GOOD OMENS 3

FireFenix

Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14 – THE DESTROYING ANGEL

- Yup – Crowley growled with a last, defeated tug at the heavy doors – Miraculously sealed; and all the bloody windows too -

- Oh dear – Aziraphale sighed – It looks like we're stuck in here -

- Until the miracle blocker wears out – the demon added, then frowned – Michael took it with them, though. Since when do those things have lingering effect? -

- Oh, they have for a few years now – the angel said, matter-of-factly – It's a new model of them. Not sure of the details, it wasn't my department. They rarely get used on Earth -

- Right. And I don't suppose you happen to know how long…? - Crowley began asking, though the other replied before he could finish posing the question.

- Well, it's hard to tell. A couple of hours, at the most, if I had to guess – said Aziraphale, his tone concerned, turning his gaze onto the huddled-up humans sitting in the hall.

It had been some thirty minutes since the ground had stopped shaking, and the general panic and chaos had calmed down to the point it seemed like nothing had happened at all. Still covered in dust and debris, they idly chatted about the recent events; though, Aziraphale noted, all of them held their loved ones and closest friends tightly. It must have been the fear of losing them in the midst of the accident, he thought, that had ignited their resolve not to let them out of their sight again.

The angel's gaze shifted to the demon beside him almost automatically, the sight of his beautiful profile making his lips break into a tender smile. He had been momentarily afraid of losing him too, when that celestial spear had been pointed so resolutely at his chest. But now he could breathe, because they were – at least for the time being – safe.

Their fingers brushed like they had done so many times before and this time, without thinking much, Aziraphale took Crowley's hand and intertwined their fingers together. The demon snapped his head towards the angel, eyes flickering down to their conjoined hands and up to meet Aziraphale's cerulean gaze as a soft blush began creeping up his neck. Crowley swallowed at the other's sweet, bright smile.

- We're really… - he whispered, squeezing Aziraphale's hand – We're really doing this? -

- It would seem so – the angel squeezed back – Although, after all this time, it hardly does seem real -

-Well, if it is a dream, please don't pinch me. I really don't wanna wake up – Crowley breathed.

- I would never let you, my dear – Aziraphale replied in the same tone of voice without a second thought, and it was his turn to blush.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, smiling softly, their fingers never leaving the other's. Then, the demon growled a swear beneath his breath and, just for the sake of it, leaned forwards to plant a kiss on Aziraphale's plush upper lip, his hand travelling up to rest on the angel's neck. Aziraphale hummed in appreciation and returned the kiss, softly, before they released each other to breathe.

- Aww – Eleyn's voice said to their right, making both of them jump out of their skins – Adorable -

- Will you stop doing that?! - Crowley hissed, flustered, letting go of Aziraphale's hand so only their fingers brushed.

- No – she replied with a smirk, then turned to an equally flustered angel – Muriel and I finished the round. Nobody seems too badly hurt -

- Only a few cuts and bruises – the scrivener added – Nothing more serious than a couple of stitches, I think. Although, none of their mobile telephones seem to be working, so we can't call for help -

- Ah – Aziraphale sighed – We're not only physically sealed in, then. I suspect this will be a while -

- Eh, could've been worse – the demon sniffed, letting himself collapse against the wall in a mess of limbs – Eleyn is with us, so at least we're sure the world won't end while we're in here -

- Speaking of which – the angel raised his head, looking straight at him – Whatever became of the Gospel? -

- Ngk...eh... - Crowley stuttered, suddenly sweating beneath the collar, Aziraphale's eyebrow raising in question – W...well, I, um… is it hot in here? -

- Well? - The angel beckoned, his tone becoming the same tint of passive-aggressive as when he dealt with stubborn costumers in the shop – Spit it out. Where. Is. The book? -

- I, uh...dropped it – He winced at Aziraphale's sudden change of expression, answering his next question before it was even asked – In...In there – he pointed at the spill of rubble coming from what used to be the Gallery's restaurant.

