Aziraphale had never woken up beside someone before. In fact, he had very rarely SLEPT before. He remembered the attack from before, and figured the warm presence at his side was one of his fellow angels.
And then he opened his eyes, looking straight into Crowley's yellow ones.
And then he was across the room.
Crowley looked vaguely irritated by this. "Don't worry, angel," he said, a distinct hiss in his voice. "I didn't take advantage of you while you were asleep." Pause. "I'd at LEAST wait until you were awake so you could slap me."
Aziraphale gulped.
Crowley made a disgusted noise and stood. HIs feathers were ruffled, his hair was standing on end, and his eyes were still slightly out of focus. "I wouldn't DO that," he snapped. "Why does everyone seem to think I would DO that?"
Aziraphale shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, my dear, I just...wasn't expecting you."
Crowley snorted and climbed out of bed. Aziraphale quickly spun around. Dear LORD, didn't the demon have CLOTHES?
Another irritated sigh. Aziraphale realized, flinching, that he seemed to be annoying the demon more than usual this morning. "I'm dressed, angel," he muttered, and Aziraphale peeked over his shoulder. The demon wore a pair of black pants, apparently too exhausted to winch in his wings and resume his human form. He noted with interest that the demon's skin seem to be spotted with scales. Well, that made sense. His first ...EARTHLY form had been that of a bloody great snake.
"Forgive me for asking, my dear...but why are you here?"
Crowley glared. Well, it was actually rather more of a pout. The effect, when combined with his sleep-tousled hair, was really rather adorable. Although Crowley would probably do something very similiar to smiting were he to mention this. So he didn't.
"Yeah, and you're welcome, too," he muttered. "I save your ass, and then you ask me what I'm doing here. So much for gratitude."
Aziraphale sighed, nervously tugging on his wing feathers. "No, my dear, that's not what I meant. I had honestly expected Loki to do something...rather, well, forceful."
Crowley waved a dismissive hand. "Nah," he said. "I think she kinda likes me, honestly. There's some big revolt happening in Heaven, which is why those bastards attacked you. She wants our help. By 'ours', I mean Hell's. Damien's here, too."
"Damien? You mean the Prince of Hell, the one who wanted to rip your wings off?"
"Yeah, that's him." Crowley winced. He hoped Damien wasn't back. He really did like his wings. "He's one of the higher ups in Hell, you know that. Apparently, there's a revolt in Hell, too, some of the lower demons attempting to rise up against Lu - well, you know, HIM - and Satan's trying to conceive another child."
Aziraphale paused a moment, trying to figure out what the two things had to do with each other. And then the second statement hit him like a righteous lightning bolt. "ANOTHER child?" he asked, honestly shocked. "Wasn't one good enough?"
Crowley spread his hands in a helpless gesture. Aziraphale noticed uneasily that the hands ended in talons. "I don't get it either, angel," he confessed. "I keep getting the nasty feeling that we should start getting used to Heaven and Hell procreating at a ferocious rate."
Aziraphale considered this with distaste. "As long as they don't start asking US to do such things," he muttered.
Crowley wondered briefly if Aziraphale was talking about the procreating or the sex. He felt a brief flash of what could not have possibly been disappointment. It was brief, of course, because he firmly beat it about the head and shoulders and shoved it into a dark, locked closet in the farthest corner of his mind. "You never know, angel," he muttered, and stood. "We should probably go downstairs. Loki'll be able to explain things better than I would. Although," he added, with distaste, "I'm under strict orders to tell you that she has to take a look at your wings before you put them away. She wants to make sure they're completely healed, or something."
Aziraphale nodded absently, trying to find clothes. It was then that he realized he wasn't wearing any. He stared at Crowley for a long moment, then blushed. Bright red.
The demon smirked at him, and looked him over from head to toe. "Not bad, angel. Not bad at all." And then he was out the door.
1111
Crowley was starting to think he should have stayed upstairs. Even the righteous smiting of an enraged, embarrassed angel would have been better than this. What was before him was one of the most horrifying things he'd ever seen. And he'd seen HELL. Literally.
