Hello fellow Good Omens fans! I'm back with a ONESHOT about the secondary characters of Gaiman/Pratchett's weird, wonderful saga!
This story came out of a wondering I've always had, about how Sergeant Shadwell would react if he knew who Aziraphale and Crowley really were. How would be feel knowing that he'd been doing business with an angel and a demon all these years? Would he freak out? Or would he feel that it answered a hell of a lot of questions? Or both?
And, as I dived into the next installment in what I call my "After Armageddon't" series (Days to Come/The Third Domain/Creature Comforts), I realized that I wanted (more than needed) to iron out a few things with the minor characters.
If you have read the aforementioned series, that's great!
If you have not read it, that's totally fine, too! You will not be lost, I promise.
This story takes place in the world of Days To Come/The Third Domain/Creature Comforts, in which Anathema and Newt have discussed moving to London, and keeping in contact with Sergeant Shadwell, and by extension, Madame Tracy.
This thing is a little crazy, and some of it doesn't make much sense, but that's mostly Shadwell's brain debris. And please forgive my ineptness at writing Shadwell's manner of speech... both accent and unique turn of phrase. I did my best. Not being a Brit, nor a nutbomb of a former Witchfinder, I had to make do with my meager resources. ;-)
Enjoy!
SHADWELL'S NIGHTMARES
Anathema Device climbed out of the passenger's seat of her boyfriend's powder blue 1969 Chevrolet Camaro. In her hands, she held a casserole dish.
The still-a-bit-surprised-to-have-a-girlfriend (let alone a super-hot American one) Newton Pulsifer exited the driver's side. He had just recently got the hang of driving a car with the steering wheel on the "wrong" side, and was now quite proud to be the driver/owner of this magnificently shiny automobile. An automobile, mind you, which was not bound to hold up traffic anywhere. When they purchased the vehicle from a car show in Chichester (with the help of a certain former demon), it had come with a certificate of authenticity, guaranteeing that the transmission was completely new.
Anathema opened the gate in front of Jasmine Cottage, walked up the path, and now found herself standing at the door. Force of habit nearly caused her to reach for the key that used to hang round her neck, until she caught herself and knocked.
"This is weird," she said.
"Is it?" Newt asked. "I've lost track of what's weird, and what isn't."
"I just mean, I feel like I'm knocking on my own…" she began to answer, but then the front door opened.
And there stood a smallish blonde woman, roughly sixty years old, impeccably made-up, subtly coiffed. She was wearing an ivory-coloured sweater-dress, with a chunky Native-American turquoise belt, and brown boots. She looked quite smashing, actually, and the outfit was perfect for the icy February weather.
"Hello, you two!" she chirped as soon as she saw them, and reached out with both arms to give Anathema a big hug.
"Hi, Madame Tracy," Anathema crooned as the lady embraced her. "You look amazing – is that cashmere?"
"Yes, well, I can afford such things, thanks to you, dear," Madame Tracy told her, holding out her arms to show off her long, soft dress. "And Newt, good Lord, you look like a man!"
"Hello, Madame Tracy," Newt said, sweetly, as she took his head in both hands and planted a kiss on his cheek. He was secretly also proud of his "manly" new look – he was working on a beard, was wearing a leather jacket, and had got new, more stylish glasses.
"Come in, come in," said the newest Lady of the House boisterously, and Anathema and Newt stepped inside. Madame Tracy ushered them through to the kitchen, where something (definitely meat) smelled lovely, and surprisingly normal, and they could see a Stroganoff sauce bubbling on the range.
"Well, this is for you," Anathema said, holding out her casserole dish. "I mean, for us – all of us. It's a side dish. An old family recipe."
"Really? What's in it?" Madame Tracy asked, with almost exaggerated interest.
"It's a Healing Casserole," Anathema answered proudly. "It's morphed a lot over the years, but this version is made with fresh roasted barley, chopped carrots, hard tofu, Indian yogurt, brown eggs, and a secret pepper sauce. I thought it might help with… you know."