- Oh, you're in trouble – Eleyn whispered, sparks practically coming out of Aziraphale's eyes.

- He's in luck that murder is a sin – Muriel whispered back, unable to bite down a small giggle.

- That was possibly one of the rarest and most valuable biblical manuscripts in existence! – the angel said, counting to ten under his breath – And you are telling me that you dropped it?!-

- In my defence, there was an earthquake – Crowley explained, nervously fidgeting with his sunglasses – When the ground began to shake it threw me off my feet; must've dropped it then. And between getting the humans out and getting you out, I...forgot -

- I'd already picked a spot for it in the bookshop! - Aziraphale whined – And now the original Gospel of John is squished under a giant chandelier?! -

- I'm sorry? - the demon held his hands up in surrender, a wide, silly smile sprawled on his face. The angel shook his head and pointedly clicked his tongue in response, making him gulp.

- Well, we've already got everything we needed from it anyway – Eleyn swooped in to save him, the daggers disappearing from Aziraphale's eyes as he turned towards her – A vague explanation of what's going on, and a name -

- Enoch – Crowley muttered, then scrunched his nose – Still can't put my finger on it. Why can't I put my finger on it? -

- Ah, yes, about that – Aziraphale raised a finger, beckoning all attention to him – Uriel might have shed some light on the subject; they said… -

- Uriel? - Muriel interjected, a confused frown sprawled on her face – As in Archangel Uriel, who tried to kill you and everyone in this building about forty-five minutes ago? That Uriel? -

-I knew it – Crowley grinned proudly at the angel – You talked them into joining our side, didn't you? -

-Well, not to brag...- Aziraphale said with a bright smile, practically glowing in satisfaction, a sight which sent a shock of fondness through the demon's body – But yes, I spoke to them and they...they soon realized the error of The Metatron's ways. They decided to help us -

- Really? - Eleyn asked with a sarcastic, unimpressed tone in her voice – Out of the goodness of their heart? -

-That, and the fact that they hate Michael – the angel replied without a second thought, making her shrug and nod in acknowledgment of his point.

-Do they know who Enoch is? - Muriel pressed the matter forward, anxious – Did they tell you? -

-I'm afraid not – her face dropped, so he quickly continued his explanation – They have the same kind of memory impediment as all the rest of us; but what they did tell me was that said impediment was fabricated. Somebody made every angel and demon forget who Enoch is at the exact time -

-Excuse me, since fucking when is that a thing?! - Crowley spat, scandalized, his eyebrows shooting upwards in raw disbelief.

-You know as much as I do on that front – Aziraphale sighed – But the fact is, that it is possible; and it happened -

-Which leaves us at an impasse, because the only beings who could know...well, they don't – Muriel reasoned.

-Dead end – Eleyn added in a whisper, just as the group fell in death-like silence – Deep, dark alleyway with no exit -

- Except perhaps it isn't – the angel countered, breaking the silence and making all three snap their attention towards him – Uriel seemed to think that there might still be one angel who might be able to maybe give us answers – none of them verbalized it, but their eyes begged to know who. Aziraphale took a breath in, and pronounced his answer carefully – Raphael-

-What?! - now it was the scrivener's turn to spat, her eyes wide like tea plates – You mean…?! Archangel Raphael?! The Archangel Raphael?! -

-I realize it is quite unlikely, but… - Aziraphale attempted, only to be cut off by a panicked Muriel.

-It's quite impossible, actually – she corrected, still shocked by the mere suggestion.

-Uh...ahem – Crowley interjected, looking confusedly back and forth between the two angels – Not to interrupt, but...what's wrong with Raphael? -

-You don't know?! - Aziraphale shot at him, with such intensity it made the demon slightly recoil back, whilst Muriel simply gaped at him.

- Err...not as such? - Crowley uttered, raising one very confused eyebrow.

-How could you not know?! It was all over both sides' newspapers for weeks! - the scrivener insisted.