One of the highest ranking demons in Hell was sitting at Aziraphale's kitchen table, with one of the highest ranking angels in Heaven. There were cards spread across the table in front of them. They were apparently having a very amiable conversation about which was better, 'Alien' or 'Predator.'
And from there it just got WEIRD.
"Got any twos?" Damien asked casually.
"HA!" Loki said. "Go fish!"
Sweet Heav - He - FUCK, there was a Prince of Hell and a seraphim at the kitchen table, playing Go Fish.
Maybe when he hadn't been looking, Hell had frozen over entirely, and not just the road to it. (Which, as we all know, is paved with frozen door-to-door salesmen.)
Damien swore and pulled a card out of the spread in the middle of the table.
Crowley was frozen in the doorway. The girl, Satan's future...future whatever, was passed out on the uncomfortable couch. Crowley could admit from experience that she was going to wake up with a nasty crick in her neck. Sarelil, Loki's little trainee, was working his way passed 'ragingly drunk' into 'unconcious' or at least trying his damnedest. The demon had never seen anyone, human, angel, demon, or other, drink with such determination.
"Something wrong, Crawly?" Damien asked, putting a particular emphasis on Crowley's demon name that would have pissed Crowley off, had Damien been any one but who he was. As it was, it irritated him mildly.
"This," he said, gesturing at the whole scene, "is the scariest fucking thing I've ever seen."
Loki looked vaguely reproving at his choice of language. "Is Aziraphale awake?" she asked, staring intently at her cards. "Any threes?"
Damien swore again and passed it over. She smirked and laid four of a kind out on the table. Crowley tried to ignore this and think of something less terrifying, like Satan's wife on a bad tentacle day. Instead, he thought of the angel's reaction at not having any clothes. And smirked. Unpleasantly. With a mouthful of unusually sharp teeth. "He's awake."
Loki looked up, took in his expression, and sighed. "Oh, je - go - CRAP, Crowley, what did you do?"
Crowley's smirk grew, if at all possible, even more unpleasant. "Nothing. It's not MY fault he forgot he was naked."
Loki groaned. Sarelil fell off his chair. Damien simply raised an eyebrow, which was, for him, an excess of expression.
"Why was he naked?" Loki demanded, glaring at the demon.
Crowley shrugged. "It's not comfortable to rest in clothes in our natural forms," he replied, and then grinned at her, rather evilly. "You SAID to keep him comfortable."
"I should've known that would come back to bite me in the ass," the angel mused.
"Yes," Damien said, "you really should have. Tell me, dear sister, you haven't forgotten that you were dealing with demons, have you?"
"Sister?" Crowley and Sarelil exclaimed at the exact same moment. Although not in the exact same manner. There were a few extra s's in Crowley's exclamation, while Sarelil's was rather slurred. They may have started at the same moment, but they ended at entirely different moments.
"Of course," Loki said absently. "We were Created at the same time."
It had always irritated Crowley, the way angels said the word 'Created.' Like the capital was just so bloody obvious.
"Besides," Damien added, like this was also very obvious, "all angels are related, and, by inference, so are all the Fallen."
"So, technically, you're my brother as well," Loki concluded. She smiled, a small, secret, angelic smile. "But we won't get technical."
Crowley really, really hated angels. All of them. Fallen or otherwise.
Aziraphale chose that moment to enter the room. He had forgone a shirt, as well as combing his hair or straightening his wing feathers. He looked sleep-tousled and rather cute.
Crowley hated him, too.
Loki promptly dissolved into laughter. Damien had another almost-expression.
Crowley hated demons, too. Actually, it was pretty safe to say that he hated everyone.
Sarelil chose that moment to hit the floor with a rather dramatic thud.
Loki managed to tone her laughter down to the occasional giggle or snort. Which weren't very angelic noises, Crowley noted snidely to himself. She started bustling around Aziraphale like a mother hen, checking his wounds and wings. "Crowley, could you get me a glass of water?"
"No," the demon muttered in response.
Aziraphale sighed. "Please, my dear? The sink is right behind you."
Crowley almost did it, at the slightly pleading note in Aziraphale's voice. But Damien's expression stopped him. Well, not expression, really. The slight tilt of the Prince's head stopped him. It was that slight head-tilt that made him realize Damien's dislike of him had gone beyond dislike into a full-scale hatred.
