Chapter 3 - Toasting Like Nice Crispy Bacon

Aziraphale kept one eye on the two bad guys who had finished filling their remaining duffel bags with cash from the vault downstairs and were now whispering between themselves. He didn't like the idea of the ruffians making off with the money, but he also couldn't pretend that they were his primary concern.

Beside him, Crowley coughed weakly. More blood trickled from his mouth, and Aziraphale's heart clenched. The release of the hostage (dear woman, she'd been so grateful to them) had bought time for the robbers, but every second this took was a second his demon friend simply couldn't afford.

"Maybe if we miracled all the people out of here first," he postulated, but Crowley shook his head.

"Then Kevin's in here before I can heal myself and he takes both of us back to Hell."

"Then if we heal you first-"

"Then Kevin's in here before the people are out, and they die, and he takes both of us back to Hell."

"Oh drat, you aren't helping!" Aziraphale had to do something. But he also knew Crowley was right. There just seemed to be no way around things, but there simply must be. They couldn't have survived an Apocalypse-that-wasn't only to be destroyed now by a couple of humans with guns and a demon named Kevin. The angel took a deep breath. All the books he'd read, literary adventures of every kind, surely a clever idea would occur to him if he could just think.

"Alright then," he decided, squaring his shoulders as well as he could with them pulled behind him. "Listen, if we can't miracle the hostages safely away, perhaps we can lend a hand getting these fiends to release them on their own. Then you can heal-"

"Yeah, thought of that," Crowley interrupted. "Getting them to let these blokes go. I think it's our best bet. We'll have to do it without any miracles, and then… well anyway, one thing at a time. I've actually been thinking and I might have an idea."

Aziraphale sighed. "Well thank heavens for that. What is it, then?"

"Erm…" Crowley shifted. "You're not going to like it."

With a suspicious frown, the angel raised his chin a bit so he could eye his friend. "Oh?"

"…Do you remember…" The demon tilted his head as though checking for eavesdroppers then lowered his voice. "When you asked Michael for a towel?"

It was a most ungracious smirk that crossed Aziraphale's face at the memory; he quickly put it away and harrumphed. "Er, yes. But Crowley, we can't swap without an enormous miracle-"

"Not talking about swapping, angel." Crowley took a deep breath, sounding so dreadfully tired. "I'm talking about the part you played. You could do it again."

"You- you want me to pretend to be a-" Aziraphale hastily looked around then whispered, "demon?"

"Mm. Offer them a deal. We'll get them out of here, make them rich, make them powerful. In exchange for their immortal souls."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale couldn't bite back the shocked cry at the very idea. His eyes widened in horror as he shook his head emphatically. "I am an angel," he hissed. "I couldn't- why, I could never-"

"Oh stop blubbering, angel," Crowley retorted testily. "It doesn't actually work that way, never did. You have to make them believe it does. Make them think they stand to gain everything. I know humans, been doing this a long time. They'll believe it."

"And if they don't?" Aziraphale protested. "No. There's too much at stake."

With another cough, Crowley reached for the angel's shoulder, leaving a bloody print that Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to complain about.

"You convinced the Lord of Hell. You can convince a couple of humans. Just, not out here. Can't have the hostages running outside talking about demon deals, attract too much attention. Tell them you want to make a deal, in private. Get them to believe you're a demon, tell them to release all the hostages but us, and while the police are sorting things out, you'll get them and their money out of here."

Crowley made it sound so simple, but Aziraphale's gut twisted at the idea of everything riding on his ability to perform the part. Granted, it had been a similar desperate moment in Hell, pretending with everything he had that he was actually Crowley, and it had worked. But that had been unreasonably good luck, and if he failed this time, the outcome was unthinkable. He shook his head fearfully.

"Aziraphale." Crowley squeezed his shoulder but the grip was so weak. "Our best case scenario if we do nothing is the police stall for time and I discorporate before we ever get out of here. We're at a stalemate. We gotta change the game, and this is the only way I know how. You can do this, angel."

Aziraphale sighed, wishing he could be as confident. Another thought occurred to him.

"But how am I supposed to convince them we're demons if we can't use any miracles to prove it?" he asked.

Crowley grinned and released his grip on Aziraphale to tilt his dark glasses down. Bright yellow snake eyes peered over the rims. "Well," he said as fangs slid down his bottom lip. "At least one of us looks like a demon, after all."