-Might've been napping – the demon said with a shrug – But now I think about it, haven't heard of them in millennia -

-Obviously not – huffed Aziraphale, exasperated – Seeing as they were cast from Heaven circa 1000 BC -

-They were what?! - the demon shrieked – And you never told me?! -

- I thought you knew! - the angel shrieked back.

- But...no, that's not possible – Crowley spluttered out the chaotic sentences in his mind at a mile a minute – Because if...hold on, hold up...if Raphael became a demon, I would've known -

- But that's the thing – Muriel explained, holding up a finger – Raphael was cast out; but not into Hell. They were sentenced to an immortal, suffered, painful existence here on Earth -

The demon looked unblinkingly from Aziraphale to the scrivener and back a couple of times, his amber eyes wide and expanded, almost consuming all the white which lay below.

-Right... – he said, finally blinking once. He winced, as though trying to make sense of what he'd just been told, and gave up with a defeated sight moments after – Nope, I'm still lost -

-You and me both – Eleyn muttered from behind his shoulder, every bit as confused as the demon was.

-Archangel Raphael was a powerful being – Aziraphale began, speaking each word carefully to make sure he'd be heard over the murmur of the guests – Almost as much as Gabriel. While they were mostly associated with healing and compassion; Raphael had another ability, one which not many mortals knew about: his sight -

- Sight? - she repeated in a whisper, genuinely curious – As in seeing the future? Visions? -

- Not exactly – replied Muriel, taking over for Aziraphale and continuing the story – They could see beyond the physical plains of existence, and that allowed them to have infinite knowledge; although it rarely made sense to anyone but Raphael – the scrivener shifted her gaze to Crowley and Aziraphale – I mean, I'd never talked to them, but I had heard that they would often say...bizarre things; things which nobody could understand -

- The stars will weep for what you lose, but rejoice for what you gain – the demon muttered beneath his breath, raising his eyes when he felt three silent gazes lock onto him – They said that to me once, back when I was still an angel -

- What does it mean? - asked God's daughter, talking in a near whisper.

- Still don't know – Crowley sniffed – That's how cryptic Raph could be. What I don't understand is how going around doing riddles got them the Divine Boot -

- We weren't given many explanations either – Aziraphale recalled with a soft sigh – All I know was that they began having a series of visions, or premonitions, or whatever you wish to call them. Something about a matter close to the Almighty herself – he stopped to swallow – Raphael began to go insane; and it seems that, in their craze, they attempted to overthrow the archangels -

- That doesn't sound like them – the demon pointed out immediately – Not at all. Hell, okay, they were weird sometimes; but they were dead-loyal to God -

-I was never sure of the veracity of those claims either, my dear – said the angel – But the fact is that Raphael never defended his case, so nobody really knew what to believe -

-During the trial, Raphael was declared guilty of treason against Heaven – Muriel explained, and the others listened intently – But given their ability, their sight, the high commands didn't want Hell to have them. They would've been too much of an asset. So, instead, they stripped them of their sight, thus all their knowledge of past, present or future; and cast them to Earth, were they would live an eternal mortal life in pain and solitude -

-Lovely. Fucking charming – grunted Crowley – Another being cast from Heaven just because it was convenient. Arseholes -

-What happened to them sounds terrible – Eleyn weighed in, her tone still low – But what does it have to do with the whole Enoch business? -

- That's where I get lost too, I'm afraid – the scrivener replied, pointedly looking Aziraphale in the eyes.

- It has to do because Raphael's memory can't have been wiped like the rest of ours – the angel said, gaining three confused faces in reply – It can't have been because they've never had any memories whatsoever. What for? They could see everything anyway. Because there are no, shall we say, conventional memories in their subconscious, nothing got altered; and the knowledge of who Enoch is is still accessible to them -

-So if we found them, they could tell us – Crowley finally got there, a grin beginning to sprawl on his face when Aziraphale nodded in response.

