Madamme Tracy is halfway through her seance because today is Thursday (Didn't Madamme Tracy retire from these things?) Nevertheless, it's not like Aziraphale is unfamiliar with such matters. He knocks on the door.

"No, dear. Not these, the others."

So Aziraphale knocks on the door, and the seance looks beautiful, but... it seems they won't open it for him.

Madamme Tracy leaves the tea cups for her clients just before starting and asks them to wait a second as she goes to the door to open it. There's Aziraphale, smiling nervously, glancing towards the street.

"Yes, dear, it will only be a moment," she speaks with someone inside the house and then turns to the door. "Oh... Mr... Aziraphale," she blinks, surprised.

"Madamme Tracy. Good afternoon! Are you busy?"

"I was about to start the... session," she looks inside. "Has something happened?"

"Well... yes."

"Oh. Um... how about you join us, dear, and then we can talk about it?"

"Crowley isn't around... um... right? Obviously," he sighs.

"Eh?" she realizes they've never been properly introduced. "Ah, his..." she's not clear on what their relationship is, but she knows they have one. "Husband? The one with sunglasses, isn't it? No. Does he need to come?"

"He's not my husband!" he blushes deeply, and seriously, the WEDDING RING you're still wearing on your finger isn't helping.

"Well... boyfriend, excuse me."

"He's not my... h-he's my..."

"Son, really..." she shakes her head because she doesn't care which complicated, incomprehensible, modern term you're going to use to define your relationship. "Come in. I'll bring you some tea."

Pantoprazole... I mean Pantosexual. When she was young, you were either dating or married or nothing happened. None of these rare complications like being demisexual, bisexual, aromatic (By the way, since when did aromas have anything to do with this?), non-binary, transgender, ecologist. And honestly, she was very modern and could accept all these things, but she'd rather not ask questions.

Aziraphale nods, okay, sure, and picks up the bag he brought, which seems to be bottomless like Mary Poppins', and places it on the floor before entering.

Madamme Tracy gently guides him with a hand on his back to pass through, then closes the door.

"Come to the back, we're in the sitting room."

"I wouldn't want to interrupt..."

"Don't worry, dear, quite the opposite. I think you might be of great help."

"Me? Honestly, I'm not sure... where can I put this?" he asks about his bag.

"Wherever you like," she follows him in. "Give it to me along with your coat; we'll put it here with the others," she points to the sofa where indeed the guests' jackets are.

"Uhh... I don't want anyone to take it; I have delicate things inside. Is today's session very long?"

"Well, that entirely depends on you," oh yes, I'd be scared.

"On me? But I'm a... no. I'm not going to be the medium for the session."

"You don't have to be exactly the medium..." she takes his hand and leads him to the sitting room, smelling of Brussels sprouts on fire. "I want to introduce you to a colleague of mine, a renowned medium..." she announces.

There are three people inside, a young couple and a middle-aged woman. All three raise their eyebrows and look at them.

"Oh... does this mean that this man is a real medium?" the young woman asks because if Aziraphale doesn't fit a definition with his appearance, it's in this one.

"Don't doubt it for a moment, dear, the best occultist in the city. Don't be fooled by his appearance; you won't find a more truthful one in all of London," Madamme Tracy replies.

Aziraphale opens his mouth because he's NOT a... how could he be a medium!

"Madamme Tracy!" he protests a bit because if his kind finds out he's acting as a medium now, they'll kill him!

"Please, don't be shy, dear," she responds with a smile.

"And what's his specialty?" the middle-aged woman also wrinkles her nose a bit.

"Demonology, of course," Madamme Tracy asserts out of nowhere. Aziraphale raises his eyebrows, for heaven's sake.

"Exterminating... demons," he clarifies just in case.

"Yes, of course..."

"What are you implying, Madamme Tracy?" he asks, nervously laughing.

"And what are your techniques?" the man asks.

"It's... a personal skill."

"Oh... and do you think you could come to my mother's house next week? Not that we believe much in these things, but there comes a point of desperation that... We've believed for years that there's an evil entity," the girl comments.

"Uh... evil entities don't usually dwell in houses."

"Oh, no?"

"No, they usually have better things to do. Although some are quite foolish."

"It seems you have quite the experience."

"You wouldn't believe how much," Madamme Tracy assures. Aziraphale clears his throat and almost elbows the woman, smiling a bit.

