Two - A Visit To An Old Friend

After four hours of being drunk on his own, Crowley had decided to sober up. But being sober didn't turn out to be much better either. He paced his new home for a while, putting the plants in different places and changing the curtains from black to red, to green, to black again. Then he went for a walk.

'Sure sign that I'm losing my mind,' he muttered to the Bentley as he passed it on his way out.

It was a clear night. The desert lay basking in the moonlight, the golden dunes turned to silver under the starry sky. In the distance he could see a small light, reflecting on the dunes. Since he didn't have anything better to do, he walked towards it.

It was a human camp. A backlit Range Rover stood in a dune valley surrounded by three or four tents. On the other side of it, there was a campfire. Crowley looked over the bonnet and saw a handful of people clustered around it. They were holding their hands close to the fire and their eyes on the one man standing. It was a local man, clearly. The other humans looked like tourists, judging by their caps if nothing else.

The local man was gesturing around. 'Legend has it that this is the place where the nose of the Sphinx is hidden. When Napoleon came to Egypt, it was accidentally shot off by a cannonball. He was so embarrassed by it that he had the nose buried in the desert...'

'No, that was... well it wasn't my fault exactly,' Crowley muttered. It had been an accident. It had been Cleopatra's fault, really, for starting the bet about creating a swing from the Sphinx' nose in the first place. He could hardly be blamed for the fact that apparently ancient Egyptian stonework was not resistant to someone tying a Hell-rope around it.

He didn't actually know what had happened to the nose after it had come crashing down and nearly squashed Cleopatra herself (the only reason why she had not ended underneath it, was because she had been swinging. The swing had been really good). For all he knew, the nose did lay buried here.

He looked at the campfire again. One of the tents stood dangerously close to it. It would only take one spark landing on the canvas and...

Crowley raised his hand, then lowered it again. He didn't feel like it. What would be the point? They would perish in the desert, no one would find them, and he would go home and... sit on the couch.

So he left the tourists to their fire and their fables and walked on.

He felt heavy. It was a feeling that had slowly descended into him since he had stopped his manic driving round the world. He hadn't really noticed it until now. But now it was there, and it wouldn't go away. Even the thought of demonic deeds wearied him. He couldn't imagine getting any joy out of them anymore. It was no fun when there was no one there to stop you and make a fuss.

Crowley sighed and tried to turn his mind to other things.

His surroundings, for instance. The sky was littered with stars. Crowley stood for a moment, hands in his pockets, head in his neck, smiling. In the southwest, he could discern some of his own creations. He was still pleased with the fact that they would continue to grow now that the world would go on.

'Way to go, beauties.'

Perhaps he could go there, he pondered as he walked. He hadn't been there in ages. Alpha Centauri was still there, and he'd always wanted to see what a nebula looked like from the inside. And the birth of stars... There was an infinity to explore. Which was just what he needed.

Earth was no fun anymore.

.

When he returned to his villa, he found the doors open. He stopped, suddenly suspicious. He always closed the doors when he left.

Cautiously, he entered.

A strange smell hung in the villa. It was familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Sniffing, he walked through the atrium – the Bentley was untouched, thank Satan – and rounded into one of the side rooms. And there he was.

'Hello, Crowley,' his visitor said smoothly.

Astaroth – Duke of Hell, Overseer of the Ninth Circle and General Slick Asshole – looked like a tall, handsome man dressed in a dark suit. He had an ivory skin, high cheekbones, and black eyes. Black horns grew on his head, emerging from a tangle of lustrous black hair. Some people would say he was smoking hot. Crowley said: 'Sulphur!'

'What was that?' Astaroth said, amused.

'That's what I smelled. Had your decadal bath, have you?'

Astaroth smiled, showing a row of perfect teeth, if slightly too sharp.

Crowley leaned against the wall and fixed him with a stare. 'What are you doing here?' he asked coldly.

Astaroth's smile grew wider. 'I have come to invite you.'

'Invite me to what?'

'The Dark Council has decided to pardon you. With Lord Beelzebub gone, a new position has come free.'

Crowley began to laugh. 'Are you serious?'

Astaroth tilted his head, questioning.

'You think you can tempt me to become Prince of Hell?' Crowley slapped his thighs. 'You really are hilarious.'

'No,' Astaroth said. 'It still remains to be seen who will become Prince of Hell, but it will not be you.'

'So what have you come here for, then?' Crowley laughed. He was starting to sound like a maniac; he was nearly out of laughter. He hoped Astaroth would go away soon. Well, he always hoped that with any visiting demon.