Madame Tracy's eyebrows nearly got drawn into her hairline as she reacted to what she had heard. She took a quick glance at Newt, who looked tight-lipped and as uncomfortable as one might be if one had been made to sample the concoction. She then took the casserole and said, "Oh, thank you, dear, ever so much! How gracious of you! And I reckon it will help. It's healing, you say?"
"Speaking of which, where is he?" asked Newt, at a whisper.
Madame Tracy sighed. "He says he's having a lie-down, but I imagine he's probably just standing there at the window," she said, placing the casserole in a place she hoped might suggest she was planning to serve it, yet where it might easily be forgotten.
"Is that all he does now?" he asked.
"Oh, no," Madame Tracy said. "It's not as bad as all that. He putters about the house, grumbling over this thing or the other – that's when I really think he might be all right. He reads, there in the parlour. He writes in his journal – I'll admit I've snuck a peek, and it's mostly about his time in the W.A., but occasionally about his nightmares. He tends his plants, goes on walks."
"Maybe he's working on a memoir," Newt offered. "That would be a strange and interesting read."
"That would be nice," said Madame Tracy, doubtfully. "It would give him something meaningful to focus on. I'll mention it to him."
"But I would imagine he's not sleeping much these days," Anathema wondered. "Is he?"
"Well, there are times when he can't help but," Madame Tracy said, sensibly. "He wears himself out. But I know he's a bit afraid to nod off. Even at night. So whenever he says he's gone for a kip, I know he's just watching the squirrels outside."
"Does he know we're here?" asked Anathema.
"He knows you're on your way," Madame Tracy said. "I don't know whether he heard you knock. But for the moment, loves, he just thinks we've invited you over as a thank-you for gifting us this wonderful cottage… for which no roast dinner would ever be able to compensate, of course."
"No, no, stop," Anathema requested. "You promised you wouldn't get gushy."
Madame Tracy smiled. "Of course. Sorry, dear. It's just so nice being out of London! But, the real reason I asked you here is twofold, which you already know. To thank you, of course, but also to help him."
"My question is, Madame Tracy…" Newt began.
"Oh, Newt, just call me Tracy now," said the former fortune-teller-Jezebel. "Madame Tracy was my working name. I'm retired!"
"All right. T-Tracy," Newt stuttered a bit. "My question is, if he can't remember what happened that day, and you can't remember what happened that day, what makes you think we can?"
"Well, you're a bit younger," Tracy said. "And your minds are a bit sharper. And you, Anathema, you were living here at the time. In Tadfield, I mean, and you knew that boy – Adam - when it all went awry. That's got to mean something."
"I suppose…" Anathema shrugged.
"And I think you've got one foot in the occult," Tracy said, with a mischievous look in her eye. "Much more than I ever have, of course! Well, that wouldn't be hard, would it?"
"Erm…"
"What with that book, and all."
"Right, the book. Well, you're not wrong."
"I can't help but think that something like whatever it was that happened might stick with someone with a spirit open to forces beyond. And me, I have got a hair of a glimmer of a remembrance: you and Mr. Crowley seemed to know each other. I've got to believe that's something."
Newt marvelled. Madame Tracy was revealing herself to be a right sight cleverer and more observant than he had ever given her credit for. Though, now he thought of it, he didn't know why he was so surprised. Her previous profession(s) had required that she be able to size people up quickly, and transfer that knowledge in various creative ways. And she'd had to be cool and efficient as she worked. Whatever that work may have entailed.
"Well, at that time, we didn't really know each other," Anathema said to Tracy. "We had only met once, and I had left my book in his car. You might remember seeing him give it back to me? He called me Book Girl? As he has ever since."
Madame Tracy's eyes narrowed, as that hair of a glimmer of a remembrance tried to take form behind them. "That rings a little bell, I think."
"But you've come to the right people, Tracy – we can remember a great deal of what went on."
"You know what? Hang on…" Newt said, one finger in the air. "Another question. I still don't get it. Why is it, now you mention it, that we can remember now? And Tracy and Shadwell can't? Anathema, you, I understand. As Madame Tracy said, you're a witch, and you've got generations of mystic weirdness behind you. And if we're going to get esoteric about things, your attention was focused on Tadfield for days before the storm… you spent time speaking to Adam, reading auras, taking energy measurements from this very land. So that makes sense, as much as any of it could. But what about me? Why can I remember?"