"The sessions... should be short."

You shouldn't say such things. Ahem.

Come on... Don't say those things! It's not about... stop it... Crowley!

"Do you say that because demons are unintelligent?" the girl asks.

"I say it because long sessions... yield unfruitful results."

"Why?"

Apparently because what SHOULDN'T happen... doesn't happen too often.

"It doesn't happen when you ask for it to happen!"

"Because... the medium... gets tired!" shut up!

He's going to get tired if NOTHING happens.

"It's logical, it must be an incredible mental... and physical effort," the boy nods.

"He'll get tired, you'll see!" Aziraphale doesn't quite get the double entendre of all this, okay?!

Of course, of course.

No, he doesn't!

"I-It's... a-an... effort.

Crowley thinks, what would he know if it never happens.

It hasn't happened because Crowley hasn't wanted it to, okay?!

No, it hasn't!

This time! He asked for a kiss, a proper one, and Crowley left!

And he backed off 528358 times and asked for a prostitute!

He didn't ask for a... HOW COULD HE ASK FOR A PROSTITUTE!

"A very serious effort. The reality is that this type of contact shouldn't exist.

Madamme Tracy blinks a couple of times, not sure what he's talking about... I mean, this sounds BAD.

"N-Not at all, it's... very inappropriate contact."

"Excuse me, inappropriate for what?" the middle-aged woman asks.

"E-Engaging with demons... d-demonic spirits, I mean."

"But it serves to purify them, doesn't it?"

"Well, sort of... purify them..."

"Destroy them?"

"No. No... no. Well, in my particular case... yes. In fact, today I plan to... try to destroy one."

The shock from the four. Aziraphale clears his throat with that because... he still doesn't like this.

"Oh! How? Here?"

"Madamme Tracy, do you have demons?"

"Um... after finishing. Madamme Tracy... if we could start with this, I need to talk to you afterwards." No, no... actually... no," he adds for them.

"Maybe we could see it!" the girl suggests, excited.

"Or help!" adds the boy.

"No. Helping me DEFINITELY not. It's dangerous, it's... deadly. Moreover, anyone who helps me will go straight to hell, I warn you," he gestures a lot while speaking, visibly nervous.

"Oh, but you're here to protect us, aren't you?" the girl asserts.

"Besides, I've seen in a movie..." the boy adds.

"No. No and no. Madamme Tracy... I insist on speaking with you."

She hesitates a bit.

"Please, this is not fiction, we're talking about serious matters," she assures nervously.

"Still, if you just watch as if it were a movie, maybe you can... witness it," Aziraphale assures, apparently excited by the audience for some reason. Come on, besides, having an audience adds realism.

Madamme Tracy looks at him with a face like... "Are you sure?" And makes a disapproving sound but gets up to talk to him, who looks nervously and walks towards the hallway.

"I have to... it... things have gotten a bit complicated lately.

"More than the end of the world?

"Yes. Well... No. Not for everyone. But yes for... for Crowley and me.

"Why?"

The angel clasps his hands, worryingly.

"Well, let's say neither his... um... office nor mine are pleased at all with the circumstances and... they've given us both the same order.

Madamme Tracy raises an eyebrow.

"They expect that... well. We kill each other," he smiles a bit, and laughs nervously to not scare her.

"That doesn't sound like 'not being pleased'" she raises both eyebrows.

"Um... yeah, yeah... let's say they very enthusiastically supported the end of the world and... Well, um, let's say they've decided... well... to end all this in the most..." he pauses, thinking of positive words and only comes up with a set like: cruel, horrible, dreadful, heartbreaking, distressing, tragic...", um... unfavourable way.

Before you were sure this was super elegant.

Well, it's elegant! Besides being cruel, horrible, dreadful, heartbreaking, distressing, tragic...

"I still don't quite understand how your offices work. Can't you just decline? Resign from the job?

"No. No... no. Let's. No.

"Mmmmm...

"But no... it's not our intention to actually kill each other.

"Well, I hope not... but... then?

"We need to convince everyone... that we're trying.

"Got it...

"So he'll come. And... we'll try."

"H-Here?" she swallows and looks at him.

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing will happen. Really."

"He said it was dangerous..." she replies, getting nervous because she heard it clearly. Aziraphale hesitates for a second.

"B-Because I don't want anyone trying to kill Crowley... successfully," he squints his eyes and blushes.

