Six - Stripping

'So, while you wait,' said Gee after Aziraphale had left. 'Can I tempt you to a game of cards?'

Crowley raised an eyebrow at her. 'I thought gambling was illegal in this country.'

'Ach.' She made a dismissive gesture. 'I won't tell if you won't.'

Crowley let out an amused huff. 'All right, then.'

She reached out an old, age-spotted hand to him. 'Help me up.'

They moved back inside the villa, where it was cool and shady. Gee perched herself on a stool, Crowley hung on a couch, and they played cards.

Crowley was used to winning with cards. He didn't actively cheat, usually, he just always tended to get the best hands. Still, it took him several successive lost games to realise something was amiss.

'Another,' he said after the fourth game.

Gee's eyes grinned at him from behind the stack of items she'd won off him – one of his plants, the spare keys to the Bentley, his last amphora of the 86 AD Carthage vintage, and the liquorice bag. 'You're not very good at this,' she said.

'Well, I have things on my mind,' Crowley said.

She eyed him. 'You don't look particularly stressed.'

Crowley gave her a grin. He was particularly proud of his unbothered lounge. 'Practice.'

But it was true, he was distracted. His deadline loomed ever closer. And he didn't like the idea of Aziraphale's talk with the Metatron. Crowley didn't trust the Metatron for one bit, and Aziraphale had been gone for hours.

'Maybe you should go and take a walk,' Gee said. 'I always find it clears my mind.'

'Yeah, okay.' Crowley jumped up. Gee took another liquorice and waved him goodbye.

The desert lay basking in the afternoon sun, the air trembling above the hot sand. Crowley began to walk in a random direction.

When the villa had disappeared behind the dunes, a smooth voice said: 'There you are.'

The stone in Crowley's chest dropped to his stomach. He turned around. 'Astaroth,' he said, dry-mouthed.

The Duke of Hell was standing behind him, smiling his amused smile. 'You've been hiding well. I've been looking for you all day.' He walked towards Crowley.

Crowley walked backwards. 'I, ah... technically I still have until the end of the day.'

Astaroth's smile became a little pitying. He continued to walk in Crowley's direction. 'Oh, sweetheart. I'm a demon. Did you really think I'd be true to my word?'

'Well... honour among thieves, you know...' Crowley walked backwards faster.

Astaroth matched his pace. 'Now that I have found you, I would actually like to know how you hid from my sight until now. Won't you tell me?'

Aziraphale's miracle, Crowley realised. It had hidden not only the villa, but everyone in it. He cursed himself for ever leaving it. 'Nah,' he said.

'Pity.' Astaroth made a gesture with his hand, and the sand under Crowley's feet slid away. Crowley fell on his back and saw stars. When his vision cleared again, Astaroth was knelt beside him. He reached out a finger and stroked Crowley's jaw. 'Time to make your decision, then.'

Everything went black.

.

When Crowley woke again, he was in Hell.

In the bleak light, he could see a semicircle of demons opposite him. He didn't need to see all their faces to know who they were.

'The Dark Council gathers to hear the declaration of the demon Crowley.' It was a familiarly rasping voice. Hastur. His eyes gleamed in the semidarkness. Crowley swallowed. That was certainly someone who would be looking forward immensely to Stripping him.

'So, Crowley,' said Astaroth. 'What will it be?'

Crowley fumbled into an answer. 'Er... that's it, then? No grand speeches? No... long trial? No...'

A low hiss. 'Just give us your answer,' Astaroth said. Somehow, this light made him look even more impossibly handsome.

'Well.' Crowley swallowed again. 'Well, I...'

He... what? What was he going to say?

Standing here, back in Hell, he knew what his answer had to be. Submit. Become a Duke of Hell. Find a loophole, a way out. It wouldn't be easy, but he would have an eternity to figure it out. This was what he had to do.

But what he wanted was to go back up. To the sun. To the villa. To – Hell, it was no use denying it now – Aziraphale and their mad scheme to stop the Second Coming.

Sooner rather than later. Now, preferably.

'I think you can stick your kind offer up your ass,' Crowley said. He said it quickly, so he wouldn't have time to change his mind in the meantime.

A semicircle of sharp-toothed grins flickered up around him. 'Very well.' Astaroth did not sound in the least disappointed. He gave a nod to someone behind Crowley, and the next moment his wrists were seized with iron grips.