- Except they're blind – Muriel argued – So even if we got to them, which would already be quite a feat, it would be useless -

-Perhaps not – Aziraphale insisted, his voice beginning to tremble – You see, Raphael was blinded before they were made mortal -

- Yeah – Eleyn nodded slowly, squinting, following-but-not-quite – I thought we'd already established that -

- Right – he coughed, nervous, and the other three became gradually more and more confused – So, um, very, very technically speaking… - he swallowed when Crowley raised that pointed eyebrow of his – Raphael could be considered...well, in all theory, they would be a… a man born blind -

- No – Crowley immediately snapped, a menacing finger pointed at the angel – Fuck no -

- It's risky, I know it is, but… - Aziraphale attempted, only to be cut off.

- It's not just risky, it's bloody suicide! – the demon hissed – There has to be another way -

- I'd love to hear another idea – the angel sassily snapped back – I really, really would. But I don't think there is one -

- There has to be – Crowley insisted, beginning to pace and mutter to himself in his anxiety – There always is. Come on, come on, think of something you old demon….! -

-You're saying that I could… - Eleyn began, having finally arrived, only for the demon to interrupt her.

- You could nothing! – he threateningly hissed – We're not saying a bloody thing, shut the fuck up! -

- But I could restore his sight, couldn't I? - she stubbornly continued, earning a series of groans from the demon – Healing of the man born blind. It's one of the signs -

- You sure as hell won't! - Crowley hissed again, his tone becoming more snake-like the more stressed he became – It's too risky for you; and The Metatron would be one step closer to succeeding. Absolutely fucking not! -

- Crowley… - Eleyn breathed his name, then clenched her jaw – It's not about me. Raphael's sight could be the key to stopping this madness -

- Yeah, or the key to unleashing the end of the fucking world! - the demon retorted, stopping dead in his pacing, his chest heaving up and down.

- My dear – Aziraphale stepped in, placing a gentle hand on his arm – I know you wish to protect her, but we are quickly running out of options. Raphael's knowledge could be necessary -

- The Metatron could use it against us. A miracle that big? He'd have our location like that – Crowley snapped his fingers – He could hurt any and all of us -

- That's a risk we'd be willing to take – the scrivener stepped forward, her tone final.

- Exactly. It's the world and humanity over us – Eleyn added.

- Shut up – the demon hissed at them, barely granting them a glance – You're kids, don't get a damn say in this -

- No, you shut up! - God's daughter snapped back, sick of the whining demon, her eyes shining with determination – I'm the one who does the miracles; it's my choice! And I choose to get the information we need to save these people! – she gestured towards the auction guests, still huddled up with their families held tightly close – This is the entire planet we're talking about; possibly the entire universe! Never mind me! -

- Heh – Crowley scoffed affectionately at the cruel irony of the situation, seeing in her the same sort of determination he'd seen on another's face a long, long time ago – Like brother, like sister -

Aziraphale had opened his mouth to argue the point further; but before words had the chance to come out, a chill travelled up his spine and all the way to his fingertips, which were quickly invaded by a soft tingle.

He lifted his head on the act, his heart in his throat, and scanned the room for anyone who could've gotten in. The angel only resumed breathing once he made sure there were no angels other than Muriel and himself inside the building, locking eyes with Crowley as he shifted his gaze back down to the group.

- Did you…? - Aziraphale began, but he didn't need to finish the question.

- Yeah, I felt it – he hissed, his anxiety only going from bad to worse – Angelic miracle. Fuck -

- Whoever cast it is outside the Gallery – said Muriel – They're still blocked in here -

- Shit, shit, shit – the demon panicked, running over to the closest window and looking out of it – There you are, you little heavenly bastard -

The cloaked figure Crowley had spotted stood inert in the middle of the parking lot, a good ten meters from the building's façade. Out of its back sprouted two majestic ash-grey wings which loomed over it; and tufts of yellow-golden hair came trickling out of its darkened hood.

- There's no doubt they're an angel - Aziraphale muttered when they'd all joined the demon at the window – But those wings… I don't think I've seen any like them before -

- I think I might have – the demon frowned, trying to recall – Long time ago. Remember the slaughter of Jerusalem? There was an angel there, an angel with grey feathers -

- The Destroying Angel – breathed Aziraphale, suddenly remembering – They were also responsible for the deaths of all those Assyrians around 600 BC...Oh, what was their name? - he whined, racking his brains for an answer he couldn't find.

