Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended up somehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

Epilogue

Bolton, Clyde. 1989. And Now I See. Star Books, Wilson, North Carolina. PS3552.O5877 A84

The seraph Nathanael glanced down at the scrolls in his hands and then back up at Theo again. "Well, Aziraphale certainly has written you a glowing recommendation here. He writes that you have demonstrated on multiple occasions an uncommon aptitude for dealing effectively with demons." Something in the tone of Nathanael's voice sounded as if he himself could not quite believe it.

"We had some run-ins with demons," Theo said carefully. He squinted up at Nathanael, which was a painful thing to do, owing to the excess of bright light that seemed to permeate Heaven. Theo had only been back up for less than a day, but already he couldn't wait to get back down to Earth again. Heaven was too bloody bright, everywhere. The sun never set up here. Theo marveled that he had never noticed it before, but now he wondered if his eyes would ever adjust to Heaven's unbearable brightness ever again.

Living for a month inside Aziraphale's dim, poorly-lit bookshop could do that to a fellow's eyes.

"Hmmm," said Nathanael, "Hmmm. Indeed. Do you really feel that you are ready to go back out into the field?"

"More than ready." Theo flexed his arms as he stood, wings spread, halo glowing, waiting patiently for his first assignment. He felt, oddly, bigger than he had before. Older. But that was to be expected, of course. Not even Heaven would think of keeping him as a thirteen-year-old boy for an eternity, and he had been promised that he would start growing into his enormous wings sooner or later. At the moment, it looked to be sooner rather than later.

"We normally," Nathanael said carefully, "do not assign such young children to such dangerous, difficult postings right away." He frowned down at the scrolls he was holding again. "However, we did receive a second recommendation on your behalf, just a short while ago--"

"A second recommendation?" Theo asked incredulously. He couldn't even begin to guess who, other than Aziraphale, would be in a position to write him a letter of recommendation.

Nathanael sighed. Again, with the interruptions... "Yes, a second letter, that strongly suggested that we post you down in the field right away. And when such a suggestion comes from, you know," Nathanael pointed vaguely upward, "we are not really in a position to refuse now, are we?"

Theo gazed up at the painfully bright Heavenly sky. Who had Nathanael been pointing to? There was nobody higher up in Heaven's rankings than a seraph, and surely--

Oh, Theo suddenly realized. OH!

"Rumor has it that a demon is planning to stake out territory in Tromso soon," Nathanael said briskly, jotting some final notes down on the scrolls in a way that made it absolutely clear that he was finishing up his business for the day. "We could use an angel down there as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Theodore...?"

"Yes, sir?"

"We'll have to do something about that name of yours..."

Tajo shivered in the cold winter air. He missed the warm subtropical climate from the foothills of the Andes already. And he had only been gone for less than half of a day.

Pulling his thick winter coat tighter around his body, Tajo broke his stride and ducked momentarily beneath a storefront awning, seeking shelter from the wind, watching the amusing mix of tourists and local humans flooding the sidewalk around him.

Demons, as a general rule, despised cold weather. Tajo was no exception. He was still inwardly seething about the new orders he had received yesterday - a transfer to the northern wastelands of Europe, and when he had been doing so well in South America, too! Well, there was that bit about him suddenly deciding to fund a Catholic monastery and build a home for poor orphan children and all the charity work he had for some reason been doing, but... He was fairly certain that he wasn't supposed to be held accountable for that. It wouldn't be fair of Hell to punish him for something that he had done when he wasn't entirely sure that he had been in his right mind.

But then again, fairness had never exactly been one of Hell's defining hallmarks.

Tajo scowled at nothing in particular, at the world around him. He was probably going to have to start calling himself Trigve or something, just to blend in more with the locals. No more chinos or Bermuda shorts or even floppy straw hats up here, either. Tajo was especially upset about the clothing issue. He was currently wearing three layers, and felt as if he were suffocating in his own skin. The weather in Tromso was always wretched this time of year. And the sun only came out for a few measly hours a day, and only gave off a thin, sickly light at best. There was no way that Tajo was going to be able to maintain his tan, not in this city.

Tajo turned around and gauged the window sign of whatever eatery whose awning he had ducked beneath. The menu posted in the window promised whole grains, organic vegan cuisine, and lots of fresh tofu. Tajo's stomach gave a sickening lurch. He suddenly didn't feel particularly hungry, but...

But...

But any sort of gathering place for animal-loving, vegan peaceniks was surely ripe picking grounds for a demon of his sort, wasn't it?

The answer was, absolutely yes. Tajo grinned, caught sight of his reflection in the window, willed his teeth to stop looking so much like fangs, and then he grinned again. Right. He had to at least look like a normal human to approach some of these people. Still grinning, Tajo went inside. He was going to tempt one of these vegan brats into going out for filet mignon, so help him Lucifer. Nothing would have cheered Tajo up more at that moment than the sight of a PETA member chowing down on a pulled-pork sandwich.

Tajo stepped through the doorway, saw a 'please seat yourself' sign, and did just that. He chose a corner table, quiet, secluded, and with a good view of the rest of the restaurant's clientele. He shrugged off his coat and hat, threw them on the back of his chair, and was just about to psyche himself up for some light-duty tempting, when somebody else entered the restaurant and sat down at his same table, right across from him.

"Cheers," the newcomer said, offering Tajo a cold bottle of Coca-Cola that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He was a young boy, golden-haired, freckle-faced, and surely no more than thirteen or fourteen years old. "Tamael," the boy said by means of an introduction, "But my friends call me Theo." The boy - no, not a boy, but an extraordinarily young angel - uncapped a second bottle for himself, and then poured his soda into a glass that materialized in his hand as he spoke, almost as an afterthought.

The young angel smiled winningly at the demon. "Care to join me for a nip?"

The End.