'Are you guys sure you want to do this?' Crowley asked. 'I mean, think of the last time you tried something...'

'Very sure,' Hastur rasped.

'Right,' Crowley said. He tried to move his hands, but in vain. 'So, how does it work, then?'

Astaroth smiled and walked up to him. Down here, the musky scent he gave off was even stronger. Crowley nearly gagged. 'I'm going to so enjoy this,' Astaroth murmured.

'Not just you,' Hastur said. 'I have been waiting for this moment for years.' His eyes glimmered.

'Yes,' came Dagon's voice from somewhere to Crowley's right. 'Years.'

Astaroth tensed for a moment, then resumed his sultry pose. 'Oh yes, you're going to give us all so much pleasure.'

Now Crowley really gagged. Astaroth's smile grew wider.

'You wish to know how it works? I'm going to chant an incantation –'

'Hold on.' Hastur came forward. His body odour partially drowned out Astaroth's musky smell. Crowley's nose was now tortured with a mixture of both their stenches. 'We agreed I could do it,' Hastur said.

Astaroth bared his teeth at Hastur. 'I will do it.'

'Why you?' asked another voice. 'You haven't been involved with this case at all.'

Astaroth whirled around, relieving Crowley of the brunt of his smell. 'It was my idea,' Astaroth hissed in a low voice. He walked up to the questioning demon and stopped only inches away. He raised a hand to cup the demon's face. 'Or do you wish to feel what I have been involved in for the past six thousand years?'

The demon blanched, and said nothing.

'Quit it, Astaroth. You're not Prince of Hell,' someone else growled from the shadows. Furfur.

Astaroth let go of the questioning demon with a snarl. 'Neither are you!'

Crowley began to laugh. He sensed an opening. 'Do you guys actually know what he offered me?' The Dark Council looked at him. 'A position as Duke of Hell, if I backed him to become Prince of Hell at the elections,' he said.

Hisses rose up around him, and a few spikes as well. All eyes turned to Astaroth again. 'We do not rig the elections!' Furfur snarled.

Astaroth huffed. 'We're demons.'

'You've been in the Ninth Circle for millennia. You don't know how we do things here,' Furfur said. A murmur rose up among the Dark Council.

Astaroth walked up to him. 'I know perfectly well how you do things here,' he said in a low voice. 'And you do too.'

'It's not like you've never cheated anyone, Furfur,' Hastur said. 'Or did you plan to become Prince of Hell yourself?' The murmur grew louder.

'You have a problem with that?' Furfur hissed back.

Hastur stepped away from Crowley and towards Furfur. 'Yes, actually.'

The murmur rose to a roar. Left and right demons stepped forward, shouting. 'Rip him to shreds!' Dagon screeched, not at anyone in particular. At the same time a fight broke loose on Crowley's left. 'Stop it, in Satan's name!' Astaroth roared.

'You don't command us!' Furfur snarled back, but no one seemed to have listened anyway. The fight spread through the semicircle. One of the demons unintentionally hit Hastur, who kicked them down, then decked Astaroth. Astaroth stepped back and Hastur missed. He raised his hands and Hastur's hair caught flame. Screaming, Hastur threw himself at Astaroth, and both of them disappeared in the brawl.

Crowley watched the fight for a few seconds, then cleared his throat. 'Since you can't agree on who gets the honour, perhaps you should call the whole thing off?'

The fight stopped abruptly.

'No.' Astaroth stepped forward, straightening his jacket. His one cuff had fallen open and flapped when he raised his hands. 'We'll settle this later. First, let us deal with this cockroach.'

Hastur rose too. He spat out a cufflink. 'Agreed.'

'Yes,' Furfur growled. Murmurs of agreement came from the rest of the Council, who all rose, brushed their clothes, and returned to their position.

Crowley swallowed. 'Glad I can help you agree on something.'

A knife-sharp smile from Astaroth. 'Indeed.' He motioned to the others. 'Close the circle.'

The Dark Council spread out to form a ring around Crowley. Astaroth remained standing opposite him, flanked by Hastur and Furfur. Their eyes burned. Hastur was snickering like a dying horse.

Astaroth took a deep breath and began to chant.

Crowley did not catch much of the incantation. At the first word, something cold gripped his neck. He hissed in pain, then the hiss became a groan and then a scream when the cold began to spread. Over his back, his chest, his limbs, his face... His veins burned with cold. The scream rang in his ears. He saw white.