- Mashheet – Muriel suddenly whispered, her eyes dead-locked on the figure at the other side of the window.

Before Crowley or Aziraphale could ask, a raw scream of pain shot through the building, making all four of them spin towards the humans in the act; only to find a true horror scene unfolding before them. The first scream was soon echoed by others, each more visceral than the last, all coming from the auction guests who, up to that point, had remained calm.

The woman closest to them had collapsed onto her knees and curled in on herself, clutching her middle in agony, tears streaming down her face. She rocked back and forth, gasping and sobbing like all the rest of them. Some had managed to keep their footing, but were doubled over by the pain; whilst others writhed and wriggled on the floor, holding their stomachs tightly. Amongst them, Crowley could make out a little boy wailing in his mother's arms. Archie's face was tinted in a pinkish-rosy hue; and tears fell from his eyes with no form of restraint. Clara, on the other side, had been drained of any and all colour her face might have had. She looked pale to the point of sickness; just like her husband and everybody else in that building.

A young man sprawled on the floor a few feet from them let out another guttural shriek, his face contorting in pain, and Eleyn lurched forwards towards him without a second thought. She knelt down beside him, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at her with suffering eyes.

- Help… - he gasped, clutching his middle – So...so hungry...my stomach...ARGHHH! - he retorted in place, and Eleyn recoiled back from the stench of his breath.

- He's starving – she said to the other three when she stood back up – It's like he hasn't eaten anything for the past four days; he's starving to death – God's daughter glanced at the rest of the guests, all in deprecate states – They all are -

- What the fu… - Crowley had properly began to hyperventilate, his sentences coming out in halves – The miracle, this must've been...shit...what do we do? Oh, fuck, what do we…? -

- MASHHEET! - Muriel suddenly bellowed, locking her eyes on their hooded figure from the other side of the window – ANGEL OF THE LORD! MASHHEET! - she reiterated.

- What the hell are you doing?! - Aziraphale admonished her, only to be glanced at and replied to in a quick murmur.

- Talking to them. We know each other – she breathed, then called out again – MASHHEET! - the figure finally turned their head towards the window, and their head seemed to jerk up in recognition upon the sight of the scrivener peering out of it – Mashheet, it's me! Sweet dreams, remember?! -

They rocked their head slightly to the side, and then spoke with a voice composed of a thousand whispers.

- Muriel -

- Yeah! - her voice became tender as she placed a palm on the cold glass – Yes, that's it! Let me come out! -

- I cannot -

- I just want to speak with you! – she gently insisted – Please, old friend. I only wish to speak, nothing more! -

They considered it for a few long, silent seconds; and finally drew an arm from under the dark cloak.

- Only you. Not the other three -

- Okay – she nodded, then closed her eyes as though preparing for something.

- Very well -

The snap of their fingers echoed through the Edinburgh night, another miraculous tingle invaded Crowley and Aziraphale's senses; and then Muriel was gone.

- What just happened?! - Eleyn shrieked, walking up to the spot where Muriel had stood moments earlier – Where did she go?! -

- Look out the window – Crowley replied without missing a beat, his eyes fixed on the other side of it.

God's daughter closed the distance between her and the glass; and felt her breath shorten when she peered out of it. Muriel stood there, face to face with the grey-winged creature; the same creature who was about to starve hundreds of people to death.