Anathema pursed her lips, then pushed them sideways in puzzlement. Then she said, "To be honest, I don't know if it has anything to do with my heritage or any of that other stuff. I think it has more to do with… erm…"
"What?" he asked. "Tell me."
"Well, with whom we have been keeping company, since the day after."
"Who's that?" asked Madame Tracy, eyes wide. But for the moment, Newt and Anathema ignored the question.
"Oh!" Newt said, uncomfortably pushing his glasses up his nose. "D'you think exposure to them is giving us, like, second sight?"
"Not as such, but in the context of a huge, mystical event that we experienced alongside them, if you believe in transference of energies, and their supernatural, ethereal qualities, even residual ones," she said, and shrugged again. "Quantum physics might even confirm it. It's the only explanation for why you and I both forgot everything just after the event, and then it all slowly came back. And it didn't happen to others."
"Hm," Newt said. "I find that I'm both comforted and freaked out by that."
"And since the two of them have become human, I wonder if the 'hold' the two forces have had on us is loosening, as they let go of their agenda, and the magic unravels."
Newt's eyes were wide as saucers. "Wow."
"Well, in any case," Tracy said, with quite the taciturn air. "You don't know how long I've waited for this… for this life we have. The cottage, the quiet, the love, the freedom. And to have it coloured by horrors that never existed... to have him out of sorts so very often… I can't lie, I always knew that Mr. Shadwell walked the line between the world you and I live in, and something that's several stalks of celery short of a chicken salad. Truth be told, I always found it charming and amusing. But this is something I never anticipated."
"I'm so sorry," Newt said, patting the lady on the shoulder.
"That's quite all right," Tracy responded. "Because you've got the patches that Mr. S. needs for the holes in his noggin, and I'm hoping it'll bring him back from… that place he goes."
"That place he goes?" asked Newt, dreading the idea that Shadwell had grown more eccentric.
"Yes, the place that's just a hop, skip, and a jump away from complete tinfoil-hat-ville," Madame Tracy said, with uncharacteristic, sardonic bitterness. Then she reverted to form. "Now, make yourselves at home – how about some tea? Or wine? Or a nice sherry?"
The three of them sat in the parlour (now decorated in Victorian Burlesque House chic) and had tea. For just a little while, they caught up on the mundane bits of their lives – moving into new homes, Newt's new job and car, what they'd been watching on television, and their travel plans for summer, 2020, barring another Apocalypse, of course.
And when Sergeant Shadwell appeared in the doorway between the parlour and the back hallway, he greeted "Young Newt" with a hearty handshake and a huge smile, and the "Lovely Lass" with a hug.
"We cannae thank ye," he said, seeming to tear up a bit.
"You don't need to, Mr. Shadwell," Anathema said. "It was my pleasure. Our pleasure, really."
It was one of very few times Newt had ever seen him without his brown Witchfinder's coat. Newt supposed he must be finally ready to retire.
Tracy called them all back into the kitchen for dinner after a few minutes, so they all went.
"What about my casserole?" Anathema asked, not seeing it on the table.
"Oh!" Tracy sang, artificially. "Yes, of course, I completely forgot!"
And with butterflies in her stomach, she uncovered the casserole dish, shoved a serving spoon into it, and set it on the table. Then she sat, and said, "All right – pass the peas, tuck in, everyone!"
The roast was perfect, though Anathema ate only a bite or two for politeness' sake, as she was trying to become a vegetarian. The peas were a bit mushy, but Newt liked them that way. The noodles and Stroganoff were so creamy, it almost gave everyone a nosebleed, and the casserole was… well, it tasted like earth mixed with sour cream and feet. But everyone sampled it dutifully, and complimented Anathema's ancestors.
"Funny – did they have hard tofu in the olden days, where your ancestors were, dear?" asked Tracy, as she chewed it unhappily.