The demon didn't move, just stared right back at Damien's sunglasses. Loki and Aziraphale exchanged a nervous glance, but he ddn't see it. He also didn't see Loki manifest some Holy Water and set about putting the finishing touches on Aziraphale's wounds. For a long while, the demons just regarded each other, Crowley's fear was partly covered by the thought that if Damien's attention was on him, it wasn't fixated on the angel.
I really am almost angelic, Crowley thought with disgust. But Aziraphale was his friend, and there was no reason for Damien's attention to fall on him. Aziraphale had done nothing wrong, but that wouldn't matter to Damien, because Damien was a nasty fucker by habit. After another long, LONG moment, a slight smile flickered across Damien's mouth. It twisted his face in strange and frightening ways, as if it was not a face made for smiling. It wasn't. It was a brief expression, as if the smile had found somewhere more healthy to be.
"You are stronger than you look, Crawly," the Prince of Hell said, fingers rifling through his cards calmly. He leaned forward in his chair. "When the time comes, that won't matter."
"No, Lord," Crowley agreed. "But when that times comes, you won't get the satisfaction you want."
Damien's head tilted again. The smile was back, looking like it would really rather be elsewhere. "Really," he drawled slowly, his faint English accent making the word sound so...harmless. But so full of warning and hatred that Crowley's skin tried to crawl away and hide.
Crowley smiled. It was even more unpleasant than the earlier smirk. His teeth gleamed in the dim light, like reflections of a distant nightmare. He leaned forward in the same conspiratorial manner. "Because," he whispered. "You won't get your vengeance, Lord. Not against Heaven, not against God, not against whoever took HER away from you." The smile got wider, and, if possible, even more unpleasant. "You will never have your vengeance, and that, if nothing else, gives me a reason to keep going. To think that you, a Prince of Hell, terrifying in your power and in your madness, will never have revenge against those who broke you. I hope when you realize it, I'm there to see it. Just because it makes me all warm and tingly."
He walked over and seated himself next to Aziraphale, keeping out of reach of the Holy Water.
"That was stupid," Loki muttered. "Brave, but ultimately stupid."
Crowley took Aziraphale's hand, allowing his fingers to weave through the angel's. "I know," he admitted. "But it was the truth." Crowley realized with a kind of detached amazement that he was shaking. Not with fear, but with anger. And not against Damien, he realized with a start, an almost physical jolt.
Against Heaven.
It was not the vague, shapeless rage that consumed every demon. It had a shape, a purpose, a power all it's own. He looked at Damien, saw the Prince staring back at him with no expression. He realized that one day, when all of this was over, and if their paths crossed again, Damien would destroy him. Absolutely, without a thought beyond that moment. Because Crowley had brought back the pain of being Exiled, of being cast out, of losing that which he had sworn his Eternity to.
The other angel. The FEMALE angel. Crowley couldn't remember her name now, and he supposed it didn't matter. Damien had enough memories of it for both of them, he was sure. And by now Crowley couldn't even remember why HE had left, although he still remembered that it had been his choice. And for him, at least, it hadn't been so much of a Fall as a vague downward motion, something of his own decision.
He hadn't realized until now how lucky he'd been.
Humans had a saying. It wasn't the fall that killed you, it was hitting the ground that really did it.
They were wrong.
It WAS the Fall that killed you. Maybe not your body, maybe not even your spirit, but in some cases your mind was a definite casuality.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember how to breathe. Suddenly, it seemed very necessary.
"We've been in contact with Heaven," Loki murmured. "They said that there's some humans on Earth with a book of prophecy that might be able to help us out. Someone named Agnes Nutter."
Crowley opened his eyes, noting that Damien was still staring at him. Crowley had the sudden urge to jump up and start screaming that it wasn't his fault, he hadn't wanted to Fall either, Hell, now he couldn't even remember why he HAD. He hadn't taken her away from Damien, he hadn't destroyed her, NONE of this had been of his making.
He didn't. But he though it very hard, and very loud, and very much in the other demon's direction.
