the bookshop, but surely the assassin is waiting for any of them to return. That could draw the fiend out and then...!

Aziraphale bursts through the front door of the cottage, making Crowley practically hit the ceiling. It appears he's been sleeping on the sofa, pillow and blanket now on the floor.

"Bloody Hell, angel!"

"Where's Angelique?"

"She went to bed. Why, what's happened?"

Aziraphale closes the door and rushes to the kitchen. "I think I have a plan. We might not have to kill anyone after all."

Crowley follows him and gapes as Aziraphale puts the kettle on, because, of course. "What are you on about?"

"There's an old Tanakh at the shop that might be the key to end all this madness. It has extra chapters written by a self-proclaimed 'Son of Anak.' I met him. He signed my copy. Mad as a hatter. I never paid the claim any mind because Anakites were said to be descendants of the Nephilim. And I knew that couldn't be true, but who knows now?!"

Crowley shakes his head, visibly trying to piece together everything Aziraphale has spewed out in a whirlwind of words. "What does that mean? How does it help?"

Aziraphale begins to pace. "There's a legend about Elijah and Enoch being assumed into Heaven and turned into angels. Metatron and Sandalphon. Again, I thought it was rubbish. Assumption is so rare, and humans being turned into angels? Laughable... at the time, anyway. The angels in Heaven did spread the gossip, but Gabriel put an end to it and said they were false claims. But no one thought to look deeper into the matter, and both Sandalphon and Metatron came seemingly out of nowhere and were placed high in the ranks for no apparent reason. In this particular bible, there is an eyewitness account of their assumption and transformation. What if the Son of Anak wasn't mad after all? What if Enoch and Elijah were sons of an angel? What if Gabriel lied?!"

"Shit." Crowley drags a hand down his face. "Well, we need that book."

"Yes." Aziraphale nods emphatically and turns his wide eyes to Crowley's. "We can blackmail the assassin into leaving Angelique alive and maybe even..."

"Make her immortal."

"Yes," Aziraphale breathes out. "That way, no one will ever know she was a Nephilim to begin with. The assailant will be in the clear, and so will she."

There's a long silence between them filled with unspoken desires and their consequences.

Crowley licks his lips. "Why would Gabriel lie?"

Aziraphale shrugs. He voices the unthinkable and yet the only thing that adds up. "Maybe he fathered them."

Crowley looks like he could laugh at the thought before he shakes his head, bemused. "Made some babies after the flood and then covered his tracks. Ha! What a hypocritical bastard!"

"Indeed."

Clapping his hands hard with purpose, Crowley sneers. "Let's get this bible!"

Aziraphale sighs and looks to the ceiling. "We should run it by Angelique first. And we need a damn good plan. Not something you nor I are very proficient with, I'm afraid."

Crowley groans. "Point taken."


Things start to come to a head with these three in the next chapter. ;)