"Well, the original recipe required an extinct mushroom," Anathema explained. "My uncle added the tofu in the 1970s. Same medicinal and nutritional properties as the mushroom."
"I see," Tracy said, nodding vigorously, though not going back for another taste of the casserole.
"Tofu," Shadwell said, out of nowhere. "That's another thing!"
"Oh, heavens, here we go," Tracy sighed. "Another thing of what, Mr. S.?"
"Ye know! The Sicilian Cosa Nostra!" he answered.
"Right. Them," his lovely partner sighed.
"Sorry, the what?" asked Newt.
"The Mafia!" Shadwell said to him, as though he couldn't believe anyone could be so daft. He turned to Anathema. "Tofu appears in the 1960s… d'ye think it's a coincidence, lass, that it's got the same so-called medicinal properties as yer special ancient mushroom?"
"Actually, tofu has been around for ages in other parts of the world," Newt said. "It's just gone mainstream in the west rather recently."
"Nay, lad, that's just what they want ye to think."
"And they are the… erm, Sicilian Mafia?" Newt asked.
"Right ye are, young Newt," Shadwell confirmed.
"Is this about the hallucinogenic drugs we've all been given?" Tracy asked him, rather like someone might ask a toddler if their spaghetti is sad because there are no meatballs.
"Aye!" answered Shadwell, with a dark chuckle.
"So, the Mafia has been controlling tofu distribution, thereby giving us hallucinogens?" Anathema asked. She glanced at Tracy, who gave her a look that said, see? "What about folks who don't eat tofu? I know plenty of them."
"Ah, there's also plenty of wily and wicked ways they get 'em into yer system," Shadwell explained. "Espresso coffee is the main one, plus various off-center foodstuffs… yer sugar-free sweets, yer frou-frou oat flours, yer Mexican cola drinks. And they even dust our currency with it. It's not every twenty-pound note, but it could be any twenty-pound note."
"Sounds like this thing reaches pretty far," Anathema said, trying to sound as though she was taking him seriously. The last thing she wanted was to spook him and get herself banished from Jasmine Cottage.
"Okay… so… what led you to this conclusion, Mr. Shadwell?" Newt wanted to know.
"Why you know, laddie," Shadwell said to him. "Ye were there."
"I was?"
"Ye bet yer life ye were! And yer lass, as well!"
"Do you mean… Armageddon?" Anathema asked, carefully.
"O' course I mean Armageddon! What the bloody hell else could it be?" Shadwell practically shouted.
"Now, Mr. S., there's no need for that language in front of guests," Tracy lulled, gently. "Erm, dear, I've just been telling our friends about your nightmares."
"They're not nightmares, Jezebel," he corrected. "They're visions. They're memories. Memories enhanced by visions. And they're real."
"Right, yes, memories," said Tracy. "Why don't you tell Young Newt and Miss Anathema a little bit about them. I think it would interest them ever so much."
"Do ye lay awake nights, too?" he asked them. "Haunted by images of fire and blood, the Earth overta'en by vegetation and rain of asphalt and serpents?"
"Rain of… what?" Newt asked. "No, none of that happened."
"Mr. S.," Tracy reached out and put her hand on his wrist lovingly. "Newt and Anathema, they remember the day. They remember. Not partially, or as visions or hallucinations, but with a proper, linear understanding."
"A proper linear understandin'?" Shadwell asked her. "What, have you gone barmy, Jezebel?"
"No, indeed, Mr. S.," she said. "Tell them. They know the truth."
Shadwell looked back and forth between Newt and Anathema quickly like a bird. A very confused, child-like bird. "Ye know?"
"Yes," Newt confirmed. "More or less. The bits we were there for."
"What do ye know that I don't?"
"Well, for starters, there was no rain of serpents."
"No rain of serpents?" Shadwell thought about this. And then, "How does the likes of ye know?"
"It's a long story, Mr. Shadwell," Anathema said. "But we're really curious about what you have to say."
"It's dark and twisted. Are ye certain ye can stomach it? Willin' to take on the fevered insomnia of a brittle old man, are ye?"