"Her name's not actually Agnes Nutter," Aziraphale was saying. "Well, that WAS the prophetess's name, but she died a very long time ago. Her descendant's name is Anathema Device. She lives in Tadfield. It's about forty miles from here."
Damien turned slowly to look at the angel. Crowley's grip tightened on Aziraphale's hand. "That's where the Antichrist is," the demon said absently. He was shuffling his cards with one hand. Human fingers just did NOT bend like that.
Loki looked at him, and Crowley could tell that, perhaps just this once, she was grateful for the smoked lenses. It meant she couldn't see what was going on in Damien's glowing red eyes.
Or what WASN'T.
Crowley decided that it was more what WASN'T in Damien's eyes than what WAS. He decided that Damien's sanity had taken a vacation about six thousand years ago and just forgotten it was supposed to come back.
"So do we go see Newt and Anathema or what?" Crowley demanded.
Loki started to look nervous. Damien looked vaguely amused and leaned back in his chair, apparently very relaxed. Crowley wished that he had, at some point, learned to keep his mouth shut. He wondered vaguely if it was possibly for him to learn to shut up.
"That would be a what, actually," Loki said, almost apologetically. Crowley noticed that she very firmly wasn't looking at him. "There's to be a meeting. Us - ALL of us, even you two - with the Metatron, and Beelzebub."
Crowley winced. The voice of Satan HATED him. More than he hated everybody else, even. "Oh, this should be fun," he muttered. "When?"
"They should be here soon," Damien responded, in the same calm, distant way Damien did everything that didn't involve him directly.
Aziraphale paled. "That Voice of Satan is coming to my bookshop?"
Loki looked concerned. "Oh, dear," she murmured, and the air turned slightly blue with unspoken profanities. Crowley was impressed. He certainly couldn't do that. Of course, he spoke his profanities out loud. "That's an awful lot of fire in one place."
"Dear lord, I do hope they tone it down," Aziraphale said. "It would certainly be difficult to rebuild my bookshop AGAIN."
"I'm more worried about all of my parts," Crowley muttered.
Loki made an embarassed little noise.
Crowley and Aziraphale both turned to stare at her. She looked a little nervous. "Um, actually...neither one of them can touch you. Any of us."
"Why?" they asked at the exact same time. Six thousand years of association had more or less put their minds on the same wavelength. They were both suspicious of relatively good news. Mainly because bad news usually followed.
Loki looked extremely embarrassed, and gave Damien a nervous look. "God has placed us under His protection for the duration."
Damien sat up straight and said something that would've made Hastur and Ligur blush, it was so obscene. And you probably couldn't do that with a brookstick, anyways. It sounded very uncomfortable. There was an unearthly red glow coming from behind his sunglasses, and his fangs were a little more noticeable than they had been before. "He did WHAT?"
Loki winced. "It's not like I asked Him to," she snapped. She was suddenly glowing. Not bright, blinding glowing, but still pretty obvious. Crowley realized with a start that she was almost as scary as Damien. "He does these things all on His own, you know."
Damien snarled and made another obscene comment about exactly what God could do with His protection. Loki and Aziraphale both looked positively scandalized.
Crowley, on the other hand, was quite impressed. Who knew you could get THAT creative with the English language?
Loki had opened her mouth to reply a bright beam of light fell from the ceiling and the wooden floor started to bubble. Aziraphale looked more nervous about the bubbling floor than anything else. Wood doesn't usually bubble.
And then there stood Beelzebub and the Metatron, both glaring at each other. Loki rolled her eyes.
"Are you ready for this, Angel of Judgement?" the Metatron asked.
"And what of you, Prinze of Hell?" Beelzebub said.
Loki nodded serenely. Damien made a rude gesture. Whether it was directed at Beelzebub or the Metatron was impossible to tell.
"Would you likezz to repeat thatz, Damien?" Beelzebub said ominously.
Damien grinned at him and repeated the gesture. "No problem," he said cheerfully. Well, as cheerfully as he ever was.
It was sad when even the Voice of Satan didn't question you twice on something because HE was afraid of you, too.
They both drew up to their full heights. "It is the request of our Lord, the One True God, that those gathered here find those at fault for the revolts in both His Divine Realm and The Kingdom Below."
