ETERNITY

by FireFenix05

This story takes place after season 2. Be ready for a fast-paced adventure, hurtful reunions and yet another adventure which our favorite angel and demon delve into. Crowley and Aziraphale have to work together to figure what The Metatron's evil plan, which revolves around a certain, vey special young girl, is and stop him whilst navigating their impossible emotional labyrinth.

13. Chapter 13 - The Gospel

GOOD OMENS 3

FireFenix

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13 – THE GOSPEL

The original Gospel of John, Crowley thought, was rather a bit of a letdown. It wasn't, as he'd imagined, a big, leather-bound, fantasy-looking spell book encrusted with gems and precious stones; but rather a bunch of age-stained parchment sheets held together by badly knotted pieces of now rotten string, which at this point held on more out of willpower than actual structural integrity. The demon was convinced that, if one were to blow on it hard enough, the book - if it could even be called that- would disintegrate like the ashes of a burnt-out log.

The auction was already well underway by the time Crowley arrived, whisking up a paddle from the table at the entrance of the repurposed museum restaurant as he went along, Eleyn tagging close behind him while Muriel and Aziraphale followed a few steps behind.

The room was ample, open-concept but still structurally stable thanks to the columns which held its weight. It's light beige walls made a sharp contrast with the vibrant colors which dressed the rest of the Gallery; and a huge, imposing iron chandelier hung from the ceiling like a spider, a fake candle flickering on the end of each arm. Tables and chairs which would usually stock the restaurant had been set aside to make room for a black-panel stage, probably set up a few days prior to the event. Aside from the standard rickety staircases on either side, it had also been equipped with a large, wide ramp specifically built in for the man who was currently hosting the auction with gavel in hand.

- Thirty-five thousand pounds in the back, thank you! Will anybody raise? - MacLeod was announcing just as the demon joined the crowd – No? Going one way, going two… -

- Sixty thousand! - Crowley firmly stated as his paddle rose above his head, a sly smirk sprawled on his face.

The guests went silent for a few moments, then burst out in excited and bewildered whispers, looking back and forth between each other and the thin, elegant and evidently rich man who had just downright doubled the price. MacLeod's head snapped towards the bidder's voice; and the glint in his eyes told Crowley he'd been recognized.

- Are you mad?! - Eleyn silently spluttered beside him, her eyes the size of tea plates.

- Relax - the demon glanced at her, waving his hand nonchalantly - I've got us covered. Besides, 's for charity -

- The red-haired gentleman in the back gives sixty thousand pounds! - the host finally managed, strengthening his grip around the gavel - Do I hear sixty ten? No? Sixty thousand going one way, going two ways... -

- Sixty twenty! - A voice said from the other side of the room, a paddle raising in the air.

- What?! - Crowley heard himself hiss, incredulous, turning to find the old gentleman's eyes already fixed on him - Oh no you don't - he whispered, then raised his paddle again - Sixty five-hundred! -

- Sixty seventy! - the other man bellowed without even waiting for MacLeod's announcement.

- Fuck - the demon breathed – Seventy thousand! - he declared, then looked back towards his opponent, muttering to himself - Don't you dare, you little shit, don't you...! -

- Seventy ten! - a paddle shot into the air.

- Seventy twenty! - Crowley growled directly at him.

At this point, the crowd around the auction stage had gone almost completely silent, save for excited murmurs, as they followed the duel between the old nobleman and the redhead with interested nods. It was at this moment that Muriel and Aziraphale appeared behind Crowley's shoulder; the latter addressing the demon in hushed whispers as the price continued to escalate exponentially.

- I believe we'll be soon expecting company, my dear - the angel said, his voice laced with urgency.

- Seventy eighty! - Crowley hissed, then lowered his tone - What sort of company? -

- The heavenly sort, I'm afraid. Can you go about this any quicker? - he said, gesturing in the stage's general direction with a nod of his head.

- I could - he replied, glancing sideways at his adversary just as he called eighty thousand pounds - If the little bastard didn't have the whole fucking Bank of England in his goddamn account! -

- Muriel and I heard the seven trumpets, Crowley. They'll be here any minute. We have to grab that book and go, now! - the angel insisted in whispers.

- I'm trying! - the demon groaned - You know what? Fuck it. Let's be charitable. ONE MILLION POUNDS! - he shouted, almost launching his paddle into the ionosphere with the force with which he'd raised it.

- You are rubbish at being a demon, you know that? - Eleyn snickered, unable to help herself, Muriel having to bite back a laugh at the glare Crowley have her under the sunglasses in response.

- One...one million pounds?! - MacLeod repeated, shocked more than anyone. Crowley turned and nodded at him - One million pounds, it seems! Does anybody raise? Going one way, going two ways... - he raised the gavel, just about to plunge it down when his eyes fell on the other gentleman.

Crowley looked at his rival, eyes widened in shock as he saw his paddle doubtfully but slowly rising to up the price yet again.

- Seriously?! - he hissed in exasperation.

- Oh, for Heaven's sake! - Aziraphale groaned, discreetly but firmly snapping his fingers below his waist.

A moment before the old gentleman had been standing there, and the moment after he was simply not. Miraculously, though, neither the other guests nor the host seemed too puzzled or concerned by this, the fake assumption that he'd just admitted defeat and left materializing in their recent memory, simple a thing as the human brain is.

- And...sold! - MacLeod smashed the gavel on his wooden lectern, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all- Sold for one million pounds to the red-haired gentleman in the back! -

- Where'd you send him? - Crowley squeaked, cocking his head to the side, towards where his rival had been standing moments before.

- I have absolutely no clue - Aziraphale smiled, possibly lying and possibly not - Book, dear. We need to leave -

- Right, yes. Yeah, be right back - he gestured for the other three to wait, then shot past the crowd and up the stage, haphazardly filling in a cheque for MacLeod as the guests cheered.