"We'll take our chances," Newt told him, concern now creeping like a shadow.
An oppressive silence fell over the kitchen of Jasmine Cottage. Shadwell's face grew dark and drawn, his expression both fearful and weary.
"Don't say I didn't try to warn ye." Then, he shut his eyes tight, and said, "I'm ridin' on a flyin' motorbike. And that voice… that evil, insidious voice comin' out of Tracy's mouth… it wa'nt right. Possessin' the poor woman – I'll have his head one day, mark my words!"
"Whose head?" Anathema wondered.
"That… demon! The one I spied disappearin' into the light inside that horrible pentagram."
"Do you know what he's talking about?" Newt asked Tracy.
"I know the thing about the motorbike and the voice, but that's all. The other thing, with the pentagram, I've no idea. This is the first I've heard of it," she said.
"Was something possessing you?" Anathema asked her.
"Yes, Mr. Aziraphale," Tracy answered, matter-of-factly.
"Aziraphale!" Shadwell growled slowly. "That's his name! My sponsor, indeed! Mr. Fell, indeed! Lacin' those notes with woo-woo drugs to make me see things I shouldn't! The southern pansy!"
"Oh, I see, so you think Aziraphale has been giving you money tainted with this hallucinogen," Anathema surmised.
"Aziraphale! Aye, the filthy name of a demon if I e'er heard one!"
"Erm… okay, go on," Anathema said, exchanging a glance with Newt.
Tracy got up from the table and opened the liquor cabinet. She brought three glasses, and poured herself a stiff Scotch, leaving the bottle on the table. Dinner had now been all but forgotten. At least for now.
"And the other one, Mr. Crowley," Shadwell continued. "He and his father both."
"His father?" Newt asked, incredulously. "You know his father?"
"Yes, and Mr. Crowley, the one ye've met, he's the spi'in' image of his old man," Shadwell said with a smile. "Met Crowley the elder in 1967 doin' a mission for the W.A., offered him my services, and he employed them from time to time. The nature of the tasks… I knew he had to be Mafia."
"Interesting theory," Newt muttered.
"But no harm, no foul – never asked me to do anythin' too far on the ou'side. Then after fifteen years or thereabouts, he retired and I dinnae hear from him for, oh… nigh on twenty years. Then lo and behold, a decade ago, give or take, a man pops up on my doorstep, big as you like, could swear to God Himself it was the same man! But no - I'm the son, he said! But quite plainly still a Mafioso."
"Uh-huh," Anathema said. "Tell us more about that day. About Armageddon."
Shadwell shut his eyes again.
"I saw the face of death!" he said, slightly panicked. "Death i'self, come to do battle, and its shroud covered us all… inky blackness everywhere, its voice boomin' through my bones. I am Creation's shadow, it said, as though it could absorb all the dark in the world, and it can! 'Course it can! And children…"
"Children?" asked Anathema.
"Just wee ones, goin' against devils and monsters! There was burnin' and oh, there was blood. Red, oozin', bleedin' up from the ground… oh, I can still hear it… the screams… the children… and splat! Asphalt. Brains! Oh, God…" he croaked, and buried his face in his hands.
"Mr. Shadwell…" Anathema said, trying to stop going off the rails here.
"I see my lovely Jezebel split in twain! And that horrible Aziraphale is the one responsible! As though he sliced her clean open with… with… a sword! Or burned her apart with the fires of hell."
"Could it have been a flaming sword?" Anathema asked.
"Aye, a flamin' sword, that's it! And the ground was all a-tremble! People flailin' and fallin' down like pins. The Earth is about to open up! Evil is afoot! And I see the demon pick it up… that loathsome creature, creepin' about, in and out of bodies and splittin' people open, and I see him go after Mr. Crowley!"
"Aziraphale went after Crowley with a sword. Right," Anathema said, flatly. "Now that's a thing I never thought I'd say. But yeah, I guess I remember that…"
"And then, everythin' goes black," Shadwell continued. "When the demon attacked Mr. Crowley, threatened him with sheer destruction if he didn't do his wicked bidding, the world went dark as the inside of that demon's heart!"