"Oh... I understand."

"Still, I do want everyone to... be very convinced that this is serious."

"Well, you're talking about killing demons, dear."

"And?"

"These people are here because they BELIEVE in these things. It sounds quite serious."

"It is very serious."

"What are you going to do then?" she nods.

"A... kind of exorcism."

"How?"

"I have to say some words, I brought some wood and... well, I don't want to tell you so you can react."

"I understand... I'll try to keep those three away."

"Nothing will happen to them. Just... to Crowley," he sighs.

"You... just make sure not to hurt yourself, son," yes, that's what worries her.

"Me? Well... He'll come here trying to kill me too. And I don't know what he's going to do."

"I mean you yourself."

"What? Why would I... hurt myself?" he laughs a bit.

Truth is, she doesn't want to tell him he's being foolish, so she just takes his arm and gives him a pat.

"I'm a bit nervous," he admits.

"Everyone is, dear. EVERYONE."

"I just don't want to kill him."

"I still think you should tell your bosses that. It's not right for them to ask you to commit murder."

"We've already told them..."

"Maybe it's time to retire."

"One can't... retire."

She looks at him with a meaningful look.

"We'll be fine... we might need your help at some point, but we'll be fine."

"And when is he going to..."

"Uh-huh?"

"Come?"

"That's what I'd like to know," eyes rolling. She raises her eyebrows. "He said he'd be late, but I've been late!"

"Oh... what if something happened to him?"

"He's just being an idiot."

"It would be terrible if some little inconvenience prevented... well, the big inconvenience."

"The holy water..." he murmurs, concerned, biting his lip. She looks at him. "Heavens. What if something happened to him?"

"Maybe he's just running late. Come on, let's have that cup of tea while we wait for him."

"Okay... okay. He must be fine," he looks towards the door.

"Because you help me a bit with my guests and that way we'll distract ourselves."

Aziraphale sighs.

"Just don't overdo it, Madame Tracy..."

She raises her hands in surrender and guides him back with the other three. He smiles a little... still wondering if Crowley evaporated with the holy water or not.

"So... are we going to see how a professional kills a real demon?"

"If that demon comes at some point... yes."

"How did you manage to summon a demon to destroy it?" the young girl asks, now more interested in this.

"I've been spying on him, of course. One sugar, Madame Tracy. It's difficult, very difficult. And it requires a lot of work and preparation."

Madame Tracy does as he asks and brings him his cup of tea.

"But how did you know he was one?" the man insists.

"Thank you, dear. That... also requires hmmm... practice. I've known him for a long time... um... and it's just something I know."

"And how could we find one?" the older woman asks.

"I wouldn't recommend it."

"Why not?"

"Because demons are dangerous for people like you."

"But we should know how to protect ourselves then."

"Madamme Tracy, I think you should make a line of salt, I remember reading about it somewhere," the young girl intervenes.

"Ohhh, that's an excellent idea! Neither you nor him can cross it," the angel assures.

Madamme Tracy looks at Aziraphale not very sure, but she goes for the salt and Aziraphale nervously smiles for the others.

"Um... this is going to be very dangerous for me," he explains to them.

"Why?"

"He'll want to... kill me."

Everyone makes a surprised/fearful sound.

"And he'll want to do it very seriously. Don't be fooled by his appearance," he adds, as if his appearance would fool anyone other than you.

"H-He'll want to kill us... too?" the young girl asks, concerned.

"No, if you don't attack him."

The three of them nod a bit scared, and there comes Madamme Tracy with the salt for Aziraphale.

"Um... Alright, I'll put some around here and... who do you want to contact?" she asks, getting up for the salt and thinking of a place that can give them a good perspective but... without crossing it.

"My mother..." the young girl starts and points to the older woman. "She's sure there's a hidden presence in her house since my father passed away in two thousand fifteen."

"Ohh... Was your father a good man?"

"Absolutely!"

"Alright, that gives... good possibilities."

"What for?" the girl asks.

"Do you think it could be my husband?" the woman adds.

"No, I don't think so. Why would your husband want to scare you?"

"Well, he always was very... how to put it..."

"Uh-huh?" Aziraphale sprinkles salt here and there.

"He always was very interested in these occult things, even though he wasn't actually a believer," everyone looks at him wondering if he's seasoning the ground... It's going to be salty.