- She seemed to know what she was doing – said Aziraphale, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder – Trust her -

- If there was ever anyone capable of befriending The Destroying Angel, it's that cherub – the demon briefly reflected, before turning back around to the agonizing humans – Now, what the hell do we do about this? -

- They're hungry, right? - said Eleyn, drawing up a plan – Then let's get them food -

- There is a restaurant in this Gallery – Aziraphale reminded them, glancing at the collapsed rubble of the room next door – Or, rather, there was. But the point is that, there being a restaurant, there ought to be a kitchen, wouldn't you say? -

- We're not getting there through the dining room, though – Crowley hissed, looking in every direction, his breathing still nowhere near normal – Back door. C'mon, Angel – he turned, and took Aziraphale's hand without a second of hesitation before looking Eleyn in the eyes – You stay here; take care of them...and make sure Muriel comes back in one piece -

- Be quick – she replied with a nod, calling out to them as they began to move away – And be careful! -

- Always, princess – the demon called back, a smirk sprawling on his face as he and Aziraphale doubled the corner and disappeared into the Gallery hallways.

She stared after them for a long moment, then with a sigh turned back to the famished people who still shrieked and tossed on the hallway floor, hoping that Muriel really did know what she was doing.

She felt the cold breeze on her skin before she ever opened her eyes, but Muriel had already known what would happen. The snap of Mashheet's fingers still resonated in her ears when she finally blinked her eyes open, fixing her gaze on their figure; which stood roughly ten feet away.

- Mashheet – she breathed, a small smile tugging at her lips – It's been a long time -

- How long? - they asked, their voice resonating like a million whispers in the air.

- About a thousand years – Muriel chimed, her tone as soft as she could make it – give or take half a century -

- A thousand years – they reiterated, turning their gaze to the city lights which could still be seen through the treetops – Hm. They are quite fast -

- They are, aren't they? - she agreed, following his eyes – They've done so many things, you know. Some amazing, some terrible; but so, so many -

- I missed everything – they said in a nearly imperceptible murmur, then looked back at the scrivener before their voice could begin to shake – Either way, it hardly matters. It will all end soon -

- It doesn't have to, Mashheet – Muriel fought back – It really doesn't. You could help us stop it -

- There is no stopping it! – they replied, the sharp crack in their voice resonating through the ribs of Muriel's corporation – And I cannot disobey! You know this, old friend...-

- Is that why you're doing this? - she breathed, tears beginning to accumulate in her eyes – Why you're killing them? You're following orders? -

- The voice of God has spoken – they explained, forcing their tone to remain solemn – And I do what I am told -

- The voice of God does not speak honestly – she countered without missing a beat – Mashheet, he does not speak for the Almighty; only for himself -

- This is impossible – Mashheet claimed, though Muriel could tell there was a small ounce of doubt in their statement.

- I thought the same – she threw her arms up in exasperation – And yet here we are. I'm fighting to stop him, and you're murdering innocent people on his behalf -

- They are enemies of the Lord! - they snapped.

- They are guests of a party! - she snapped back, her voice cracking. She took a breath before addressing them again – There's a child in there, Mashheet. A child you are starving to death. How is a child anybody's enemy? -

- That is not for me to know – they said after a sharp swallow – I simply… -

- Follow orders, yes, I know! - Muriel finished the sentence for them, exasperated – You always have, haven't you? But you and I both know it's not what you want to do -

- Stop talking – they breathed, their tone threatening.

- Don't tell me now you've forgotten, Mashheet – she soldiered on, unbothered by the other's building rage – The last time you were put to sleep, when I was putting you to sleep, you told me -

- Muriel – they threatened again.

- You want to see it – she insisted – You told me you wanted to see it all; to be free to explore the word, not to mindlessly follow orders for the rest of your existence -

- I was tired, and weak– Mashheet desperately attempted to undo that admission – I did not know what I was saying. Those words were untrue -

- No, they weren't – she breathed, smiling sadly at them – But you still don't believe it's possible, do you old friend? -

- Because it is not – they snarled, unnerved – I cannot betray Heaven like you have; it is wrong! -

- Beg to differ, Mashheet – Muriel shot back – You know, I have been living on Earth for three years. Three long, beautiful, amazing years – she couldn't see well beneath their hood; but she could practically feel their eyes going wide.

- Three years? - they asked, incredulous, voice slightly trembling.