Astaroth took a step towards him and said in al low voice. 'I have come to invite you back, to become Duke of Hell. As my... associate.' He smirked.

Crowley stopped laughing. 'I see. "It still remains to be seen" who becomes Prince of Hell, eh? You want me to back you when the elections come up.'

Astaroth's black eyes sparked with amusement. 'You're as smart as they said you'd be.'

Crowley smiled like a wolf. 'Go to Hell,' he said very precisely.

Astaroth smiled back. His teeth seemed a little sharper than before. 'I knew you would say that,' he said thoughtfully. Then he walked up to Crowley until they stood only inches apart. His body radiated heat. This close, Crowley smelled something else beneath the sulphur, something musky. In a low voice, Astaroth said: 'In that case, we will Strip you.'

Crowley blinked and resisted the urge to step back. Something unpleasant stirred in his stomach. 'Er... care to explain?' he said as casually as he could.

Astaroth's eyes flickered. 'Gladly. We've found a new technique. We've been aching to try it out... on you. You will be expulsed from the ranks of Hell. Do you know what that means, Crowley? You will be Stripped of all your powers. No more demonic miracles, no more improbable travel, no more eternity. You won't be a demon anymore.'

Crowley opened his mouth, and closed it again.

'Got nothing to say?' Astaroth drawled.

'That's... not nice,' Crowley croaked at last.

Astaroth smiled again. 'No. No, it isn't.'

'I... What will become of me then?'

Astaroth shrugged. 'I don't care. If you want to go back to your little friend Aziraphale, you could always try becoming a saint. They go to heaven when they die, don't they? I've certainly never seen any saints down below.'

He eyed Crowley with a mixture of satisfaction and relish in his eyes. Crowley was lost for words. He felt his heart drumming in his chest. No more powers. When they die. At last, he managed: 'We're not friends anymore.'

Astaroth stepped away. The cool air rushed in between them. 'As I said, I don't care.' He walked towards the door.

'Wait!' Crowley started after him, trying to formulate an answer. Something to say. Anything. 'Can I... think about it?'

Astaroth looked back, a glitter in his eyes. 'You have three days.'

And he was gone. Outside, the dawn broke.

The mansion looked like a steel-and-glass crossover between a Greek temple, a Gothic castle, and an opera house. The garden was lush and green, with flowers blooming everywhere and a swing under a white-candled chestnut tree. The effect only slightly spoiled by the multitude of flies.

Aziraphale straightened his coat and rang the doorbell.

The door opened to Gabriel's wide grin. 'Aziraphale!'

Aziraphale smiled nervously. 'Gabriel.'

'I thought you might come and visit. Come in, don't stand waiting on the doorstep!' Gabriel stepped aside and Aziraphale entered. The hall was high and brightly coloured. A huge portrait of Gabriel and Beelzebub, clearly posed for a photographer, adorned the wall. A familiar tune sounded in the background. 'Every day, it's a-getting closer...'

He put his coat on the coat rack and followed Gabriel. 'How do you like our humble abode?' the former Supreme Archangel asked. 'I just learned that phrase the other day. It's great, don't you think? Because it obviously isn't humble.' He laughed.

'It's... very nice,' Aziraphale said.

'Every day seems a little longer...' sounded in the background. Aziraphale sighed a little at the words. Every day seemed longer indeed. It was truer than he would like it to be.

'Isn't it just?' Gabriel opened a door and led Aziraphale into another room.

Aziraphale had half expected the house to be either Heavenly light or abysmally dark. Or simply grey. What he hadn't expected was colour. The walls were yellow, the windowsills were red. A green-and-golden carpet lay on a gleaming chestnut floor. The chairs were all different colours: violet, peach, orange, indigo.

This last chair was occupied by Beelzebub. She was reading a book entitled Malleus Maleficarum and looked up when Gabriel and Aziraphale entered.

'Look who came to visit!' Gabriel said.

'Aziraphale.' Beelzebub closed the book.

'Lord Beelzebub,' Aziraphale said politely.

'Not a lord anymore,' she said. 'Hot chocolate?'

'Y-yes, thank you.'

Beelzebub miracled three steaming cups onto the table. Gabriel took one. 'It always tastes best when she makes it,' he said to Aziraphale in a confidential tone.

Aziraphale smiled. 'Glad to hear you are enjoying life on Earth.'