"Then what?" asked Anathema, with interest.
"Then, egged on by the demon, the wee one summoned the Devil himself!"
"Newt, Anathema, is any of this making sense to you?" Tracy asked. "For me, it's all a haze. Some of it's clearly rubbish, and some of it isn't... can't make heads or tails of it."
"It is making sense," Newt answered. "Mr. Shadwell, would you like us to fill in some of the blanks for you?"
Shadwell looked at him in mild supplication, and his eyes filled with tears again. "Aye. Please."
"First of all, if I may," Tracy interrupted. She reached out and took his hand once more. "Dear, you know that I was not split in two by a flame or a sword, or a flaming sword, or anything else. I'm right here. I'm intact, and talking to you, and holding your hand, do you see? I recall being possessed by Mr. Aziraphale, and then I wasn't. End of. All right? So there's no sense in pursuing that line of thinking, is there?"
"S'pose not," Shadwell said, meekly.
"And regarding Death," Anathema said. "I saw it too. Large, shrouded, cold, empty eyes. A negative aura, like a walking black hole. He left, though, and did not shroud the Earth in his darkness – see? Look, we're all alive. And some who died that day were even restored, according to some people we know."
Shadwell closed his eyes hard, and nodded. "I know yer here, it's clear as day. I see the Earth continuin' to turn, but me guts say somethin' other."
"When he spread his wings, I felt like I could see through the fabric of reality into the abyss, and it was disturbing, I'll give you that," Anathema shrugged.
"And the children, Mr. Shadwell, are fine," said Newt. "Adam, his friends Pepper, Wensleydale, and Brian… they all survived. I don't know what sorts of horrible things happened to make you hear splats of brains on concrete, and think that blood was oozing from the ground, but the kids are great. There is no need to worry about them!"
"Really?"
"Yes! They live right here in this village! If you don't believe me, we'll go find them, and you can see!"
"Oh, lad…"
"And, I know that when the ground shook… that was terrifying," Anathema said. "That really was the coming of Satan. For real. A giant, horned, semi-humanoid incarnation of the Devil shoved itself through the ground. You got that bit right."
"I was hopin' you'd tell me it wa'n't real. That it was the drug, from the…"
"From Aziraphale's twenty-pound notes, and/or Crowley's Mafia tofu? I wish I could tell you it all happened in the Land of Oz, but I can't. That part was real. And it was horrible. You have every right to feel scared when you think about it," Anathema said. "Before that, there were earthquakes, and yes, Aziraphale went after Crowley with a sword… which, again, just feels weird to say. But it did happen. Only not the way you think."
"How does one go after another with a sword in not the way I think?" Shadwell asked, confusedly. "How many ways can there be, lass?"
"I do remember Aziraphale threatening Crowley…" Newt said.
"Yeah, but he basically just threatened to break up with him, unless he did something drastic," Anathema said. "And then… yeah, I think it all went black, because Crowley, at that point, couldn't not do something drastic."
"Of course he couldn't not," Newt said, eyes wide. "A threat like that!"
"And when the dark went away, Adam knew what to do," Anathema added. "So Crowley must've put the rest of us in a trance, or shut down our consciousnesses or something so that they could talk to Adam, and… voilà."
"Then… the Devil comes," Shadwell said. And then, something new seemed to occur to him, and his eyes flew open, and his mouth contorted into a ring of fear. "And… oh, I saw his breath swallow up the wee boy! That bloody pansy forced the boy to summon the Devil!"
"Actually, the boy, Adam, vanquished the Devil, not the other way around," Anathema said.
"You know what? Sorry to interrupt, but let's put a stop to this, right now," Newt said. His next words came out shaky, but measured. "Aziraphale and Crowley are not who you think they are. Firstly, Mr. Shadwell, if you don't mind my saying so, I think it is rude and uncouth to call someone a pansy. Especially someone who has been unfailingly kind to you. It is unfair, just because they speak with a highbrow accent, wear a bowtie and are… well, rather effeminate. Any Witchfinder Sergeant should be above that don't you agree? Above cheap name-calling?"