"They have met andz Our Dark Lord Luzzifer Agreez to thiz az well," Beelzebub...buzzed.
Those gathered just stared. "That's IT?" Crowley said incredulously.
Suddenly, there was another presence. Or, more accurately, a Presence. A Divine Light filled the entire bookshop.
Every angelic or demonic being in the building resumed their natural forms, unable to hold their human forms in that Presence. Crowley let out a peircing, sharp cry of pain, doubling over, eyes squeezing shut against the pain. Damien hissed, wings bursting from his back, hands becoming taloned, fangs growing. Sarelil regrained conciousness with a start as the alcohol left his system. His wings burst free and he came scrambling to his feet, halo bursting into view. For a long moment, the sound of rustling feathers and demonic screams filled the room.
Eventually, Crowley's screaming subsided to labored breathing, and his eyes were huge. It took him a moment to realize that he was more or less out of view of the Divine Presence. Aziraphale was on his feet, wings slightly spread, sheilding Crowley from the worst of the glare. Damien was crouched on the floor by the table, teeth bared, and his sunglasses gone. His eyes glowed malevolently. He looked very, very angry.
"You shield the demon from me, my angel?" God asked.
Crowley hissed. That bastard didn't have the right to call Aziraphale that. As far as Crowley was concerned, Aziraphale was HIS angel. Not in that way, of course, but where had God been during the Apocalypse? Where had God been when Aziraphale had been having his crisis of Faith in the fourteenth century? Where had God been when Aziraphale needed him?
Aziraphale said nothing. He did not, however, move.
God took a step forward. Crowley glanced up, saw a vague female form, then buried his face against his knees. Great. Not only was he probably about to be destroyed for tempting one of God's angels, he was going to be destroyed by a chick.
One glowing hand gently stroked Aziraphale's face. "Why do you care so much for him, Aziraphale?" the sweet, feminine voice asked. "He is naught but a demon."
Crowley hissed again. One of Aziraphale's hands reached for him, and he clutched at it, the only lifeline he had to what he really was. "He is much more than that, Lord," Aziraphale said softly. "He is my friend."
Crowley felt the wise, ancient gaze sweep the room. Damien let out a snarl as it landed on him. "And what of you, Azhaliel?" She asked.
"Don't call me that." His voice was deeper, rougher, sounding like it was emerging from the deepest pits of Hell. Basically, it was.
God tilted Her head to the side, regarding him with sad eyes. "It is your Name, Azhaliel, the one I gave you at your Creation."
Damien's back bowed under that gaze, under the Presence. His head fell forward. He made a choked noise, almost a sob.
"Do you weep, Azhaliel?" God asked.
Damien through his head back, looking at God with bright, empty eyes. "Weep? Oh, no, my Lord. Lady. Whatever. I don't weep. I can't. You took that. You took my tears when you took my place in Heaven, my name, and my reason."
"I did not wish for this," God said sadly.
Damien started to laugh. He threw back his head and laughed so hard he had to fall down. "You didn't WISH for this?" he said, laughingly. "You're all-powerful, right? Why didn't you STOP him?"
"Ineffable," Aziraphale murmured. For once, there wasn't the usual reverence in his voice. There was just...nothing. It was flat, dark, empty, a statement of fact rather than reverence of the Divine Plan.
God turned back to Aziraphale. "Do you question me, Aziraphale?"
"No, Lord," he murmured.
And the sad thing was, Crowley realized, was that he didn't. He didn't question. He knew, and that was what bothered him. He knew that it was ineffable, unchanging, that it was the purpose. It was the ultimate disappointment.
The Presence seemed saddened, and that sadness weighed on everyone there. Loki let out a little gasp and tears began to roll down her face. Sarelil fell to his knees under the weight of it. Crowley hissed, Damien snarled, and the girl rolled over in her sleep. She seemed to be crying. The one least affected, oddly enough, seemed to be Aziraphale. He merely closed his eyes against it.
"You have rejected Me," God said sadly, to Aziraphale.
"No, Lord," Aziraphale said.
"I can feel your disappointment in Me," She said.