- Mr...Crowley, was it? - the demon nodded, MacLeod signaling his assistant to pick up the manuscript with delicate, velvet-gloved hands - I give you the Gospel of John, and my thanks for your generous donation. We trust you will take good care of... -

- Yehyeh, give it here! - Crowley yanked the book from the assistant's hands, and ran off the stage into the small, dark corner Aziraphale had procured them, immediately attempting to hand it to Muriel - There you go cherub, do your thing -

- No! - the scrivener jumped back before the pages could touch her skin - Forbidden, remember? Aziraphale and I can't touch it; and Eleyn could risk getting the consequence. It has to be you -

- Shit - he hissed, opening it on a random page, the string holding on for dear life - Fine. What am I looking for? -

- The raising of Lazarus happens around John 11: 40 - Muriel explained - Start there -

- Right, 11:40 - Crowley muttered, turning pages left, right and center - Eleven, eleven...here it is...gotcha! 11:40! - He began to read, translating the words to English like they hadn't been in Hebrew at all - Then...Jesus said "Did I not...tail? Tell! God, this man's handwriting was atrocious - He put his glasses on his head, squinting his eyes to try and decipher the writing - "Did I not tell you that..." -

- "...that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?" So they took away the stone. Then Jesus looked up and said, "Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me." When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice,"Lazarus, come out!" The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face. Jesus said to them,"Take off the grave clothes and let him go." - Muriel recited from pure memory, Crowley blinking incredulously at her - John 11:40-45. Now it's supposed to move on to the Sanhedrin, and their plot to kill Jesus. But maybe, just maybe, there's something else in this manuscript -

- You're right - the demon breathed, lowering his head to read once again as he turned the page - There's more text here. At least ten verses - he cleared his throat, the other three holding their breaths in anticipation, whilst the auction merrily continued in the background - Then Matthew turned to rest of the disciples once again, and said "Here we have witnessed the definite proof that Jesus Christ is flesh, blood and soul of God. Remember this day, as you have lived a moment which will never be lived again". And at this point Jesus addressed Matthew, placing a hand upon his shoulder, "What you have said is correct on every account except the last, for I will one day have a sister..." - Eleyn's breath audibly hitched -"...and this second child of the light will do as I have done to prove her divinity; commanding the blind to see, the lame to walk and the dead to live. And in the end, when it is complete, my Father will descend to her in flesh as final proof, just before Enoch is proclaimed to have fulfilled his duty and given the eternal rest of his soul" - Crowley stopped when he reached the bottom of the page, his gut falling like a stone, and read it twice more in the hopes that he'd somehow misunderstood the final sentence. A quick glance up at the spine-chilling lack of color on Aziraphale's face told him that, somehow, he hadn't.

- No...- Muriel managed between shaky breaths, the shade of white her skin had dialed to putting chalk to shame - That... that's not possible. No, you've mistranslated, it can't... - She grabbed Crowley's arm and pulled down to get a better view of the page, reading through it thrice herself before letting out a choked gasp - Oh my God... -

- This is bad - Aziraphale whispered once he'd regained the ability to speak - This is really, really bad -

- Descend in flesh... - Eleyn reiterated, eyes widening in mild disbelief - As in...? -

- How?! - Crowley spat, aiming for a hiss but landing resolutely in a terrified squeak as he stuck a thumb at God's daughter - She'll perform the last sign and then the Almighty will just...appear?! With a body?! All limbs and organs and bones and, and...and everything?! -

- It's what it says...- Aziraphale said, glancing warily down at the Gospel like it were about to sprout teeth and jump on him - God in a physical form, for the first and only time in...well, ever -

- And that's exactly what The Metatron wants - Muriel muttered half to herself, loud enough that three heads turned to her instantly - A moment of holy vulnerability. The only moment of holy vulnerability. He's attempting to trigger Eleyn's signs to get there faster -

- And, what, hurt Her? - God's daughter suggested, growing tired of the growing amount of questions and overwhelming lack of answers - Kill Her? -

- Don't be ridiculous - the demon snapped- You can't kill God. Throw hellfire at Her to your heart's content; it wouldn't even scorch Her. Not possible. In fact, If it were possible, which it isn't, and if it happened, which it can't, reality would immediately collapse. Stars would explode, worlds would fall apart and everything would just cease to exist. Time, space, people, Heaven and Hell, everything. Just gone. Ciao! Vavoom! Good night! - he breathed heavily, raising one pale, shaky finger when Aziraphale opened his mouth - And don't you fucking dare tell me not to panic, because I will bite you! -

- We still don't know what it is that Metatron wants with all of this - the angel explained in as calm a tone as he could force under the circumstances, extending two perfectly manicured hands in front of him - But I very much doubt that his aim is to destroy reality; it would make this entire endeavor of his terribly counterproductive -

- Well, the Gospel isn't telling us much more - Muriel remarked, finally releasing Crowley's arm after re-reading the lost verses for the tenth time - Except this name. Enoch... -

The silent whispers and muttered conversations in the room metamorphosed into claps and roars; and the sudden commotion made Crowley and Aziraphale's nerves jump. They spun towards the stage, praying to anyone listening that what they found was not an ensemble of soldiers in white robes pointing spears at their necks; and breathed only when they realized the commotion had been caused by the announcement of a new auction; this time an elegant medieval broadsword. It was, Aziraphale noted, a one-handed Norman sword; its polished silver blade narrow and slender; more so than it's predecessor's. The guard and pommel were also silver, while the handle itself had been decorated with brown leather. It was simple in its design, yet kept in prime condition.

After taking a steadying breath, angel and demon turned back to the group, whilst the auction merrily continued in the background, the price starting at an astounding five thousand pounds and ascending at a vertiginous speed.

- Enoch... - Aziraphale whispered, his voice barely audible over the roars and claps of the guests as paddles flew up and down behind them - Now, where have I heard that name before? -

- Enoch, son of Cain? - Muriel suggested, her brow furrowed in concentration as she went through the files and files of information ingrained in her mind searching for the name - No, hold on, there was another one, a descendant of Seth..argh, I know this! - she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to concentrate with the growing noise around them, letting her labyrinthine scrivener brain go through the memorized biblical family tree, her fingers coming up as she counted- ...Seth, Enos, Cainan, Mahalaleel, Jared, Enoch, Methuselah, Lamech, Noah -

- Noah's great-grandfather, then? - reasoned Eleyn, and Muriel nodded in agreement.