'Yes! Yes! I am!' Gabriel sat down in the peach chair and gestured for Aziraphale to sit in the orange one. 'I must say, I wish I'd done this six thousand years earlier.'

'Hot chocolate has only been around since the 16th century,' Aziraphale said. He knew this because he had been the one to come up with the recipe. It had been pure coincidence that he had been in Spain at the time; he'd been sabotaging the Inquisition. That brought his thoughts back to religious fanaticism, and thence, inevitably, to Second Coming and the imminent destruction of billions of people.

'Oh. Well,' Gabriel said dismissively. 'So what brings you here?'

'I... need your help,' Aziraphale said.

Gabriel's eyebrows shot up. Beelzebub's eyebrows dived down. 'What with?' she asked.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. 'Well, it's the Second Coming.'

'The Second Coming?' Beelzebub asked, her eyebrows furrowing even further.

'Of Christ,' Gabriel told her. Then, turning to Aziraphale again: 'They're going through with that, are they?' He blew out his breath. 'I must say, I'm glad I'm not in charge of that anymore. Speaking of which, how do you like being Supreme Archangel?'

'I, er..'

'If you need help handling Michael, I can give you some tips, but I'm not getting involved,' Gabriel said.

'It's not Michael. Well, it is, but not only Michael. The Second Coming of Christ is going to be a massacre. He's going to annihilate everyone who doesn't worship Him! And they all think that's only right – Michael and Uriel and everyone. They've been hypnotised or something, I'm sure of it. This plan must come from Hell.'

'Nope,' Beelzebub said. 'First time I hear of it.'

Aziraphale stared at her. 'You... are sure of that?'

'Yes, of courzze,' she said with an angry buzz.

Aziraphale was taken aback. 'Well, then it must be a recent development...' he said uncertainly.

'Nope. This was a plan two thousand years in the making.' Gabriel leaned back. 'Your hot chocolate is getting cold.'

'But, then...' Aziraphale didn't understand. If it really was a Heavenly plan, how could it be that everything in him was screaming that it was not right?

He heard the answer in an achingly familiar voice. They only care about themselves. They've never cared about humanity.

'Shut up,' he told Crowley quietly. But he could see his face now, eyes blazing, rending Aziraphale's heart in two. He shook away the image violently.

He didn't want this. He wanted to do the right thing. He had to do the right thing. He couldn't stray from the right path any more than he could swap his feet around.

In Gabriel's and Beelzebub's mansion, the song was still playing. 'Every day, love's a little stronger...'

'Will somebody please turn off that infernal song?' Aziraphale burst out.

Gabriel and Beelzebub exchanged a puzzled glance. 'It's a human song,' Gabriel informed him.

'Just... oh, never mind.' Aziraphale shook his head, banishing the thought of Crowley to the furthest regions of his mind. He made a decision. 'Well, whoever's plan this is, I need your help to stop it.'

'Stop it?' Gabriel frowned. 'Why?'

'Because it's wrong! People will die!'

Gabriel shrugged. 'So what?'

'Good people!' Aziraphale said, increasingly desperate. 'Don't you care?'

'Listen, I am extremely happy to not be involved with any of that stuff anymore. I am not getting involved now because you see a problem.'

'But...'

'He sayzzz no,' Beelzebub interrupted him, eyes flaring. 'Azzz do I.'

'Oooh,' Gabriel said, grinning. 'When she gets like that, it's better to just do what she says.' Beelzebub smiled and took his hand in hers.

Aziraphale hesitated, then straightened in his chair. 'I took care of you and protected you when you came to me,' he said. 'You... you owe me.'

Gabriel gave him his manager's grin, broad and brief. 'Not that much.'

Aziraphale looked at him, then at Beelzebub. What he saw was a wall.

There was no way he could convince them.

'Well.' He put his undrunk chocolate down and got up. 'It was nice seeing you.'

'Yes, absolutely. Do come again soon!' Gabriel looked like he meant it, too. He and Beelzebub rose, still holding hands. The saw Aziraphale to the door.

'Well, if you change your mind...' he begun.

'We won't,' Gabriel said.

'Right,' Aziraphale said. 'Well, then... have a good day.' He took his coat from the coat rack and stepped out of the door. The flies buzzed around his head as he walked through the garden. At the gate he glanced back. Gabriel and Beelzebub were still standing in the doorframe. They were no longer looking at him, but at each other. From the house, he could still faintly hear the song. 'Love like yours will surely come my way...'

Well. That meant there was only one person left to go to.

Aziraphale put on his coat and found that his hands were trembling.