"Why Young Newt, I never knew you were so opinionated!" Tracy marvelled.
Anathema beamed at him.
Newt shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, swallowed hard, and said, "I only say so, sir, because that man, Aziraphale, is my friend. And I consider the word 'pansy' to be a slur."
"It is unbecomin' of a solider, yes," Shadwell conceded, with a deep nod. "My apologies for offendin' ye, a man who has stood beside me in battle."
"And secondly, Aziraphale is not a demon. And Crowley is not a Mafioso. As it happens, both of them are currently human," Newt explained.
"Currently human?" asked Tracy, a bit incredulous.
"Yes, well… they haven't always been. The fact is, Mr. Shadwell, Aziraphale is – was – an angel," said Newt.
"He was a what?" Shadwell asked.
"An angel," said Newt. "Literally. Well, a principality, to be exact. A supernatural, ethereal servant to the Almighty, who has been stationed on Earth since the Garden of Eden. Wings, halo, all of it. He used to answer directly to the Archangel Gabriel. Says he's kind of a prick."
Shadwell shut his eyes again. "The Garden… the Beginning… did he perchance mention any of this on that day?"
"Yes, I think he did," Anathema said. "I remember because Crowley shushed him, and I remember thinking at the time, they were like an old married couple."
Newt chuckled. "Good eye."
"Right?" she said, and laughed.
"Wha're ye two on abou'?" Shadwell asked.
"It might be hard for you to accept at the moment, Mr. Shadwell, but Aziraphale was good personified. A literal angel," Anathema said. "All the time you've known him, and have been doing deeds for him, collecting funds and whatnot, you were working for an agent of God. And that's a fact."
"Oh, dear Lord!" Tracy gasped. "Well, this certainly explains a lot!"
Shadwell's face was crinkled, and then he said, "Yeah… it rather… does. He's always been odd, quite apar' from bein'… you know…"
"Flamboyant?" Newt asked.
"Aye," said Shadwell. "I've known him nigh on fifty years and the man ha'n't aged a day. He's got unlimited funds, he's divinely generous…"
"Yes," Anathema said. "And Crowley is his other half. The other side of his coin."
"The head to his tail," Newt said. Then, "Blimey, that came out wrong."
"Do you know what that means?" Anathema asked Shadwell.
"Ye cannae be tellin' me Mr. Crowley is an angel as well!" exclaimed Shadwell.
"No," Anathema said. "Not anymore, not for a long, long time. Actually, it means that it's Crowley who is the demon."
"No!" Shadwell breathed. "But… but… his father…."
"He doesn't have a father," Newt said. "Based on what you've just told us, you met Crowley in 1967, did some work for him, then he laid low for a while so that you wouldn't notice that he doesn't age – which, apparently never occurred to Aziraphale. Then he popped back up again when a reasonable amount of time had passed for you to believe his son could be grown."
"He's been working with the forces of darkness for six thousand years," Anathema continued. "Mostly temptations. A lot of mischief. But not a lot of what you'd call evil… he's actually a really nice guy."
"So, all this time, I've been doin' business with a demon?" Shadwell breathed.
"Yes, but it's like Anathema said," Newt went on. "Crowley and Aziraphale are two sides of the same coin. Both minions of a superpower, both operatives left to do blessings and/or temptations on Earth. It's like they work for rivalling corporations and have analogous job titles. They keep crossing paths, and have found that they have more in common with one another than with their fellow angels and demons."
"Well I'll be!" Tracy exclaimed. "The things you learn!"
Newt continued, "They complement each other. Or cancel each other out, however you choose to see it. But what we see, Anathema and I, when we're with them is that… that they… they…"
"They more than complement each other. They enhance each other. They bring out the best in each other. And also possibly the worst. They complete each other. They couldn't exist without each other. And what's more, they wouldn't want to exist without each other. The very idea of it would terrify them. It does terrify them – the thought of one dying before the other."
"You don't mean…" Tracy started, with a gasp. "When you said they were like an old married couple…"
"I mean, they're two entities who've been in love with each other, and have irritated the crap out of each other, for six thousand years," Anathema said. "If that's not an old married couple, then I don't know what is."