- Okay, yeah, happy families, amazing! Anyone mind telling me what the hell he has to do with anything?! - Crowley pressed, growing more and more impatient the noisier the room became, excited exclamations now turning into borderline screeches and wails.

- Well... - Aziraphale began, then stopped to think, suddenly frowning - I...how odd, I know there's something important about this Enoch, but it's like my own mind refuses to let me remember what it was -

- Yeah - Muriel agreed, looking up at him - It's there, I know it's there, in my head, but it's all... -

- Blurred out - the demon finished in a breath, eyebrows going down in confusion as the other two spun towards him - That's weird. That's very weird. Why's that happening? And why won't these people shut the fuck up?! -

Someone screamed from behind Crowley's shoulder, the sound echoing in the Gallery's thick marble walls and piercing through both the demon's eardrums and his patience. He spun around once again, scalding hot in anger, ready to swear and hiss at every being in possession of a mouth and vocal chords; but all his rage quickly folded and squished to the approximate size and shape of a ball which lodged itself in his breathing pipe the second his eyes met the cold, unforgiving gaze of Archangel Michael.

He heard Eleyn gasp and swore he could feel Aziraphale's shudder. Muriel's grip became vice-like around his arm when she went rigid from head to toe.

Uriel stood next to Michael on the stage, donning the same straight-cut, light-gray suit and mimicking their posture to the last minute detail. Arms clapped tightly to their back, shoulders rolled back, legs apart in a relaxed yet attack-ready stance and head held infuriatingly high, even tilted slightly upwards, to be able to look down upon the humans like they always did; like they were meant to be lesser. The only difference between the two was the kind of weapon they bore. Michael had a golden spear tightly clung to their back; while Uriel had always been more partial to shortswords.

Tsk. Crowley thought, not releasing Michael's eyes as the initial shock slowly began melting into disgust. Hypocrites.

Three armed-to-the-teeth warrior angels flanked them either side, pearl-white wings completely extended and spears held offensively in front of their bodies, ready to jump into action should the order arrive. Another six had rounded up the terrified human guests in a circle, with their weapons pointed directly at their throats in a clear explanation of what would happen should they get the idea to try and escape. There were two more warriors in the room, cowering a petrified Alistair MacLeod and his wheelchair into the far corner. The man had his arms held up in sign of surrender, breathing heavily against the blade which gently caressed the skin of his neck, not daring to do so much as blink. All color had withdrawn from his face, and his eyes were open wide not in shock; but in fear of his own life.

Aziraphale felt sickened. His hands balled into heating fists almost of their own accord, his jaw clenched and tightened in rage like it hadn't done since Alexandria; and a mass of heat began forming in his chest just as he let his eyes lock on Archangel Michael, aiming daggers and knives at them.

- Release them all at once, Michael! - he demanded, his tone grazing the limit between outraged and furious - This is crossing the line! You can't do this! -

- They will be released once you've handed over the Gospel - they demanded in reply, their stare shifting to Eleyn, who shuddered slightly, then to Aziraphale - And safely returned God's child-

- Here's a better idea - Crowley snapped, canines bared, his growing rage only throwing wood into the fire of his bravado -Why don't you fuck off back to licking Metatron's arse, eh? -

- You will watch your tone, demon - Uriel spat, the last word said with the usual hint of disgust.

- I don't take orders from bloody archangels! - he bit back, clenching his jaw.

- Obviously - Michael shot, their gaze flicking to meet the demon's - But they do, and I'm sure they'd have no problem making quick work of you - they gestured to the angel beside them, who stepped forward and pointed a spear squarely at Crowley's head in one swift motion, making him shudder and step back.

Aziraphale's arm shot from his side out of reflex, lodging itself protectively between the demon and the menacing weapon. Michael scoffed, their eyes catching Aziraphale's once again. The stare between them was heated, furious, but silent. After twenty seconds and not a blink, the angel's blue eyes flicked down somewhere near Michael's shoulder, then back up. The archangel hesitated, then broke into a wide grin when they caught on, preening proudly.

- How many times have you tried? - they asked, amused, never letting go of his his eyes. Their head rocked back with a laugh when he didn't reply - Out of miracles, Archangel Supreme? -

- Shit - Crowley muttered when he finally caught a glimpse of the rectangular piece of paper in Michael's breast pocket.

- Miracles blocked - breathed Muriel, placing a hand lightly on Eleyn's arm when the latter let out a silent gasp -There's no way out -

- The building is surrounded - Uriel declared, in the tone of voice of one who is really convinced they have won - Your transport is guarded. I'm sure you've had fun in this wild goose chase, but you have reached the end. You are cornered -

- Don't be so sure of that - Aziraphale immediately replied with not a single drop of doubt in his deep, severe voice, making even Crowley get a chill down his spine - I'm not letting you take Eleyn or hurt these people. Whatever that should take -

- Spare your empty threats, cherub - Michael shot back, never releasing his eyes - You have no miracles, no way to escape; you're not even armed! -

- Yet - the angel snapped, livid, and the archangel's stoic façade finally faltered - You often forget, Michael, that I am the angel of the Eastern Gate. I was created to protect; and I will not hesitate to do it, should you give me a reason-

- Who are you trying to intimidate? - the archangel challenged, thought their voice was very slightly higher than before - We outnumber you ten to one -

- And you also threaten those I care about – Aziraphale retorted – Believe me, the odds are not in your favor – he took a steadying breath, never releasing Michael's gaze – Now, stand down and go back the way you came, before we need to make a mess of things -

- And if I don't? - the archangel shot back, though this time there was a slight tremor to their voice.

- Then may God forgive me – he breathed, determination burning in his every word.