Crowley let out a warning hiss and tugged on Aziraphale's hand. Aziraphale merely opened his eyes and bowed his head. "It is not disappointment, Lord. I merely...I wonder."
"You question." There was an edge in God's voice now, a dangerous edge.
Crowley released an angry hiss. "Of COURSSSE he quesstionss," he hissed. "He quesstionss, I quesstion, Loki quesstions, Sssatan guesstions, Damien quesstionssss, the humanss quessstion, everybody bloody quesstionsss. If you were them, you'd quessstion too."
He felt God's eyes land on him. He tried to muster up a glare, and failed. He dropped his eyes and doubled over in pain. He managed to talk somehow between clenched fangs. "How can you exsspect them not to quesstion? Nothing you ever do makess any bloody ssssensse. You threw some of your people out of Paradisse, you let your children be exssiled from Eden, and you're a giant pain in the ASSSSS."
Aziraphale sighed, a long, martyred sigh. But he squeezed Crowley's hand. "I have spent six thousand years on Your Earth, Lord. I have seen the humans do utterly horrible things to each other in your name. I have seen people martyred for the most ridiculous things. I have seen fathers murder their children, husbands murder wives. All in your name, Lord, and I have never seen any sign from you that this is what you want. And yet I have seen them do the most wonderful things, show such marvellous compassion, also in your name. Tell me, Lord, which is part of your plan?"
God sighed and touched his face gently. "Some of it, and none of it. They have taken such advantage of their free will, Aziraphale, and that is what I wished. For them to be free." She sighed, and stepped away. "Why must you question?" She asked sadly. "It is such questions that have led to these Rebellions." She turned to Crowley. "Does My Presence hurt you so, Camael?"
"Yess," Crowley hissed in response. "And it'sss Crowley."
God sighed. "You have taken away the Names I gave you," She said sadly. "I had thought them such lovely Names."
"Perhaps not suitable for such an unlovely place as Hell, Lord," Loki said. She kept her head bowed, but her expression was troubled.
They were getting to her. Crowley flickered his forked tongue out, tasting the air. Breathing burned. All that Holiness in the air wasn't good for a demon. He felt like if he breathed it much longer he'd start melting, like he'd inhaled Holy Water.
"Get me out of here," Crowley hissed, pressing closer to Aziraphale. The angel's hand dropped onto Crowley's hair, stroking gently.
The Metatron's eyes followed the gesture. "Such tenderness to a demon," it said, it's voice expressionless.
"He saved my life," Aziraphale said flatly. "The life of an angel, and his Enemy. Does that not deserve tenderness?"
The Metatron's beautiful, blank eyes did not leave Crowley's huddled form. "No."
Loki's head jerked up, her long braids hitting her in the face. Sarelil looked stunned. Damien's response was unique - not one of shock, but of disgust. He spit at the Metatron's feet as if the angel's presence left a nasty taste in his mouth.
"My Lord? May I speak?"
Every eye in the room turned to Sarelil. The young angel looked desperately like he'd rather be anywhere else in Existence, up to and including the deepest pits of Hell. He looked deeply contemplative for a moment, without loosing the expression of desire to be elsewhere. "I have seen the Demon Crowley fight two angels, armed with blessed swords that could easily destroy him in combat. I have seen him face down a Prince of Hell. Few angels would do these things. And yet a demon risked all, for the sake of friendship. Can any of us say the same?"
For one brief, insane moment, Crowley wanted to laugh. Here was an ANGEL, an angel not Aziraphale, standing up for him, not just to other angels, but to the Metatron itself and GOD. And Loki looked so proud she might have burst had she not held herself back.
"None of us would choose to befriend a demon," Metatron said. There was still absolutely no inflection in it's voice. It was starting to irritate Crowley.
Loki cleared her throat. "I have."
Now all eyes turned to her. It was a room full of revolving eyes.
Damien arched one eyebrow at her. Crowley muttered something sarcastic about all the expressions.
"I have," Loki said softly. "I consider Damien a friend, even if he is a Prince of Hell." She shrugged. "He was my brother once, Lady. He still is my brother. Nothing, not even the Fall, can change that. I love him as I did the day we were Created. He is my friend."