- Yes. After Aziraphale… - she stopped herself, shaking her head – It's a long story. But the fact is that I have lived amongst them for a time; and I have learnt so much from them. Per example, their notion of what is good and what is bad is so...complex -

-I do not understand why you are telling me this – the Angel of the Lord said, confused.

- For instance – she kept talking, completely ignoring his implied question – Stealing is wrong, but what if the perpetrator is a mother who only wants to feed her child? Is it still wrong? There are even certain circumstances, I learnt in a book about the law, in which a murder could be deemed as "self-defence" and go completely unpunished – Muriel took a breath – I mean, in comparison, our system is utterly basic -

- Our system is correct. Good is good, and bad is bad. No exceptions – Mashheet countered.

- And then, there's the matter of betrayal – the scrivener continued – It can be deemed both a punishable crime and an act of heroism. Isn't that extraordinary? -

- Betrayal is wrong – they firmly stated, reiterating their stand in the matter.

- In general terms, yes – she held up a finger – But what if the one who would become the betrayed is the one doing wrong in the first place? What if, by betraying the Metatron, you save the entire universe; including the world you desperately want to see? Is it wrong then? -

- I… - they hesitated for half a second, and Muriel seized the opportunity.

- There! - she pointed that finger at them – You're not sure. That's the same thing that happened to me; when I realized it's much more than just good or bad – Muriel took a breath – Much more than just following orders -

- You simply do not understand – Mashheet muttered, their voice fragile.

- Perhaps not, but I would love to! - she begged, stepping a few inches closer, making them step back – I'm your friend, Mashheet. Let me help you -

- I cannot be helped! - they began raising their voice, their own confusion making them furious – There is nothing I need to be helped with, Muriel! -

- Well, seeing how things are, perhaps I could help you grow a spine! - Muriel snapped.

- Enough! - they bellowed, throwing their hood off in their anger and revealing their face beneath it.

The scrivener was taken aback by the brusque change in Mashheet's appearance; they looked nothing like the previous time they'd met. Their face was white, paler than those of the humans currently starving to death, and the greyness of their eyes almost matched the tone of their wings. Their once shining, long golden locks had become filthy and of a murky brown.

Mashheet looked decidedly dreadful, and Muriel was sure their long, restless slumbers were the reason.

- Oh, Mashheet… - she breathed, attempting once again to step closer, only for them to once again go back a few inches.

- I exist to follow orders – they proclaimed, sadness hanging on their every word, their voice violently shaking – If I cease to do that, then what am I? -

- Free – she replied after a silent beat, her tone soft once again – Free to decide who you want to be and what you want to do -

- Free… - Mashheet pronounced the word slowly, savouring the idea of the possibility of a notion he had never even spared a thought to.

- Mashheet, I beg you, stop this – Muriel whispered, never letting go of their eyes – Please -

- Muriel… - they held the scrivener's gaze, then glanced at the Gallery behind her and back. Mashheet took a few breaths, elongating the silence between them as he considered the scrivener's words – I… I cannot -

- They're dying! - she pleaded – Mashheet, please! -

- I must follow orders – they insisted for the umpteenth time, their voice shattering – That is what I am. I was not created to be free -

- You are so much more, old friend – Muriel said, the sheer honesty in her voice sending a chill down their spine; even if it didn't stop them from raising a hand, ready to snap their fingers.

- You are to go back inside – they breathed, their arm beginning to shake – And I must now return to Heaven -

- No, no don't! They'll put you back to sleep! - the scrivener begged, and they froze – If we fail, you might never see the world again! -

- When my work is done, I sleep – they said, very slowly, their eyes growing moist – That is what I am -

- Please -

- I'm sorry – they breathed, a single tear rolling down their face as they finally pushed their fingers together.

Their snap echoed through the Edinburgh night, another miraculous tingle travelled through the scrivener's body, and then both of them were gone.

Finding the kitchen had proven to be a much more difficult task that either Crowley or Aziraphale had anticipated; but after a few long, frustrating laps of the hallways they finally managed to find a service door which had thankfully been left open.