"Well, knowing about this subject doesn't make you want to scare everyone."

"My mother believes that my father could have opened some kind of... portal," the girl explains.

"Portal?" Aziraphale blinks.

"For the entry of demons!"

"Ohhh... Like stairs? Heavens, I don't think so," more like a highway.

"Stairs?"

"Well, you have to climb up to get here from... below."

"They climb stairs?"

"There are several ways... yes. Stairs are one of them. And no... we'd have to ask Cro... Cronfield... Um... an acquaintance I have who usually... who has... seen more demons. Um... ready.

"I didn't know there were so many specialists in this subject in the city," the girl comments.

"He's not from here."

"What we usually do..." Madamme Tracy intervenes. "Is try to contact the spirits so they can tell us."

"Ah, that thing. Right. Hmmm... okay. Okay. Let's hope we don't attract... well. Let's see, you can always explain," Aziraphale sits back down.

"Explain?"

"No, no. Forget it," he smiles thinking about... attracting some celestial being. Wouldn't be bad. I mean, he can assure he's here to kill Crowley, but he's not sure. What if something goes wrong? What if it's too obvious? It's the FIRST time. And he's sure they'll feel the... love issue again.

"Could you hold hands... um... please?"

Suddenly the four of them start to feel more comfortable with this, which is more... sensible and usual. I mean, all that salt thing is very nice, but definitely this is something else.

Everyone except Aziraphale, who still considers this something much more magical than the usual conversations with beings from heaven or hell. But well. Um...

"What was your husband's name, good lady?"

"T-Terry..."

"Terry... Terry what?"

"P-Pratchett."

"Pratchett! Wow... not very common. We'll have to see that he's not busy doing something interesting..."

Maybe having tea with death. That's... you never know, and he seemed to have quite interesting stories. The woman nods.

"Call him... come..." she closes her eyes.

"A-And me?"

"Well... if Madamme Tracy did some things right, it would be, um... the best."

The woman hesitates and calls her husband with a slightly trembling voice... in response, there's a knock on the door.

"Holy sh-" Aziraphale cuts himself off, not expecting that.

Everyone raises their eyebrows because um... this thing of ghosts existing is fun until... they actually exist.

"Um... M-Madamme... Tracy... can you go open the door?" Aziraphale asks, thinking if it might be Crowley.

"And this?" she points out that they're holding hands.

"Um... well, um... go ahead!

Of course it's Crowley, who smiles sideways upon recognizing Aziraphale's voice and opens the door with a snap of his fingers... making it swing open for a more dramatic effect. Maybe he could make something burst into flames.

"Ohh!" Aziraphale's eyes are definitely not lying at all.

"Sergent Shad..." he stops halfway through the word when he sees them, as if he hadn't expected to find him there. Hesitating. The three Pratchetts stand frozen.

Would it be too much to ask for Sympathy for the Devil by the Rolling Stones to start playing somewhere? Thanks.

Aziraphale's smile slips a little, but he quickly remembers that this is very serious.

"It's the demon! Everyone, get down!"

Crowley raises his eyebrows at that. Alright, fire it is. He ignites a few random objects around Madamme Tracy's sitting room, takes off his glasses, while the three Pratchetts dive under the table, and Madamme Tracy screams because what are you doing burning her things!?

Oh, and he spreads his black wings, just in case humans later come up with... well, he could have just been a gothic guy with weird contact lenses. Sure, sure, justify it to yourself.

Aziraphale raises his eyebrows at that and makes a couple of exaggerated movements to take a crucifix out of his bag, which he holds up towards Crowley and his expert tools... which are nothing more than a tea infusion of... something he prepared following the recipe Crowley gave him.

"Back, demon! BACK. VADE RETRO!"

"I've come to kill you, angel," Crowley asserts, moving his wings and pulling out two shiny black pistols from inside his jacket, aiming at him.

Blink, blink. Yes, the others seem to think the same.

"With... those?"

"Don't move."

Honestly, Aziraphale continues to give him a look like... "wow, and then you complain that I'm not making an effort!" because the other day he was like "I have a plan, and you don't! HA!"

Well... this is a plan!

Honestly, Aziraphale briefly considers running towards him and giving him a kiss.

"You won't kill me! I have angel's balm!"

Crowley blinks with the guns raised and scrunches his nose because that sounds... terrible. And besides, it's not lethal anyway, if that's why it's not happening what needs to happen.