Silence settled between them, and the few seconds of it told Aziraphale exactly what he needed to know. Michael swallowed, doubt just barely flashing past their eyes before being replaced with a steadfast resolve of their own; but what caught his attention was Uriel. They stared at him for a moment, then their eyes flicked down to the floor in thought. Uriel was thinking, reasoning, and it was enough to ignite a spark of hope in Aziraphale's gut; which turned into a small, weak little flame when they opened their mouth to address the other archangel. They closed it again, however, when they realized it was too late. Michael had made a choice, and the wrong one at that.

With a furious snarl, they ordered the warrior angels to "kill that filthy traitor"; and soon enough six of them were closing in on Aziraphale, each bearing a spear. He easily dodged the first one, tilting his head just a couple of inches to the right and grabbing it out of reflex as it was about to whiz back past his ear, his signet ring scratching against the metal. He used his other hand to pull down on the golden shaft and yank the spear out of the warrior's hands, wasting no time at all to knock them out with a dry blow to the gut. Aziraphale rotated the spear in his hands and gripped it properly just in time to block the attack of the second warrior. The spears connected with a loud clang, and the angel quickly swung from the opposite side with enough force to make the warrior's weapon fly just above his waist, giving Aziraphale enough space to stab his stomach with the round tip of the spearshaft, which made him recoil back and bend in on himself. The angel immediately swung at the warrior's side, knocking the air right out of them and making them collapse.

Three more warriors charged towards him; and in one swift motion Aziraphale knelt down, extended his wings and spun on himself with as much force as he could muster, knocking all of them from their feet as they collided with his pearly-white feathers; some of which were torn off in the process. With no time to waste, the angel tightened his grip on the spear and whacked the first of three in the back of the head, sending them straight to sleep. The second barely had enough time to sit up when a golden spearshaft connected with their lower back, sending them into a spiral of pain and, eventually, blackout. A sixth warrior angel was quickly advancing on Aziraphale, and without hesitation he jumped behind the last of the ones he'd knocked to the ground, prodding forcibly at their nape without bothering to look, making them pass out on the spot. And just in the nick of time, he drew the spear forwards again and blocked the sixth warrior's attack.

The force of the collision made Aziraphale's arms throb as they absorbed the impact; but he'd be damned if he let his stance shift even an inch. The warrior swung again from the other side, and the other blocked, taking a step forwards as he did so, making his opponent step back. The sixth angel continued on the offense, and Aziraphale blocked two successive attacks almost effortlessly. When they were about to swing for the fourth time, however, he saw an in; and he took it. The spears came into contact again; but this time Aziraphale had had enough time and angle to hook his behind the other's and pull; finally getting a hold on their wrist, and in a quick and aggressive movement twisted their arm behind them, turning them both around as the warrior wailed in pain and loosened their grip on their spear enough for Aziraphale to yank it out of their hand. Then, he released them from the dearth-grip with a firm kick in the backside, sending them tumbling forwards; and, before they even had the chance to turn around completely, swung both spearshafts squarely at their jaw, making their body turn a hundred and eighty degrees in recoil before they collapsed on the floor with a final thud.

Aziraphale took in a few deep inhales to catch his breath, his eyes fixed on the unconscious form of the warrior angel he'd just knocked out, as he let the spears in his hands fall to the ground beside his feet with a metallic clang.

When he looked up the next second, he found Crowley's exposed, full-blown amber eyes staring appallingly at him. The demon's mouth was slightly agape, and he'd gone crimson up to his ears somewhere in between the first and second warrior Aziraphale had beat the crap out of. Sure, he'd seen surges of protectiveness from his angel before, on a handful of occasions, but he would never have imagined this. The easiness with which Aziraphale – kind, tender, sweet Aziraphale – had fought six to one without even being armed to begin with and still won by a mile did very many things to him; and not one of the thoughts which crossed his mind the next second was pure.

- Aziraphale is a killing machine - Eleyn said from somewhere behind Crowley's shoulder, sounding every bit as surprised as the demon was - Good to know -

- Holy fuck Angel! - Crowley somehow managed, swallowing half the letters.

- That's blasphemy, my dear - the angel chimed, still breathing heavily as a small, sly grin began playing on his lips.

Smug bastard, Crowley thought, fighting every urge to kiss the smirk right off his angel's face.

- STOP! - Michael ordered, making Aziraphale spin around just in time to see the rest of warrior angels freeze in their attempt to attack him - Don't! Back to your posts, now! -

They began moving as they said this, charging down the stage through the wheelchair ramp towards the group of four, Uriel right beside them.

- I'll deal with the traitor, go get The Girl - the latter said, not bothering to wait for a response before drawing their sword and swinging at Aziraphale's neck.

The angel ducked out of reflex, the sharp blade caressing the blonde curls on the top of his head, then stood upright and hinged back from the waist to dodge a second, diagonal swing. With quick and agile movement, Aziraphale dodged two more attacks and spun around the archangel, taking a step back towards the stage to put Uriel that little bit out of range; which gave him enough time to kick one of the discarded spears up into his hands and block the archangel's new attack, blade and spearshaft connecting with a metallic sound which resonated through the entire National Gallery.

In the meantime, Michael advanced on the other three and drew their spear, pointing it decisively at Crowley's chest. Before they could stab, however, Eleyn jumped between demon and archangel, forcing the latter to stop dead on their tracks and slightly lower their stance.

- If you want to get to him, you'll have to go through me! - she spat at them, looking straight into their eyes.

- They abducted you! - Michael snapped, furious - They interfere with your Mother's plan; they're the ones in the wrong! -

- No! - Eleyn shot back, tears of rage flooding her eyes- You destroyed everything! You stole my life! I wanted to die because of you; and Crowley, he...he rescued me! - she took a breath - I won't let you hurt him! -

- Don't be foolish, Child! He is a demon! - the archangel bit back - A fallen angel! They lie, and they betray; and so will he! They are the bad guys, for Heaven's sake! -

- Really? - Crowley snarled, throwing them a shit-eating grin - Have you looked in the mirror these days, Michael? -

- You insolent little...! - they began, only to be interrupted by another, shy voice.