'Well, it looks like you've got it all under control,' the Metatron said. 'Very well done.'

Aziraphale beamed. Less with pleasure at the praise than with pride at the fact that they were several hours into the meeting, and the Metatron didn't suspect anything yet. But his heart was beating so loudly he feared the Metatron would hear it. He was counting the minutes until the meeting would be over.

They were sitting in Aziraphale's office. After three days on Earth, his Heavenly office already felt strange, as if it had never belonged to him. Even the makeshift study in Crowley's villa had felt more real, more like home. Inadvertently Aziraphale thought back to the sensation of sunlight on his back, the thrill of doing something he believed in, the smell of C–

'So, what is the next step to be?' the Metatron asked.

Aziraphale recovered himself. 'Well, we have a list of possible candidates among the women on Earth,' he said. For a moment he considered mentioning the great lengths he had gone to to get that list – surely the Metatron ought to know Michael was sabotaging things – but he had been biting his tongue for the entirety of the meeting; there was no way he could tell the Metatron about the Vaults of Hell without mentioning Crowley. So he continued: 'Now we simply need to ask them if they are willing to receive Christ. They can't all say no!'

'Well, if they do say no, then we can simply make one of them change her mind,' the Metatron said dismissively. 'And who have you chosen for this task of asking these women?'

'Ah. Er... I thought I would go myself.'

The Metatron raised its eyebrows. 'You yourself?'

'Yes, well, I like to be, er... involved at the execution level. Keep an eye on things, you know, make sure it all goes smoothly. Besides, Gabriel did it last time, so it is only right that it should be me.'

The Metatron nodded slowly. 'Yes, you have a point there. Very well. You may visit these women and select the Second Mother of Christ.'

'Excellent,' Aziraphale said, relieved. 'I'll give it my all.'

'I'm sure. So, according to your planning, she is to conceive in Nazareth at midday...' The Metatron leafed through the file on Aziraphale's desk. '...three days from now. Again, I am impressed with your schedule. You expect that it will go according to plan?'

'Of course,' Aziraphale said quickly.

'Well, excellent.' The Metatron closed the file and patted it. 'Keep up the good work. I look forward to seeing what your plans will be after.' It stood.

Aziraphale smiled nervously. 'Yes... I have a... great many things planned.'

The Metatron smiled, inclined its head, and was gone.

Aziraphale sagged in his silent chair, all tension leaving him at once. A helpless giggle escaped him. He had just deceived the Metatron, the highest authority below God herself. He ought to feel remorseful, but at the moment he could only feel elation.

Pleased with his result, he got up. Time to go home.

.

The worst of the afternoon heat had subsided when he returned to the villa. It lay glistening in the sunlight, white marble surrounded by golden sand and blue sky. Aziraphale had materialised on the edge of the circle of invisibility he had drawn – he had learned his lesson about appearing in places where someone might drive into him – and walked down the dune towards the house.

Inside it was cool and shady. And silent.

'I'm back!' Aziraphale walked into the atrium. Sunlight slanted down on his makeshift desk, where his list of seven women still lay. 'Crowley?'

There was no answer. Aziraphale frowned and went to look in the garden. No sign of him, or of the human woman Gee. He looked in the dining room, then the bedrooms, then the cellar.

Crowley was sat in the darkest corner, arms around his knees, head resting against the wall.

Aziraphale knocked on the open door. 'Crowley?'

Crowley didn't stir. Cautiously, Aziraphale entered. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes.' Crowley's voice was a croak.

Aziraphale made a light. Crowley didn't look all right. His face was pale, there was a sheen of sweat on his skin, and his hair was plastered to his forehead. He was wearing his sunglasses, but still Aziraphale could see he had been crying.

Worried, he knelt in front of Crowley. 'What happened?'

'N-nothing.' It seemed like Crowley wasn't even trying to lie properly.

Aziraphale reached out a hand to his face, pure business entirely forgotten. 'Who did this?'

Crowley hissed with some of his usual fire. 'No one.' He got to his feet and walked to the cellar door, swaying.

Aziraphale got up too and started after him. 'Crowley...'

Crowley turned around and ripped off his sunglasses, eyes blazing. 'I said I'm fine!'

Aziraphale gasped.

Confusion clouded over Crowley's anger. 'What?'