Aziraphale still didn't like this, but he supposed it was better than not doing anything at all. Crowley's faith in him made the angel feel both buoyant and terrified. Failing was bad enough, but letting Crowley down—aside from the fact that the demon's life was riding on this—was so much worse. He took as much time as he dared to collect himself, closing his eyes and taking himself back to that awful day in Hell. What it had felt like to be "Crowley," the smooth nonchalance, the near bored attitude for any clear and present danger to himself. Crowley was slick, suave, in control. Dangerous. Aziraphale took another breath.

"Oh but really, wouldn't it be better if it was you?" he couldn't help but ask. "Since you are the actual demon?"

"Let's be realistic," Crowley replied weakly. "I'm not exactly an impressive figure right now, angel. 'Sides, I might pass out, just so you know."

"Just you don't!"

Crowley nodded slowly. "I'll hold on as long as I can. Best hurry. You can do this. Just… be me."

Right. He needed to stop stalling. Aziraphale raised his chin, forced his face into casual indifference, and nodded.

"Good," Crowley said. "Right, turn 'round then, let me get at those ties."

Aziraphale obligingly rolled onto his side, facing away from the demon. He pushed his bound wrists as close to Crowley as he could, reaching back until he felt his arm brush Crowley's face.

"Got it," Crowley murmured.

The angel kept an eye on the two robbers, ready to shift away again if they looked over. They seemed harried, still arguing between themselves quietly, and paid no mind as Crowley's fangs brushed over Aziraphale's wrists.

"Don't bite me," Aziraphale whispered over his shoulder. The only reply was a muffled grunt and a light scraping across his skin, but the fangs didn't puncture. A second later, the plastic bindings snapped free and his hands tingled as blood rushed back in. "There we are. I'll just keep these in place until I can have a 'miraculous escape'."

"Good plan."

Crowley sounded weaker by the second, so Aziraphale didn't stop to gather himself again. He heaved himself up into a sitting position, keeping his hands behind his back as though still bound.

"Hey!" the male robber snapped, noticing him and storming their direction. "What do you think you're up to? Not trying to be heroes, are you?"

"Hardly," Aziraphale yawned. Demon, he thought furiously. Be a demon. "In fact, I'm getting bored with this entire charade. I think it's time we made a deal."

"Oh you do, do you?" the robber snorted. "And just what sort of a deal would that be?"

Aziraphale stared at him incredulously and wrinkled his nose. "Not here, use your brain. In private. We need to talk."

"You know what, I've had enough of these two," the female robber grumbled as she strode over to join them. "Take them down to the vault. If they have something to offer, they can do it there. If not, lock them in."

Hmm, that might not be a bad plan, it would at least separate Kevin from the other hostages if they drew him in-

"Or better yet, just leave their bodies in there," she finished, erasing the rest of that train of thought from Aziraphale's mind. So much for that, then.

"What are you doing?" Crowley hissed at Aziraphale, playing his part. "If you're even thinking-"

"I'm not sitting in here waiting around all night," Aziraphale retorted coolly. "Maybe you've nothing better to do, but I have."

"Well, I'd hate to be interrupting your important business," the robber snapped.

"Too late for that, but we can still make it worth both our whiles."

Though the robber rolled his eyes, he also didn't make any arguments or protests. Instead he jerked the gun at Aziraphale, gesturing that he should get to his feet, while simultaneously grabbing Crowley by the back of his jacket and hauling him up. It was all Aziraphale could do to keep himself together when he heard Crowley cry out in anguish at the movement. The demon faltered, only staying on his feet because of the robber's grip on him.

"Down the stairs," the robber snapped. "Don't try to get cute."

Aziraphale shrugged as though he didn't have a care in the world and headed for the staircase down to the vault. He pulled his hands as far up into his coat sleeves as he could, clutching the broken zip-tie, and prayed Crowley wouldn't pass out from the short journey. By the time they reached the vault, now standing empty, the demon was sweating profusely and panting, but awake. The robber released him and he crashed back down to the floor again with another pained moan.

Shuddering, Crowley rolled back onto his back and heaved for breath.

Aziraphale pretended not to notice.

"Now then," the robber said, aiming the gun in Aziraphale's direction and smirking. "Let's hear this deal. Or should I just shoot you both now and spare myself the trouble?"

Aziraphale quirked a brow, then looked down at his demon friend.

"Crowley," he said. "Take off the glasses."

"What? Are you crazy?" Crowley hissed back immediately with just enough inflection that Aziraphale knew he was only playing along.

"Do it."

"No! Aziraphale, you know damn well why I can't!"

