Happy Black Friday, everyone! I do not participate in such frivolous activities... I'd much rather spend my time "making stuff up" about our favorite supernatural duo! ;-)

When we last saw them, there had been some talk about them both returning to "the fold," as it were, in order to try and stop Heaven and Hell from joining forces and launching "the big one" against humanity in the next few centuries, and their morning bubble had been popped by Hastur's voice, cutting through the flat like a dull serrated knife.

I don't know if you're going to LIKE what he has to say, but hopefully, you'll have SOME sort of strong reaction...

Enjoy!


SIXTEEN

On yet another morning like no other morning (the last month had been rife with them, it seemed, not to mention the past two days), Crowley and Aziraphale were in the midst of deciding what to do with their day – breakfast, then more research. But they were interrupted, yet again, by a voice.

"Crowley!" it sounded from somewhere in the flat.

"Shit!" Crowley spat. "Bloody Hastur!"

"Oh good grief, what do they want now?" Aziraphale whispered.

"Crowley! Oh, Crowley!" a second, crisp voice sang, like a cross-dressing cartoon rabbit, trying to lure in the unsuspecting, idiotic antagonist. "Yoo-hoo! Where are you, you yummy demon, you? And where's your little friend?"

Aziraphale made a bitter face. "Gabriel."

"Well, we both know they'll find us wherever we go," Crowley sighed, whispering. "Shall we just deal with it?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and looked supremely annoyed, but he nodded, and motioned for Crowley to go first into the parlour.

The two of them wandered reluctantly back into the seating room where the television was. And surely enough, there were Hastur and Gabriel, seemingly sitting behind an anchor desk on BBC News. It had never occurred to either Crowley nor Aziraphale how alike the Duke and the Archangel were, but both had the thought independently. Hastur and Gabriel were both uptight, both obsessed with protocol and obedience, neither with any bloody clue of what actually goes on in The World, though both thought they had a solid handle on things. If they weren't such tunnel-visioned imbeciles, they might be drinking mates. Except neither of them did that sort of thing.

"Hi guys," Crowley said, his demeanour betraying exhaustion. With them, with the whole damned ballgame.

"Gabriel," Aziraphale greeted, curtly. "Duke Hastur."

"Quite the dramatic presentation you're giving today," Crowley said. "Usurping the credibility of the BBC is truly diabolical – congrats."

"Yes, well, we've chosen this backdrop for a very good reason, Crowley," said Gabriel, with a bit too much glee. "Because we have news for you. Get it?"

"Would you stop smiling like that?" Crowley complained, with a groan. "It's a bit creepy. And I'm a demon! Plus, you're sitting next to the Duke of Creepy, so… you know. It's saying something."

"He's smiling because today is a good day," Hastur said. His gaze went from Crowley to Aziraphale.

"A good day for both of you?" asked Aziraphale, quite earnestly trying to force down the panic that this statement brought about.

"Oh yes," Hastur responded, silkily, practically moaning. "Not since Wet Sunday have I been this excited."

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other, and both scrunched their noses with distaste.

"That's… well, disturbing doesn't begin to cover it," Aziraphale commented, with a hint of darkness in the jaunt of his usual tone. This was no accident. "So then tell us, because we'd like to get on with our day. What is the news?"

Gabriel took a deep breath and announced, "Well, Aziraphale, Crowley, Heaven and Hell have collectively decided that the two of you are a larger encumbrance than merits the current return of your continued existences."

Crowley smiled, feigning a certain amused affability. "I'm sorry, Gabriel. My French is passable, and I can get by in Cantonese, but I'm afraid I don't speak Angelic Prick very well. Have you got a phrasebook we can look at?"

"It means we're more trouble than we're worth," Aziraphale said, frowning deeply.

"Indeed," Hastur growled. "You're a menace. Especially you, Crowley, you stupidly-coiffed, hip-swinging, back-stabbing, good-doing, loophole-finding…"

"Yes, yes, Duke Hastur, we get the picture," Gabriel interrupted, clearly having heard plenty of Hastur's annoyed Crowley, Crowley, Crowley tirades. "The point is, effective at midnight tonight, Heaven and Hell will both be withdrawing their commodities from service on Earth."

Aziraphale looked anxiously back and forth between Crowley and the television, eyes wide with alarm. "Does that mean you're… you're… you're taking us back into the fold? Withdrawing us from Earth?"

The angel's brain began working very quickly on the implications of this, and how, perhaps he and Crowley could use it to their advantage… especially if it meant they would be kept from one another.

"No, that can't be what it means," Crowley murmured.

"Indeed not," Hastur said, then he laughed.

"What, you arseholes didn't learn your lessons from… I'm sorry, I refuse to call it Wet Sunday, because, just…" and then Crowley shuddered exaggeratedly. "We'll call it, the Epic Fail-to-Execute Debacle? EFTED for short. What about the fact that you agreed to leave us both alone?"