'Your eyes...' Aziraphale breathed.

They were red-rimmed and swollen, but that was not the point. The irises were still their usual shade of yellow, but the pupils were round.

'What?' Crowley repeated, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

'They're...' Normal wasn't the right word. Normal meant slit pupils. And blazing fire and wicked smiles. At length, Aziraphale managed: '...human.'

Crowley opened his mouth, but it lasted several seconds before anything came out. 'Oh.' His voice was choked. But not surprised.

He staggered a little. Aziraphale rushed forward to support him. 'Crowley, what happened?'

Crowley looked at him, with those strange eyes, filling up with tears. 'I...'

He collapsed into Aziraphale.

Crowley was light as a feather in Aziraphale's arms when he carried him up to the dining room. Carefully, he laid Crowley down on one of the couches, then sat down beside him. He felt Crowley's forehead. It was clammy, but not excessively hot or cold. Aziraphale didn't know if that was a good sign or not. He had no idea what to do.

His first instinct was to heal Crowley. Seeing him like this, silent and pale... But he was afraid what miraculous interference would do to Crowley in this state. Whatever it was, something was entirely wrong, and Aziraphale feared he would only make it worse.

So he only sat by Crowley and watched him, worrying.

He'd missed him so much. He had had to go back to Heaven to realise it. Even like this, it was only now that he was with Crowley again, that he was home.

He didn't want to go back to Heaven. He wanted Crowley. It was as simple as that, but it wasn't simple at all, because there was still the Second Coming to stop, and their falling-out still lay between them like a knife.

It wouldn't be easy to mend. Yet Aziraphale resolved to it nonetheless. Just as soon as they had stopped Christ from Coming Again... But he couldn't think beyond that.

The sun was touching the horizon by the time Crowley opened his eyes.

'Oh, thank God,' Aziraphale said. It came out as a sob. 'How are you feeling?'

'Eurch,' Crowley croaked. Then, in a feeble attempt at nonchalance: 'Just... fantastic.'

'Oh, Crowley,' Aziraphale said. 'What happened?'

Crowley looked at him, gauging. His eyes were odd, but his face was otherwise so familiar that Aziraphale felt like crying.

At length Crowley sighed. 'Fine, I'll tell you. But only if you promise we'll still go through with our plan tomorrow.'

'But you're not feeling well,' Aziraphale said. 'We have time. We don't have to –'

Crowley's eyes flared. 'I don't have time. Not indefinitely anymore.'

'What do you –'

'And I did not go through Hell just for you to give up now,' Crowley grated. 'Promise me.'

Aziraphale sighed. He could usually hold his ground against Crowley, but right now, he also needed to know what was wrong. 'Very well. We'll go through with it tomorrow. But now, will you please tell me what happened?'

Crowley's face twitched. The mask of cool flickered. 'So, er,' he said, and there were tears in his voice again. 'I was Stripped.'

When Crowley had finished his tale, the worry on Aziraphale's face was almost entirely replaced with horror.

'They did what?' he whispered.

Crowley waved his hand miserably. His head ached. In fact, everything ached. He suddenly understood what humans meant when they said they had been through the wringer.

'But why did you choose this?' Aziraphale was almost crying.

Crowley looked down. He felt awful down to the tips of his toes, and not only physically. 'It wasn't much of a choice, was it?' he groused.

'We would have found a way!' Aziraphale said. 'I would have found a way to get you out of there, however much time it took. But this – this is irreversible. You'll only have a few more decades, and then –' He did not finish.

Crowley said nothing. He felt sick.

Aziraphale was right. It was awful, but true. He should have chosen different.

But he had chosen this. After the Stripping, his entire body hurt. Not unbearably, and Crowley suspected it would pass with a good night's sleep. But underneath that, he could already feel the difference. He was no longer a demon. The sensation had settled on his skin like desert dust: he was mortal.

Stupid. So stupid. Why had he not thought beyond his immediate desire to get out into the sunlight?

But it didn't matter. He had chosen, and this was his outcome. This way, at least, he could still help sabotage the plans of Heaven. The thought suddenly invigorated him. He found he was looking forward to it. He hadn't looked beyond today, but now, he found that had a future again. Not the future he wanted, but his deadline was no longer looming above his head. He could make plans again.

'I'm going to sleep,' he said. 'We have a world to save, tomorrow.'