- He's right - Muriel whispered, softly, her voice shaking - All my existence, I had the notion that Heaven was good and Hell was bad; but now, the past few days, what you did to Eleyn, what you're doing to these people...I can't tell the difference between the two anymore -

- Don't worry, you will - they retorted with malice in their voice - When this charade is over, and I personally throw you to Hell, you'll very well be able to tell the difference, scrivener -

- You lot! - Crowley scoffed, more out of disgust than of rage - Six thousand years and you haven't changed a fucking inch! You punish angels for doing the right thing, only because it's convenient for you! Blind, selfish dipshits, all of you! -

- What, still cross about that? - Michael snapped back with such pointedness it made him flinch - You betrayed God's Great Plan; what did you expect? -

- I only ever asked questions - he breathed between bared teeth, the rage building up inside him making his voice shake.

- And your stars were the price to pay, Starmaker -

- Damn you -

---

Deep within Princess Street gardens, in the dark Edinburgh night, a thin, cloaked figure roamed in silence through the trees and pathways, the fabric swishing and brushing against the ground.

Its face wasn't visible beneath the thick wool hood; but the strands of long, yellow-golden hair which flowed from underneath it could be seen at a distance. Where the dark-gray cloak parted below the chest, a robe could be distinguished. Something like the togas ancient Romans or Greeks used to wear, it too of a filthy, grayish tint. Its feet were bare, and the scrunch of small, pointy rocks beneath them after every step should have been incredibly painful but, by some sort of miracle, it barely even tickled.

Mashheet was waiting. The voice of God had given them a time, a place, and an order; and now they simply awaited the precise moment, marveling at the city lights which could, with some difficulty, be seen through the treetops. It had been a long time since Mashheet had last been woken up; and the Earth was different. Its people had barely changed at all, but the planet had. It was new, and unrecognizable, and strange. It barely seemed the same place at all.

Deep down, in a realm of their soul no angel would have ever expected to exist, they longed to go and explore every inch of it. To see all the new things which had appeared, to see some of the old things again. They wondered what had happened during all the years he'd slept. What he'd missed.

But hoping only served the purpose of being let down in the end, when none of it ever happened.

They had an order, they would follow it, and they would go back to sleep. The next time they woke up, there could very well be no Earth at all left to explore.

For now, however, they looked out from the park into the city; and that had to be enough. They still had to wait a little while longer, anyway.

---

The force of Uriel's swing made Aziraphale tumble back a few steps when their weapons clashed together; but he was quick to recover and expertly parry another few hits, taking one step back at a time until both angel and archangel had reached the ramp leading up to the stage.

- Uriel, listen to me! - Aziraphale begged, blocking yet another furious swing from them – Please! -

- Shut up! Shut up! - they retorted, livid, taking an aggressive step forwards to force the angel up the ramp.

Aziraphale saw Uriel's sword coming at him from the left, and raised the spearshaft enough to block the blow; then forcibly shoved the blade back towards them. The archangel's chest rose and fell in a disheveled, irregular rhythm; almost like a bull getting ready to charge, if the bull found itself In the predicament of not knowing where it was supposed to charge towards. Aziraphale knew what was happening to Uriel; why their blows were getting more and more aggressive and rage-induced every second: they were thinking. They were finally realizing, and it was driving them mad. The angel knew that feeling; it had accompanied him almost every day for nearly six thousand years of existence. That sinking feeling one got upon understanding that everything they thought to be good wasn't really that good, and everything they thought to be irredeemably bad maybe wasn't that bad at all.

It had begun with small instances of doubt, for him. The flood, Job, the crucifixion. Then, when the almost-end-of-the-world had rolled around, he'd finally allowed himself to admit Crowley was right. Good and bad, Heaven and Hell. Nothing but names given to two opposing teams of the exact same moral principle: beat the other.

But here, now, it was all coming to Uriel at once; and they were torn between staying in the familiar, comfortable yet false mindset they'd had up until that day or accepting the truth as it was, questioning all their previous beliefs. The indecision drove them insane, and all they could do to ease the pain of not knowing what to do was to fight, to swing their sword in rage and pain and, above all, fear.

Aziraphale finally reached the stage, just as his spearshaft rose parallel to him and blocked a blow headed for his chest, pushing the blade away while Uriel pushed it towards him until the two found a point of equilibrium and stayed, neither of them willing to release the tension. Until Aziraphale did, that is, letting go of the spear altogether with a strong push, making Uriel recoil back slightly. Their two seconds of confusion were enough for the angel to grab a hold of the Norman sword whose auction had been interrupted and draw it in front of him, taking another two steps back to reach the center of the stage.

The archangel wasn't slow to react, and a heated duel soon began between them. Swing, parry, block, doge, attack, parry. Their swords clashed and slid against the other again and again, the two of them evenly matched in both sheer strength and technique. The swords collided again, and there was another moment of tense push-pull pause.

- Please! You know this isn't right! - he insisted – Uriel, please! -

- Stop it! - they snarled in return, a discernible moisture beginning to accumulate in their eyes.

They were the one to release this time, drawing their sword back and gaining momentum to swing at Aziraphale's head. He ducked, then brought their blades together as he stood, making a snap decision. The angel pushed the swords diagonally downwards with as much force as he could, taking advantage of Uriel's momentary loss of balance and wrapping his free hand around the wrist of their armed hand. Aziraphale pulled, drawing his sword up horizontally as he did so, his blade going to rest directly on their neck. Wasting no time at all, he twisted their arm and clapped it behind their back, neutralizing their attacks and turning the archangel around a hundred and eighty degrees, towards the rest of the room. He then used the sword still tightly clung to their throat to pull them into his body, immobilizing them completely.