"Yes, that was a consideration," Gabriel conceded. "I won't lie: we still don't know just what the fuck you are – either of you. But frankly, we don't have a desire to find out what you are, what else you can do, and what you're made of, et cetera, et cetera. It would, frankly, mean a lot of paperwork, and anyway, we want the two of you neutralised post-haste."

"Neutralised?" Aziraphale asked. "I don't like the way you said that, Gabriel."

"I don't like anything about you, Aziraphale," Gabriel retorted, like a child, imitating the posh accent with which Aziraphale spoke. "Anyhow, we feel that the best way to ultimately leave you alone is to make sure that you are, in no way, part of us anymore. Aziraphale, your connection to Heaven sullies us. Having any part of your soul, your essence, your powers still rooted in Celestial channels is like… I don't know, blood-swapping with someone who has a disease."

"What?" Aziraphale asked, incredulous.

"Blood swapping?" Crowley asked. "That's not a thing."

"Okay, it's like… having a virus-riddled computer hooked up to a network," Gabriel corrected. "It puts all of the computers in the network at risk of infection."

"And you, Crowley," Hastur hissed. "Everything about you is wrong. Well, in the Hellish sense of wrong. You're not evil, you're a freak. You're a mutant. Your idea of wreaking havoc is replacing a football with a cantaloupe during the World Cup!"

"I never actually did that!" Crowley complained. "I just talked about it. And I have wrought so much more havoc than that!"

"Well…" Hastur said, awkwardly. "Metaphorically speaking. There's too much good in you. There's too much of something else, that greys the black of our underworld, and makes you the most untrustworthy demon in all of history. So I say, good-riddance, you disobedient, surface-dwelling, duty-shirking, hip-swiveling…"

"Hastur," Gabriel said, cutting him off. "Stop it. It's over."

"Fine," Hastur growled. "But the point stands."

"I still don't know what any of this means," Aziraphale told them. "You were unsuccessful at getting rid of us before, so what makes you think you can do it now?"

"Our mistake before was trying to kill you," Gabriel explained. "We tried to take your corporeal forms and destroy everything in them, which, frankly, now that the two of you are tainted, we clearly can't do. So, now, we're simply cutting our losses."

"Withdrawing your commodities," Crowley mumbled, teeth clenched.

"I still don't understand, I'm sorry," Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley turned toward him fully, and had the look of someone delivering very bad news that he knew would hurt someone he loved. "Gabriel said your soul, your essence, your powers are still rooted in Celestial channels. Your soul and your powers are their commodities."

"Inasmuch as they haven't been squeezed out by whatever other Third Domain thing that's has crawled inside you," Gabriel said.

But Crowley and Aziraphale both knew that nothing else had crawled inside either one of them… except love, and humanity. They were not tainted as Gabriel had said.

"You're… taking away my soul? My powers? All of my ethereal, celestial…" Aziraphale asked, softly.

"Yes," Gabriel said. "Killing you didn't work. Casting you out and causing you to fall (which we also attempted) wouldn't have solved the problem of you¸ given the way things are. This will work. We're just taking back what's ours. The rest of you is on its own."

"What will happen to my Heavenly soul?"

"It will be dissipated. It will be gone. Otherwise, we'll still have to deal with you up there, and no-one wants that. I'm guessing, not even you. Your powers will return to the Celestial channel, and be essentially, well… recycled."

"So, I'll be discorporated."

"From your Heavenly aspect, yes."

But Aziraphale knew that he didn't actually have any other aspect. No "Third Domain" as Gabriel described it was part of him. Gabriel had no idea that he was about to kill Aziraphale… which was ironic, since the actual killing hadn't worked, but this gentler solution would.

Crowley was reading his face, and knew everything he was thinking… partly because he was having exactly the same thoughts.

"Am I to assume that the same fate will befall me?" Crowley asked Hastur.

"You are," Hastur confirmed, with a smirk. "Whatever's left of your demonic soul, your powers, your essence… it belongs to us, and we're taking it back. You're unplugged, Crowley, as of midnight. Your Infernal life is over."

Which meant, of course, his life would be over. Just as Aziraphale knew that he was pure angel, despite appearances, and despite some recent events, Crowley understood that he was still pure demon. His soul and essence were not rooted anywhere but in Hell.

"Great. Thanks for the warning," Crowley murmured.

"Well, I just wanted it done," Gabriel said. He waved away the comment as though he were discussing having his front garden landscaped. "But Michael seemed to think it would be unethical not to warn you first. She felt that if we shut you out, you should have the chance to tie up loose ends, if needed."

"Indeed," Aziraphale said, swallowing hard. "Thank her for us, will you?"

"It's a bloody stupid idea," Hastur said. "Warning them of what we're doing. No telling what they'll come up with next."

"Indeed I might have agreed with you," Gabriel conceded to Hastur. "But that's not how we roll in Heaven. We give chances. We forgive."

"Oh really?" Crowley croaked, sceptically, over-the-top annoyed.

Gabriel shrugged. "I mean, not again and again totally indefinitely, especially with someone like Aziraphale whose pain-in-the-assery is truly, and spectacularly, destructive. And persistent! I'd say that last part is down to you, Crowley, to be honest, but… you know what? Tomato, to-mah-to. When one has Aziraphale under one's skin, one has you too, and vice versa, am I right? The point is, we don't pull the wool over anyone's eyes."