God turned to Damien. He met her ancient, wise gaze with his burning red eyes. "What of you, Azhaliel? Do you still love Loki?"
Damien smiled, a small ironic smile. "I wouldn't know," he said drily. "You took that, too."
God frowned, then shook her head. "This is not why we are here," She said serenely. "What has happened can not be changed. We need to stop these Revolts. I fear it falls on you."
"Naturally," Damien muttered.
God ignored this. "Lucifer has agreed to this."
Crowley's slightly scaly eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. When he spoke, his voice was raspy and silibant. "Ssssincce when are you and Lucccifer on ssspeaking termsss?" he hissed.
"Your Arrangement isn't the only one around," Damien said softly. His taloned hands were clenched into fists. His eyes seemed a little brighter, as well, Crowley noticed. The Holy Presence was getting to him, too.
Aziraphale's eyes widened. "Well, that explains quite a bit," he murmured.
Metatron and Beelzebub were both gaping at God. She just smiled serenely. "You will be armed, of course," She said, and made a gesture at the Voices. Beelzebub swore at Her. She smiled serenely in reply. The Metatron retrieved a sword from - somewhere.
It paused, then passed it to Aziraphale. It did not look happy. "I trust you still remember how to use this, Angel of the East Gate?" it asked snidely.
"I'm sure," Aziraphale said serenely. Crowley hissed a bit spitefully at that. He'd ended up on the wrong end of the angel's fiery sword on more than one occasion, back in the Garden.
"You're forgetting, Metatron, how high Aziraphale is in the Host," Loki said sharply. She drew her own sword.
Beelzebub reluctantly drew two swords out of...somewhere. Really, the similiarities between the two of them were frightening. The only difference between the two were the color of the flames and the fact that Beelzebub buzzed when he talked. Crowley had never figured out why.
"Here," it buzzed, shoving a black sword at Damien. "For you, Prinze of Hell. And, thiz, Crowzley, is for you."
Crowley hesitantly took his own sword. He was not a particularly good fighter. He preferred vanishing, if it was an option. Or running away. And if those two were out, he was usually inconventiently discorporated.
Damien, however, held the sword like he knew exactly what to do with it. They were invented to kill, destroy, and, if those were out of the question, at least permanenetly maim. And the Prince of Hell looked like he could do all of them. And enjoy it.
Of course, Loki held her sword the same way, like it was what she was made for. Like SHE was made for the sword, and not the sword for her. Sarelil still looked like he didn't know what to do with it. And Aziraphale... the prudish, bookish, educated angel held the sword the same way Loki did, like it was an extension of himself.
Huh. Learn something new everyday about the guy you've known for...ever.
God clasped Her hands serenely at Her waist. "We believe they would have gone to Tadfield, to appropriate the book of prophecy in the care of the descendant. We believe that the angels might also attack the Anticrhist." She pointedly ignored Damien's rather pungent curse. She just smiled serenely and turned to the Angel of Judgement. "DO be careful, Loki," She said, and smiled again, this time almost wickedly. "Michael would be so disappointed were anything to happen to you."
And then She vanished. There was a pause, and then Loki called Her a rather nasty name. "Sorry, but you ARE," the angel finished.
The Metatron and Beelzebub glared at each other, then vanished as well.
Damien turned to Loki with an arched eyebrow. "So. You and Michael, eh?"
"No," Loki said shortly and glared.
Aziraphale smiled, almost wickedly. "Really, my dear. If he heard you say that - why, I think it would break his heart!"
Loki stared at him, open-mouthed and looking decidedly unangelic.
Aziraphale continued serenely, testing the sharpness of his blade. "You are so very cute together," he said.
Loki stared at him for another long moment. Then she turned to Crowley and pointed. "You," she said, speaking slowly, "are a horrible, horrible influence."
Crowley grinned at her, flashing long fangs. "Thank you."
Loki threw up her arms and stormed upstairs. "Let's go stop this so I can go home," she muttered.
"Michael's probably going mad by now," Sarelil said sadly, shaking his head.
They all stared at him. Then Crowley let out a hoot of laughter. "Who knew the baby angel had it in him?"
TBC...