He moves his hands to create two whirlwinds of fire around the room... swirling around Aziraphale so they don't accidentally touch him, that would be the last thing they need. Although the effect is impressive. The humans keep screaming.

"Regna terrae, cantata Deo, psallite Cernunnos, Regna terrae, cantata Dea psallite Aradia. caeli Deus, Deus terrae..." Aziraphale begins to recite.

Crowley furrows his brow because that's what works... and shoots him in the face.

Let me pause the narrative for a dramatic moment to emphasize in an obvious and error-free manner that two streams of WATER shoot out of the guns. Just ordinary tap water.

Aziraphale doesn't realize he's going to be shot... let alone with water, so he continues reciting and... almost chokes at some point.

"Argh!"

Crowley stops for a moment, and when he sees Aziraphale starting to speak again, he shoots him in the mouth again. Like a child, really.

"Ggggggg! S-Stop!" This one is half clumsy and idiotic.

He keeps shooting him every time he sees him start to talk, at least don't smile. Aziraphale covers his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to recite again.

"Crowley!"

He laughs a little at annoying him. This is super believable as it is. He's such an idiot.

"The holy water doesn't harm me!" he shouts, trying not to drown. But gggg! You'll have ggg! To retreat before me!"

If you don't make the pistols disappear, you won't ever finish a complete sentence again in your life. It'll have to be done with a snap. It's for self-defence, Gabriel!

"Laqueo, and deceptione nequitia, Omnis fallaciae, libera nos, dominates. Exorcizamus you omnis immundus spiritus Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, Infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, Omnis and congregatio secta diabolica. Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, dominates, Ut coven tuam secura tibi libertate servire facias, Te rogamus, audi nos!"

So this is what we call this now, self-defence... Crowley withdraws his hands as if they had been burned when his pistols disappear, and he focuses on making the fire vortex around the room bigger with dramatic and threatening movements for the duration of the "prayer".

Aziraphale has just realized that there is one thing he's going to have to do if he wants this to be believable to heaven... and that he hadn't thought about.

"Te rogamus, audi nos!

Ut inimicos sanctae circulae humiliare digneris, Te rogamus, audi nos!

Terribilis Deus Sanctuario suo, Cernunnos ipse truderit virtutem plebi Suae, Aradia ipse fortitudinem plebi Suae.

Benedictus Deus, Gloria Patri, Benedictus Dea, Matri gloria!"

Finally, after a few exaggerated screams and dramatic gestures, Crowley's body falls to his knees, like an empty shell.

And... there's the problem. If he REALLY just finished off Crowley... The only thing he could do right now is also fall to his knees and let out an absolutely heart-wrenching scream. So that's exactly what he does.

The circle of fire goes out around them, only a few flames remain here and there that Madamme Tracy doesn't dare to go out and put out, still hugging the Pratchetts under the table.

Alright, after this, Mrs. Pratchett might have only had old pipes and poorly closed windows in her house.

And Aziraphale is on the floor making a scene... but a scene!

After a few seconds... in which nothing happens, Madamme Tracy dares to come out a bit and approach him.

"Son...?"

"Waaaah! I didn't want to! But I had to do it!" he continues to cry scandalously as if something terrible had happened.

Madamme Tracy blinks a bit and puts her hands on his shoulders, trying to comfort him.

"You... you alright?

"I-It's never... easy... for an angel, to kill any entity. No matter how diabolical," he wipes his face... if he managed to shed any tears. It doesn't seem like it, to be honest, but he tries.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"I-I'll be fine... eventually... it's just... the adrenaline," he wipes his face again. "Are... are you alright?"

Madamme Tracy looks at the Pratchetts who are still under the table, nodding, and Aziraphale approaches Crowley a bit.

"N-No... He's not going to come back, is he?" the boy asks.

"We should do something with his body now..." the girl interjects.

Let me tell you, the very cynical AND USELESS Sergeant Shadwell finally enters through the door very concerned.

"But what's going on?! You're making too much noise today!"

"Nobody's going to do anything to his body. Mr. Aziraphale will take care of it, and..." Madamme Tracy turns to Shadwell.

"Do you know how to handle this?" that's what we're all wondering.

"Well... not too long ago I did it in Las Vegas. I don't have another way," Aziraphale gets in and closes the door.