- Look at them!- Aziraphale breathlessly ordered from behind their ear as they wrestled against his grip – Look at the humans! Look at them! -

The guests still stood huddled in a circle on one side of the room, cowering against each other, surrounded by attack-ready warrior angels whose spears remained resolutely pointed at their throats. Some of them cried as silently as they could into the hand which they'd tightly clapped atop their mouths, too afraid to move even an inch; while others covered their whole face with shaky palms, not daring to face what they were sure would be their death. The ones who were closer to the angels had frozen in fear, wild, terrified eyes staring down the blades of the spears at their bearers as though they were seeing their worst nightmare in flesh. They were pale as ghosts, most of them were trembling, and a few were on the verge of passing out. Among them was a little boy, crying against his mother's chest and clutching tight fistfuls of her hair. A small, scared child who would never again be convinced that monster's weren't real.

The wrongness of it all hit Uriel hard in the stomach, and they stopped wrestling against Aziraphale's grip altogether, letting their shoulders drop with a defeated whimper.

- What are we doing? - they whispered, their voice broken – What the hell are we doing?! How is this what God wants?! How?! -

- If I had to guess – Aziraphale answered, as softly as he could, their eyes darting to him the second he spoke – It isn't -

- What do you mean? - Uriel asked, shakily, though they suspected they already knew the answer.

- The Metatron – the other simply stated, understanding from the lack of surprise in the archangel's eyes that no further explanation would be necessary.

- I never thought the voice of God could lie – they admitted, eyes flicking back to the crying boy – But there is no point in denying the nature of his actions – they took a small breath – I don't have a good feeling about this -

- That would make five of us – Aziraphale said, raising an eyebrow.

- What do you need me to do? - Uriel offered, turning their head towards the angel as much as the blade on their neck would allow.

- Gather forces. Make them realize like you have, so that if the time must come we have a chance to fight back – he told them, slowly releasing his grip on their wrist and lowering his blade, allowing them to turn and face him – Maybe even another archangel -

- Not Michael – they sighed – They are much too drunk on the promise of power to see reason. Maybe Saraqael will listen -

- Let us hope – Aziraphale whispered.

- What else? - they said, awaiting orders.

- The name Enoch – he recited – Does it mean anything to you? -

- Noah's great-grandfather, son of Jared, descendant of Seth – they answered immediately, then frowned – No, that's not what you mean. I did know something about him, something important, but it's… -

-Gone? - the angel finished, and the other nodded.

- Yes – Uriel agreed, shifting their eyes around in a futile attempt to remember – It must have been wiped from our memories – they looked back at Aziraphale, only to find a confused look on his face – All the memories related to that name, deleted from the memories of every angel in Heaven and demon in Hell -

- I had no idea that was possible – he breathed, taken aback, then swore to himself under his breath – Well, there goes that clue -

- Not necessarily – they said out of the blue, making him snap his eyes back at them – There might still be one angel who remembers -

- You can't possibly mean…? - Aziraphale began, and he was cut immediately.

- It's unlikely, I admit it - the archangel explained – And probably risky, too. But if you were able to find them; then maybe, just maybe… -

- How?! - he interrupted – Nobody has known anything of them for eons! How on God's green Earth am I supposed to…?! -

- You found the Antichrist among a planet-full of eleven-year-olds in under a day – they recalled, raising their eyebrows – This isn't very different -

- Even if I did find them, Uriel, you know it would be no use – he argued the point – There's the other matter, remember? Unless… - he closed his mouth shut, giving Uriel a "please tell me you're not thinking what I think you're thinking" kind of look.

- I did say it could be risky – they said in reply, making his eyes go wide – But if knowing the truth about this Enoch could help us stop The Metatron, it has to be worth it -

- Perhaps – Aziraphale whispered, not entirely convinced but still filing the idea to discuss with the other three later on, then changed the topic when another thought hit him, setting his curiosity ablaze – One other thing… -

The archangel nodded, and he finished posing his question.

- What exactly are the terms of your pact with Hell? - he asked.

Uriel's reaction had been completely unexpected. They frowned, confused, tilting their head slightly to the right. They eyed him silently for a few seconds, possibly waiting for a correction of the question, and finally replying when none came:

- What pact? -

---

- Move! - Michael spat, unnerved, spear pointed at Eleyn but not moving an inch.

- And let you butcher my friends like you did my family? I'm fine where I am, thanks – she bit back, staying firmly in place.

- It was necessary! - the archangel argued – They weren't your family; God is! -

- Oh yeah? - Eleyn snapped, her voice choked by the tears which adorned her eyes – Was it God who changed my diapers when I was a baby?! Who brought me up and stood by me in some of the roughest moments of my life?! Who played with me as a kid and endlessly lectured me when I was a stupid teenager?! - she took a deep breath – You haven't got a damn clue what family is! -

- Enough of this nonsense! - they snarled, their grip becoming vice-like on the spearshaft – Hand me that book right now, or I'll…! -

- Never really took you for a reading type - Crowley sneered, scrunching his nose, unable to help himself with the small tease – New hobby, is it? -

He discreetly glanced over their shoulder as he said this, spotting Aziraphale and Uriel on the stage behind them. The angel had lost the spear somewhere along the way, and now bore the sword which had been halfway through being auctioned when all Hell – or, rather, Heaven – had broken loose. One second they had been heatedly dueling, swords swishing and swinging against each other; and the next Aziraphale had managed to gain the upper hand, using some kind of maneuver to immobilize Uriel, leaving them completely at his blade's mercy. The demon felt a chill down his spine, which might or might not have been in part induced by a small, almost imperceptible pang of jealousy. Was it weird to imagine himself as the one being effortlessly manhandled by the angel? Probably, yeah.

Michael's voice snapped him back to reality before his thoughts could meander further than that. But, just before he turned his eyes back on the archangel, Crowley swore he'd seen Aziraphale's lips move to form words and Uriel's entire demeanor change.

- I do not have time for your idiocy! – Michael shot back, furious – Plans have to be brought forward, and you and your little friends – their sharp gaze shifted briefly to Muriel, making her shudder – are being a complete pain in my backside!-

- Good – the demon hissed, staring defiantly at them.

- Give me the damn…! -

They were halfway through spatting at them when they were interrupted by the clear, resounding sound of bells from nowhere in particular, and everywhere at once. One, then another, all the way up to seven heavenly chimes. Michael glanced upwards with a frustrated growl, and Crowley chuckled, bearing his trademark smirk like a weapon.