The robber snorted, looking back and forth between them. "Azeerfell, what sort of name is that?" Without waiting for an answer, he leaned over Crowley, reaching for his face. Though the demon raised a hand to shove him away, the robber was still able to easily pluck the dark glasses away. The effect it had on him was instantaneous.

Yelping and dropping the glasses, the robber stumbled backwards and swung the gun in Crowley's direction. Even in the dimmer lighting of the vault, there was no missing the bright gold snake eyes glimmering back up at him.

"It's pronounced Aziraphale, actually," the angel informed him haughtily. He yanked his hands out from behind him as though against the pressure of the zip-ties, then dropped the bindings contemptuously to the floor and cricked his neck. "It's a demon sort of name."

"A what?"

"If you think the eyes are something, you should see his tongue."

Taking the cue, Crowley hissed at the robber, letting his forked tongue shoot past his teeth. Again, the robber yelped and took several more steps back.

More footsteps thudded down the stairs. "What's going on down- what the HELL?"

The other robber had joined them, grabbing her brother's arm and yanking him farther away from the two. Crowley snickered. Even in the face of the two guns now directed at them, Aziraphale had to admit it was terribly satisfying to see them so shaken.

"What are you playing at?" the first robber demanded. "What, are those… contacts or something?"

Crowley snickered again, eyes shifting; where before only the irises had been the unearthly gold, his sclerae now disappeared entirely into bright yellow orange. Still grinning widely, his fangs extended down.

"Afraid not," Aziraphale hummed. "As I said: demons. Do you want to make a deal or not? You want money and power. I want to get on with my evening. There's a simple solution here, really. So." He raised both eyebrows and smiled. "Do I have your attention?"

"You're lying," the woman snapped, though she sounded shaken. "You're telling me that… demons… can be killed by an ordinary gun?"

Aziraphale's heart clenched at the idea but forced himself to stay straight-faced, giving his friend an unconcerned glance. "Oh, him? Ngh. He's at low power for the moment. Being punished. Broke the rules. That's why he can't hide his real eyes like I can, can't heal up."

"Oh really? So you're saying if I shot you right now," the woman said as she raised her gun, "it wouldn't do anything?"

I would really most rather you not do that, Aziraphale thought desperately. But that wasn't what Crowley would say. Crowley would bluff with everything he had, so Aziraphale's smile darkened and he took a step forward until his chest was pressing against her gun.

"N-ope," he replied, popping the 'p'.

He wasn't sure how any of this could really be all that convincing to anyone, but a flicker of fear flashed through the woman's eyes. Though the rest of her face was covered by the mask she definitely seemed uncomfortable, taking a step back and lowering the gun somewhat. Aziraphale took this as a good sign. Beside them, the man demanded,

"Let me see your real eyes, then."

This time, Aziraphale laughed as he tilted his head towards the man and winked. "Darling, we're not that close."

"And if you're really a… you know, demon," the woman spoke back up, eyes narrowing. "Why don't you just get yourself out of this? If you're so powerful."

"Oh, little girl," Aziraphale sighed. He let his eyes drop down to her neck, unblinking, as though fantasizing about snapping it (despite the ill feeling in his stomach this mental image brought). "If you had any idea how easy it would be. How… tempting." The angel let the moment hover for a few more seconds, lingering in the air with artificial menace that must have felt real enough to her, as she took another step back. Aziraphale gave himself a shake as though forcing himself away from the thought. "Not how we operate, though. Rule is to make deals, not attract attention. Unlike Crowley here, I have a bit more self-control than that. Why do you think he's being punished?"

They shot the downed demon a look, who merely glowered back and licked his lips with forked tongue. The two stepped even further back. If they didn't stop retreating, they would soon be backing right out the front door to the waiting law enforcement.

"In any case," Aziraphale finished, anxious to get a move on, "the deal is simple, really. Those officers are never going to let you leave, surely even you people have figured that out. If, however, you do exactly as I say, you'll be home by teatime and sitting on mountains of treasure."

"What are they, dragons?" Crowley snapped. "Mountains of treasure, no one asks for mountains of treasure anymore."

"Whatever you can imagine for yourself," Aziraphale spoke over him, leaving the robbers to look back and forth between them. "Riches. Power. Once we're away from here, you'll ask for whatever it is you desire. I'll give it to you. We leave. You live happily ever after." He paused, then added as an afterthought, "Well, until you die. The deal is for your souls, after all. As I said: simple. So…" Aziraphale smiled. "What do you say?"