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037. Sound
"What a surprise," Aziraphale said, not the least bit surprised. He had long since come to expect Crowley to show up on this particular day every year, no matter how long he had stayed away before that. Of course there were exceptions, but whenever Crowley was even relatively nearby he came to visit Aziraphale on this special occasion.
"Don't look like that, angel," the demon said, smirking. "I come bearing gifts, see?" He held up his offering – some of the best wine known to humankind.
"Stop trying to tempt me, you idiot," Aziraphale sighed, stepping aside to allow the demon in. "I'm not going to drink with you no matter what you try, you know."
"What a pity," Crowley said, sighing dramatically. "Then you probably don't have any interest for this book I found just for you, either…"
"Oh, be quiet, you old serpent," huffed Aziraphale, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "You don't have to bribe me – aside from keeping your promise to behave yourself for a few days."
"As if I have any choice," snorted Crowley. "I can't do anything as long as I am staying here."
"Of course you have a choice," Aziraphale said mildly, at the same time trying to hide his excitement as Crowley took the promised book from his bag. "I'm not forcing you to stay here."
"No staying here, though, means being ill for days," Crowley shot back dryly. "You know very well only the weakest demons will voluntarily stay on Earth tonight, being too insignificant to be affected. So, I have to be here or subject myself to the full force of Heavenly choirs – or go to Hell, which I'm not about to do as long as I can still avoid it."
"Then don't complain, my dear. After all, I am doing you a favour here," Aziraphale said. "Would you like something to eat or are you going to survive on wine alone?"
"I could very well survive with neither, but then I never said no to a bit of good Gluttony," Crowley said. "Nothing like sinning with an angel at Christmas night."
"It's not sinning," Aziraphale said disapprovingly, leading the way to the table where he had set a feast for two. "It is done to celebrate the birth of Our Lord."
"That may be why you do it," Crowley said cheerfully. "I, however, do it for Gluttony, simple as that. Now, shall we start?"
Aziraphale sighed and nodded. He didn't bother to say a blessing, knowing all too well that Crowley would respond with a damning and then it'd do no good at all. Besides, it wouldn't be polite to do so. He didn't know what blessed food would do to a demon, but he doubted it'd be anything nice. It would be like adding poison to the meal in front of your guest – even if they did have counter poison, it was still extremely rude.
The dinner was good. Of course, this was hardly a surprise – Aziraphale always made sure the Christmas dinner was good. He talked with Crowley, and enjoyed the conversation; wine always made the demon more talkative. Not that he was exactly quiet even otherwise, Heaven forbid. After their long association Aziraphale knew better than well that the demon seldom would stay quiet for long. Unless, of course, he was sleeping.
They were still eating when he heard the first notes, as night began to fall and the first stars made their way to the sky. Not commenting on the, he strengthened the wards around his little home. After so much practice, he could manage it with ease, even though he only did it once a year. After all, he didn't have many reasons to try to keep Heavenly powers outside. At first, it had been difficult, but after he had figured out it was a bit like hiding his aura, only reversed, he'd quickly got used to it.
Crowley didn't say anything, not a single word of thanks. He just nodded, satisfied, and Aziraphale returned the gesture. He'd never expect outward expressions of gratitude from the demon. That just wasn't Crowley's style. After all, he was a demon.
By the time they stopped eating, the singing was quite loud. Aziraphale recognized the voices of Israfel and Uriel, leading the others through the complicated symphonies of praise. To his slight discomfort he realized that both angels were singing with at least three voices at the moment – it made his head ache as he tried to follow them all. So, he stopped paying attention to the choirs, content in simply knowing they were there, up on the sky, singing.
Crowley had his wine, Aziraphale had his book. The talkative demon easily filled whatever moments of silence were born as Aziraphale studied his newly acquired piece of literature, both of them being quite happy with this arrangement as it was easy on them both.
"Humans are ssstupid," said Crowley. He still had a tendency to hiss whenever he forgot not to. Aziraphale wondered whether that would ever change. In some way, it was comforting – at least something stayed the same through all the millennia he'd lived through.
"Is that just a general statement, or do you have a particular reason to make this observation, my dear?" he asks mildly, not rising his eyes from the book. It is really quite interesting, something he would have chosen himself, as well. Apparently Crowley is finally starting to learn his taste in literature.
"Both." The demon waved a drunken hand to make his point clear. "They are all ssso ssstupid. They've got free will to do whatever they damn well pleassse, and what do they do? Follow the advice of either my ssside or yours. Sssometimesss even both. Can't they be original at all?"
"And what would be original, then, my dear?" Aziraphale asked. "If they're not good, they are bad. And the other way around."
"No no no no," the demon said with a slurred voice. "It'sss not all black 'n white. Not for humansss. They can be – what'sss the word? – oh, yes, neutral. They can be neutral. Like, do thingsss that aren't sssinning but aren't doing good either. Thingsss that don't matter to either of our sssidesss. Why don't they do thossse? Make them matter to themssselves? Why do they lisssten to all that crap about good and bad and nothing elssse?"
"Because we tell them to?" Aziraphale offered. "As you said, those things matter to our sides. Every human has a little demon at their shoulder just like they have a tiny angel on the other one. And besides, they have been original," he continued then. "Remember Nero? Christian torches in his garden? I'm quite sure those weren't your side's idea."
"No," admitted Crowley, sighing. "We came up with the lionsss, though. I liked the lionsss. With a bit of faith you'd get them non-hungry and then the crowd'd be all dissspleasssed like and it'd caussse a lot more chaosss than jussst a few Chrisstiansss getting eaten."
Aziraphale decided not to comment on the fact that it was strange for a demon to like a method of torturing believers because it might fail. Instead, he said, "The fire didn't get all of them, though."
"Doesssn't matter. With the lionsss, it pisssed the people off more." Crowley waved his hand dismissively. "But that makesss my ssside happy even if it isssn't our idea. Why don't humansss do more thingsss that don't matter to anybody but them?"
"I don't know," Aziraphale replied quietly. "I really don't know."
Not long after that, Crowley was asleep. Aziraphale huffed good-naturedly and then covered him with a blanket. Let him sleep now, reassured that the choir's combined auras wouldn't reach him.
Aziraphale stepped out for a moment, looking up to the sky. At this time, the little town was mostly asleep, nothing disturbing the voice of the choirs. Thus he also heard very well the little voice calling from a nearby window, "Lizten, Mum! Angelz zing!"
A sad smile rose onto his face. Little Maria had been sick for quite some time already. Even now she was probably too ill to even sleep. Her mother must have thought she was hallucinating.
It delighted him, though, that there were still people who would hear the angel choirs. It had used to be quite common, in the old days; nowadays it happened practically never.
After some time he went back inside. Crowley was still asleep, as could only be expected. With a tiny shake of his head, Aziraphale returned to his book. Hosting a demon for one night a year was worth it if it gained him peace over the holidays. Thus it was both Crowley's breath and the angels' praise that he listened to as he continued reading.
As morning came, the singing faded away. And, when the lovely Mrs. Baker came to him, telling with tears in her eyes that little Maria had passed on at dawn – and at Christmas, even! What a tragedy! – he was not truly surprised.
"Do not cry," he told her quietly. "The angels took your daughter straight to Heaven as they returned there after praising God all night."
It was a pity, he thought, that so few people could hear the choirs. And even more of a pity was it that most only did so when they were about to join the praise in Heaven themselves.
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