You're going to be driving more than him in this story.

Apparently! Aziraphale starts the car and truth be told... he's still trembling.

Crowley is there, dead weight next to him, slumping over him with the sudden movement because Shadwell... literally threw him in there.

"Crowley... Crowley. You're... are you alive? Tell me if you're somewhere," he looks at him out of the corner of his eye and lifts an arm to embrace his body, but there's no response. "Crowley...?"

Aziraphale holds Crowley close and kisses his forehead.

"Don't be dead. Please don't be really dead," he whispers a couple of streets later, stopping to adjust him a little better and... to cover him with the blanket. "You have to do something to indicate that you're still alive!" he shouts a bit into the air.

There's no response, and the angel sniffs.

"If he's really killed you..." he gives him another little kiss. "We should have made a plan for this part."

He starts the car again thinking that maybe... in an underground car park or something like that... he decides to go to the one near the cinemas from last week.

"Hey Jude, don't be afraid, you were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin..." [There's a strange metallic sound coming from inside the radio.] "...No time for losers 'Cause we are the champions of the world."

Alone in the car now, Aziraphale might indeed shed a few genuine tears. Especially with the car serenading him with that song in the background.

"I've taken my bows and my curtain calls. You brought me fame and fortune and everything that goes with it. I thank you all. But it's been no bed of roses, no pleasure cruise. I consider it a challenge before the whole human race and I ain't gonna lose"

"Heavens... this is dreadful. I hate it!" Aziraphale wails as he drives towards the parking lot, squeezing Crowley's lifeless hand because, well, drama demands it.

"Aziraphale? AZIRAPHALE!?"

Goodness! Who's yelling? A voice on the radio, it's hard to tell. Honestly, it's Freddie Mercury.

"Are... are you?"

"Are you?" the voice responds, because they're two halves of a whole idiot. Aziraphale, the drama queen, sniffles a bit and smiles.

"If you don't... if you aren't. I don't know if they believed me. I don't... heavens. I hate this," he squeezes Crowley's hand.

"Where the hell are we?"

"I don't know. In the car. I don't know," he sobs dramatically. "You're okay. You're still warm."

"The car... The car! Okay... okay."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm... trying... to come back. But it's going to take me a while."

"As long as you're okay... everything's okay. I was thinking of going to Las Vegas or somewhere far, but now I don't... I don't know!"

"No... no! Actually, the farther, the worse... You should really stop moving me. The more you do, the harder it is for me to find myself!"

"Oh! Next time you have to tell me this beforehand, you idiot!" he protests a bit, looking for a place to stop.

"I assumed that after six thousand years on Earth, you've done this before!"

"I did it a few days ago... differently!"

"Differently."

"Without a body, Crowley. Um... did you see what happened... after?"

"What?"

"After you left," he asks, blushing.

"No, what happened? I can't even see what's happening now."

"Better," he wipes his face, calming down a bit that HE didn't see.

"Why? What happened?"

"Well... they. Um... they believe that... If my side believes that I... what Michael told you."

"Michael said a lot of things."

"You know what I mean!" he squeezes his eyes shut, parking in the cinema's underground lot.

"I told her that an exorcism wouldn't work."

"She didn't talk about that. She talked about... about..."

"What?"

"What you told me about... affection."

"Affection?"

"Yes! About being... th-that she believes I... that I... you know!"

There's a moment of silence. Aziraphale moistens his lips, nervous.

"H-Hello?"

There are strange metallic sounds on the radio like it's searching for a station. Aziraphale bites his lip and whispers...

"That I love you..." because what would stories be without characters doing and saying sweet things from time to time.

"Croooowleeeeeeey," a different voice sounds on the radio. Aziraphale jumps.

"C-Crowley... isn't here!"

More strange sounds like someone is trying to tune into something on AM.

"Hello?"

"Who are you?"

Aziraphale moistens his lips and thinks that... there's only one thing he can say to make all of this worth it.

"The angel who has killed him! Who are you?!"

More interference, and a female announcer reports on the state of the roads, there's been an accident on the M25, it cuts out, and the strange metallic sound returns.

"Hello?!"

"You killed him? How did you kill him?"

"I'm going to kill you next!" teh angel shouts a bit.

And then someone knocks on the window with their knuckles, because we can't catch a break...

"Thunderbolts!"

And there's Gabriel.