Crowley laughed out oud. "That's rich!"

"Anyway, Aziraphale," Gabriel continued crisply, clapping his hands together. "Thus ends our working relationship, I think. I can't say it's always been a pleasure serving with you, but neither has it been complete torture. So… that's something. Perhaps we'll meet again on the battlefield."

"Yes, perhaps. Goodbye, Gabriel," Aziraphale said with dead eyes, and a totally sunken heart.

"And Crowley," Hastur spat. "You're a knob, and I hope you die."

With that, the television blipped off, and the flat was left silent, with an angel and a demon standing stunned.

After a few moments, Crowley, still unmoving, said, "I know what you're going to say, angel, and we still can't tell them about the body-swap. It wouldn't solve anything. Either way, we're dead."

"I wasn't going to say that. In fact, I wasn't going to say anything just yet."

"Oh."

"But if I did say something, it would be…" he took a breath, and swallowed hard again. "Crowley, would you still like to have coffee and pastries with me at Kiptyn's Coffee House?"

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I'd love to."

Aziraphale took his hand, and they left through the front door, for the café down the street, just as planned.


Both ordered a sweet treat, and both ordered a coffee. But today, oddly, only Crowley partook. Not exactly voraciously, but he actually ate half of his cheese Danish, whilst contemplating the next sixteen hours. It was something to do during the deafening silence, that practically soaked into their pores.

There was one school of thought that suggested that he and Aziraphale should spend the day, the evening, and the night before their imminent discorporations, doing what they've always done… which was, essentially, what they were doing now. Sitting à table together, contemplating life in this universe, looking across at one another, sometimes longingly, enjoying food and drink, denying their true feelings. For so long, they put lust and conflicted love aside for the sake of friendship, a working relationship, and personal sanity. Today, they could put aside the dread, the fear, the hopelessness for the sake of one final, reassuring burst of that old camaraderie that had comforted them both so much over the years.

The other school of thought suggested, of course, that they go down in flames at midnight, whilst shagging their brains out, and become discorporated amidst the most ecstatic moments of their lives. It would give a wonderful story to tell, for whoever found their bodies.

But Crowley suddenly found himself feeling sheepish and restrained, once more. Lovers they were, but now, things had definitely changed. The end was nigh – again – and Aziraphale would undoubtedly have his own ideas about how to spend the final hours of their time on Earth… the final hours of their time anywhere.

And in this moment, a few seconds' studying Aziraphale's demeanour, things felt frighteningly familiar. The angel's face, his tight body language... Crowley knew what the angel had in mind, and began to panic a little.


Aziraphale didn't eat, for once. In the past, he'd devoured Kiptyn's coffee cakes with gusto (and their bacon sammies) but today, why bother? Why bother ever again? Enjoying food on this day would only remind him of what he'd be missing… although, he wouldn't be missing it, because he'd be gone. Completely gone. His consciousness dissipated completely from existence.

So, rather, enjoying food on this day would only cause him to cling to this life. It would make him long, make him yearn…

…which brought his gaze to Crowley's handsome, but drawn, face. Their life together had only just begun, and this was clearly so unfair. But Crowley was another thing that might make him cling to this plane, to make it harder to leave.

It had happened before, of course, just about a month ago. He could have gone along with the ineffable plan, endured the Will of the Almighty and folded to Armageddon, had he not had so many creature comforts keeping him tied to this world. Crowley had pointed them all out eleven years ago, in an effort to tempt the angel into helping him stop the Apocalypse – Mozart et al, fascinating little restaurants where they know him, Châteauneuf du Pape, aged Scotch, old book shops…

But of course, the biggest creature comfort of all was Crowley himself… and the old demon knew it. He'd known it back then, of course, but neither of them had had the wherewithal at that time to acknowledge it (at least, not with words). Even before discovering what physical love could be, Crowley had been the chief factor in Aziraphale's heart and existence that had made Armageddon impossible to accept.

Forty-eight hours ago, he'd been in a similar boat, when he'd thought he was to be cast out of Heaven, and fall to demonhood himself. His great fear was of the unknown, of becoming the opposite of everything he'd ever been. But he now realised, he'd have been lucky to have that happen, because at least he might have the creature comforts, including probably Crowley. Now… now…

Now, just as when Armageddon was coming to fruition, Aziraphale found that he wanted to cling. And that want hurt so badly, it made him want to run.

He was fighting the urge to tell Crowley that he felt it might be easier if they parted ways now. He was also fighting the compulsion to beg Crowley to take him somewhere, where neither Heaven nor Hell could find them. The sensation of being pulled in two directions was quite familiar, and he didn't like it one bit.


Ugh! Poor angel, poor demon!

And as always, I'd like to thank you for the feedback on the previous chapter - it HONESTLY makes my day! - and also beg for more. Leave a review, let me know what you're thinking. Again, I say, no fair lurking! ;-)

Thank you for reading!