- Look at that! - he sneered, never passing up an opportunity to take the piss - Daddy's calling you home for lunch! You wouldn't want to be late, now would you? -

- You got lucky, demon - they snarled, looking at him dead in the eyes once again.

- Didn't I just? - he mocked, having way to much fun with it.

- But your luck will run out - they threatened as they began to be enveloped in a soft, white light- And when it does, I will be there, laughing over your rotting cadaver! -

- Lovely - Crowley replied, raising his voice as they began to vanish - See you then! I'll bring biscuits for tea! -

There was a blinding flash of the same white light; and then Michael was - quite literally - gone from the surface of the Earth. Muriel and Eleyn finally began breathing again, and the latter relaxed, letting her arms fall to her sides. Several more flashes of light followed as the guardian angels both inside and out began to disappear up to Heaven; and Crowley glanced up at stage as soon as he could, relief flooding over him when he caught sight of Aziraphale sanding face to face with Uriel, who had yet to leave the planet.

He gave them a firm nod, then mouthed the words "Be careful" just before they too were enveloped by the light. A second after, Uriel was gone.

Aziraphale let his arms and shoulders drop, the point of the sword falling against the floor with a little cling. His cerulean eyes found Crowley's amber ones almost immediately, and the angel's face softened, his lips drawing a tender, relieved smile. The demon smiled back an utterly smitten smile, and their moment lasted for just a few wonderful seconds before Aziraphale was startled out of it.

- What the fuck just happened?! - A voice croaked from the corner of the room.

- Oh, Mr. MacLeod! - the angel finally reacted and dashed down the stage to the man - Are you okay? Did they hurt you? -

- I'm 'aright, lad - he said, rubbing the little red marks the blades had left on his neck. Aziraphale winced at them - Scared the shite right out 'o me, though -

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Crowley, Muriel and Eleyn had followed the angel's lead and strode towards the group of ex-hostages, which was now buried deep within a cacophony of relief, tears and screams of delayed shock. Muriel quickly went around the group making sure nobody had been hurt, while the Daughter of God tried to help a woman who'd collapsed in the midst of a panic attack, rubbing her back and inciting her to count to ten.

Crowley stood in the middle of the chaos, looking around for someone who might need help, and a soft hand suddenly fell on his shoulder, making him jump and spin promptly on his heel. His eyes fell on a woman dressed in green, cradling a child in her arms.

- Clara! - he hissed, his eyes darting down to the sobbing, red-eyed kid and back up to her - Are you both alright? Is Archie hurt? -

- We're fine - she sighed, tilting her head down to Archie - Poor thing is scared out of his mind, but there's not a scratch on either of us, thank God -

- Not exactly - the demon muttered under his breath.

- What was that? - she asked, whipping her head up.

- Nothing - he quickly waved it off, stepping closer to the disconsolate boy.

- Shh, shh - Clara soothed him, rocking him gently up and down in her arms - It's okay, baby; it's okay. Hey, look who's here! It's Mr. Crowley! Look!-

He raised his little head with a small sob, and his puffy eyes came to rest on Crowley. The demon's heart fluttered when the tips of the kid's lip began to pull into a sad smile.

- Hey - he cooed, the act to hide the affection in his voice now long forgotten - Hey, little starman! You okay? -

Archie hadn't had time to answer or nod, however, when a loud, low noise pierced through the air. It was a rumble, like thunder, except it kept getting louder and louder rather than the opposite. The closest simile Crowley could think of was the start of the Bentley's engine; at first nothing but a small sound, but quickly building up and up, gathering strength, until…vroom.

The sound turned into movement before anyone could guess what would happen, and the ground began to shake violently, making the inhabitants of the room go on a whole new spiral of panic and screams, thousands of hands flying around in a frenzied attempt to grab onto anything or anyone they reached.

Crowley was sent flying backwards onto his butt immediately, and Clara managed to maintain balance only out of sheer motherly instinct, her grip becoming vice-like around Archie's small form. Eleyn had managed to cling onto a windowsill, and Muriel held an elderly man firmly in place with impressive strength. Aziraphale had reacted quickly by grabbing one of the arms of MacLeod's wheelchair out of reflex, his knuckles whitening around the cold metal as small pieces of debris began to fall around them.

- Really now?! - he groaned, the tingle in his fingertips betraying the miraculous origin of the tremors - You have got to be kidding me! -

- An earthquake?!- the man cried out in complete disbelief - In Scotland?! What the hell is wrong with the universe today?! -

- Long story, I'm afraid! - the angel replied with an exasperated huff, not realizing the question was rhetorical.

The ceiling cracked right that moment, and a deafening, horrible sound echoed through the air, making the whole room snap their head up towards the ceiling at once. Aziraphale did too, and his breathing caught when he saw the cracking and splintering begin to spread like fungi on a log through the white concrete, eventually reaching the metal chains holding the chandelier, which creaked and moaned under the slowly adding weight.

- Oh, great - Aziraphale muttered between gritted teeth, just before he heard a familiar, raspy voice bellowing over the screams of the guests.

- Right! - Crowley hissed, pointing a long finger at the restaurant's main entrance - Anybody who doesn't want to become a human pancake, out that door now! Go, go, go! -

They all ran in a mad, chaotic scramble, pushing and pulling to get to safety first in a spark of pure survival instinct; whilst a demon, a scrivener and God's daughter shepherded them towards the door. Muriel followed the crowd out of the room, trying to calm the general panic, whilst the other two stayed behind, waiting for two more to cross the threshold.

Aziraphale let go of MacLeod's chair, allowing him to stride off with a strong tug of the wheels, and followed suit. He ran across the room as fast as he could, avoiding the large pieces of rubble - or, at this point, ceiling - which fell from above at vertiginous speeds. He looked up as he ran when the bearings of the chandelier screeched and moaned once again, louder, the large metallic structure moving dangerously from side to side. He then stopped dead and looked around him, realizing he'd lost complete sight of the wheelchair. He squinted his eyes in a desperate attempt to catch a glimpse of iron whizzing past him, but he couldn't see a thing through the thick dust the falling debris was producing. He spun around, coughing out the dust from his lungs, completely disoriented; and then a hand suddenly grasped his and pulled him around. Aziraphale's heart performed a triple somersault in his chest when he saw the flaming-red hair and concerned, slitted eyes of his savior.