"Quite right!" Tracy laughed.
"And now, through a seriously screwed-up set of circumstances, they're both human," Anathema said.
"These days, they live under the same roof, free of their shackles, and they're the funniest, most loving, maybe even the strongest couple we know," Newt said. "But especially funny. They're really damn funny."
"It's true," Anathema said. "They're our Couple Goals."
"What?" Tracy asked.
"They're just so grateful to be together…" Newt said. "It's how every couple should be."
"Well," Shadwell practically growled. "Put me in a pinafore and call me Arabella. I ne'er e'en knew they knew each other! Le' alone were workin' fer the forces of light and dark, and canoodlin' along the way!"
"Actually, as far as we know, the canoodling didn't begin until after Armageddon," Newt said. "Not that that's either here or there, but I thought it might interest you to know."
"An angel?" Shadwell asked. "The Southern P… Aziraphale is an angel? Mr. Fell? The bookseller?"
"Yes," confirmed Newt. "Former angel, now. But yes."
"And deep, dark, mysterious Mr. Crowley was actually worse than Mafia?"
"Technically, I suppose so, but as demons go… well, you might say that Crowley faced his lot with reluctance. He enjoyed the hedonism, but not the torment. I mean, given the choice between ripping your arm off, or just giving that arm an unpleasant tattoo, he'll choose the latter. And it wouldn't even be that unpleasant. Just maybe slightly embarrassing. Like a hula girl with a beard or something."
"And ye two keep company with 'em?"
"Yeah, quite a bit, especially now we live in London. We should all have coffee sometime… it would be a hoot!" Newt exclaimed, feeling immediately dorky for saying it would be a hoot. Then he cleared his throat and corrected himself. "Rather, it might be nice to finally clear the air. For your sake, Mr. Shadwell."
"So, I was nae hallucinatin'? Abou' any of it?"
"If you actually saw snakes falling from the sky, then you did hallucinate," Anathema said. "But if it's just a nightmare, a product of a fevered, traumatised brain trying to make sense of a lot of crap that doesn't make sense… then no. You really were present at the Apocalypse. You saw the face of Death. You saw the devil."
"So, if Mr. Crowley is not Mafia…"
"Then you can let go of all of it, Mr. S.," Tracy said. "You've been trying to explain it all as Mr. Aziraphale's evil tricks, and wonky drugs and whatnot. But the Mafia never touched any of it! There are no drugs, none of the money you've been given has been laced with anything! All of that was just your mind, desperate to fill in missing pieces, and you don't need to do that anymore."
"But what yer tellin' me is that the truth is more bloody sideways than the codswallop I invented!" Shadwell said, with exasperation.
"Well, some of it, I guess," Anathema said. "I mean, if you want to read it about it, you could borrow my book of prophecy. Or, pick up the Book of Revelations – it's all there. Well, most of it."
Mr. Shadwell was silent for a long time, and he stared into the plate of food in front of him. Meanwhile, Tracy, Anathema, and Newt exchanged looks, and alternately studied the former Witchfinder Sergeant, with concern.
Then, Shadwell said, "Newt, Anathema, Jezebel?"
"Yes, love?" Tracy said, on behalf of the group.
"Would ye mind grea'ly if we just finished our meal, then retired to the parlour for cake, without mentionin' this again tonigh'?"
"We wouldn't mind at all, would we, kids?" she said.
Newt and Anathema agreed.
Mr. Shadwell gave a weary smile. "Perhaps in a month or two, ye three can help me write a timeline of events – a chronicle of Armageddon, as it were."
"Absolutely," said Anathema. "Crowley and Aziraphale would gladly help, I'm sure."
"All righ' if ye say so, I'm willin' to try," he said. "But I'll need a bit of time to le' it digest."
"No problem," Newt said. "So… what kind of cake are we having?"
And that's it for this oneshot, friends!
Don't forget to leave a review - thoughts? Favorite bits? Questions/concerns?
Anything you'd like to say would probably make my day, so don't hesitate!
Thanks so much for reading!