- Gotcha - Crowley hissed, then took off running, pulling the angel with him, until the silhouette of a young girl became visible through the dust - Eleyn! I've got him! Let's go! -

- Right! -

She began running in front of them, then stopped dead a few seconds after, her eyes going wide. The demon muttered a shit when he realized what had stopped her, and Aziraphale gasped. MacLeod was there, wrestling against his wheelchair within the accumulating rubble, immobilized right beneath the dangerously dangling chandelier which, ever so opportune, chose that moment to descend another couple of millimeters, the chains barely holding on.

- Move! - he cried, pulling the wheels with all his might- Move, 'ye fucking piece 'o shite! Move! -

Crowley snapped his fingers on instinct, but the only thing he achieved was a sound which wasn't even audible through the rumble of the ground and the crashing of the ceiling.

- Fuck! - he growled - How long was that fucking miracle block?! -

- Mr. MacLeod! - Eleyn called out, beginning to move towards him, the man's eyes flickering up to her.

The chandelier descended again, this time a good centimeter, the ceiling begging to peel off where the chains were fixed to it. MacLeod looked up at it in horror, tears in his eyes, chest heaving up and down. Then he made a decision, letting go of the chair's wheels in admitted defeat.

- Go! - he screamed at her - Leave me! -

- No! - she cried, stepping forwards - I'm getting you out! -

- Don't kid 'yerself, lass! - he bit back - You can't carry my weight, and that thing 'll crush both of us before you even get to me! So get the hell out of here and tell my wife I...! -

- Run! - Eleyn cried, realizing only a second after.

- What?! - MacLeod croaked.

- Eleyn! - Aziraphale gasped, aware what was about to happen.

- I have to! - she shouted back at the angel, reading his mind, tears in her eyes.

Something warm had burst in her stomach, traveling up and down her spine and to her fingers and toes in waves of heat and energy. Eleyn felt like she was glowing, tingling all over like she'd done at the Scot Manor; and at Inverleith park. Except this time she knew exactly what was happening, and she extended out a hand without hesitation.

- Run! - she repeated.

- Are you fu- ?! This is no time for handicap jokes, 'ye idiot! - he bellowed - GO. AWAY! -

- Trust me! - she insisted, the heat intensifying in her open palm - Just...just run! Get up! Run! -

The chandelier creaked and the chains gave in a little more, the entire metallic structure bouncing with a loud thud where it had stopped dead.

- 'ye think I hadn't thought of that?! - MacLeod scoffed, though it was more of a half-sob than an actual scoff - Get away before it collapses on 'yer head lass! Go! -

- Listen to me, you stupid man! - she screamed at the top of her lungs - Put your damn feet on the ground, get your ass up off that chair and fucking run! - she took a breath, then screamed again before he could complain - Now! -

The pieces of ceiling around the base of the chains cracked all at once, and the chandelier continued its fall, stopping and bouncing every few millimeters when the chains attempted to hold the weight of the structure, to no avail.

MacLeod looked into Eleyn's eyes, and she looked back into his. The air pulsed between them, once, twice, and then his leg muscles clenched. His eyes opened wide when he realized he could feel them, for the first time in nearly twenty years. After having been told by every doctor in the country he'd never walk again, he moved his legs, planting his feet on the shaking, grumbling ground. After twenty years of sitting still, he stood, and he walked, and then he ran.

He ran towards the girl, grabbing her outstretched hand. She pulled, and just as they both made it out of the crash zone, the chandelier came plummeting down with a crush which resonated through the whole of Edinburgh, flattening the discarded wheelchair without a minimum of resistance.

Shortly after, a demon, an angel, a girl who wasn't exactly just a girl and the lame man she'd just taught to walk crossed the door to the hallway, leaving the destroyed restaurant behind.

Muriel's arms flew around Eleyn's neck the moment they saw each other and she reciprocated the hug with a relieved sigh, her hand releasing MacLeod's to land behind the scrivener's back.

Clara MacLeod rushed up to her husband, Archie trotting close behind him, and then she froze when she realized, staring down at the two very functional legs his husband was standing on. She clapped a hand over her mouth, and he began to cry with joy.

- Alister! - she gasped, once she'd regained the ability to speak – Wh...You're...How?! -

- I don't know! - he replied between sobs – I was stuck, the chair I mean, and I thought I was going to die, but that girl...she told me to run. And I did! I ran! I can walk, Clara! -

- Oh, my… - Clara covered her mouth again, too stunned to speak, tears streaming down her face as he wrapped his arms around her.

-I can walk – he reiterated in a breath – It's a mir…! -

- Don't – Crowley snapped at him, breathless, raising a pale, shaky finger – Just...don't -

---

Hallelujah! Finally!

I'm so so very sorry for the delays between chapters; not only the ones which you've had so far, but also the ones you will have when I stop writing for this next month.

It's not that I don't want to write, really, but I have so many things on my plate that I just can't. Can you picture a juggler juggling so many balls they're beginning to struggle? Yeah, that's me right now.

Uni exams are coming up, the next few weeks, so I'm afraid you won't be getting any updates until at least June. After that, I'll try and pick up again, publishing every few weeks.

But! In hopes of being forgiven, rather than doing an apology dance (believe me, you do not want to see me dance), this chapter is a little bit longer! And very plot heavy, too. Many things happening at the same time! Absolute craziness, Good Omens style! (Hopefully, if I've done it right!)

So, yeah, I hope you've enjoyed! And thank you for the infinite patience, in every sense!

Have an ineffably wonderful week, month and life in general! See ya!

*Smoke bomb*

(PS: I might write little scenes here and there and post sneak peaks on my tumblr, if you wanna check that out :) FirePhoenix2305)