On the other side of it was a pretty standard industrial kitchen, with a row of four identical islands; each dressed with a cold, metallic counter-top and equipped with stoves and ovens of the same brand. Above them, large extractors invaded the tin ceiling, accompanied by the bronze pans and pots which hung from metallic railings. The floor, in contrast, was made of a light wood; and the walls were composed of plain, white tiles.

Crowley and Aziraphale both let out a sigh when their eyes fell on the large fridges on the opposite side of the room, which stood right next to an iron door labelled "Pantry".

They glanced at each other, smiled when they realized they were thinking the exact same thing, and charged towards the end of the room, zooming past the islands, their steps echoing between the walls of the large, empty kitchen. With a firm pull, Crowley opened the first of three fridges, only for his stomach to fall like a stone when it turned out to be absolutely empty. Aziraphale opened the other two, with the same luck.

- Well, fuck – Crowley hissed – Now what? -

- There must be food in here somewhere – Aziraphale replied, his breathing becoming shallow and erratic – It's a restaurant, for Heaven's sake. Come now, let's look around -

- Right – the demon performed a three-sixty spin to scan the room – Right. Uh, if you were a misplaced fruit, where would you hide? -

- Perhaps in the pantry - the angel walked towards the labelled door and tugged the handle; but it didn't move an inch – Which, of course, is locked – he huffed, exasperated.

Crowley snapped his fingers out of pure muscle memory, only to be met with the irritatingly miracle-less sound.

- Shit -he growled – Okay, alright...I don't suppose you have hidden master locksmith abilities? -

- I have read on the subject – Aziraphale frowned, inspecting the lock – It didn't seem complicated, but I've never actually tried... -

- There you go then, unlock it – Crowley waved a hand vaguely towards the door, then spun on his heel and started towards the first island – I'll dismantle these, see if I find anything edible -

- Did you perhaps not hear me say the words "never actually tried" ? - the angel huffed again, displaying his adorable little pout, the one which made butterflies fly in the demon's stomach every single time.

- First time for everything, Angel – he smirked as he opened a drawer, throwing spoons and spatulas out of it.

- Well, I'd need a couple of pins, for starters – Aziraphale explained out loud, something Crowley was all-too accustomed to.

- Like the safety pins in your inner breast pocket? - He replied without missing a beat, his eyebrow arching in a teasingly manner as the angel's shot up in surprise.

- How did you…? - he'd begun asking, though he was cut off halfway through.

- 1809 – Crowley stated, as though that alone would answer the question – The regency era. We met at one of the parties, in the spring season I think...shit, nothing here either – he moved to the other side of the island, now facing Aziraphale but keeping his head down as he searched another drawer – We were both dressed up all fancy 'n all, and you told me you "never go anywhere without safety pins when wearing formal attires" – he punctuated the end of his sentence with a flying salad spoon.

- You...you remember that? - the angel frowned, his tone somewhere between incredulous and giddy. Crowley then looked up, locking eyes with Aziraphale.

- I remember everything you ever said to me– he admitted, his voice fragile, almost vulnerable.

Aziraphale gave him a look tender enough to melt the core of the earth, and the demon coughed to purposefully break the spell before it had a chance to settle, reminding himself there were hundreds of starving humans depending on them.

– Including the fact that you could open that thing – he nodded towards the door, then lowered his head to unstick his eyes from the angel's puppy-dog ceruleans – So get on with it, before they begin eating each other -

The angel finally reacted, extracting the pins from his inner pocket and bending them to the ideal shape as he spun towards the door and got down on one knee. Very carefully, he introduced the first of two pins into the lock, and began feeling around for a piece he could push down.

Meanwhile, Crowley finished emptying the drawers and cabinets in the first island, muttering a string of curses beneath his breath when he found absolutely nothing. A comfortable, focusing silence invaded the room as both angel and demon continued their ministrations; the only sound being the faint click-clicks of the metallic pins against the lock.

Said silence was broken only when the demon finished the first side of the second island with a swear and rounded it to get to the other side, giving it a long, thoughtful look.

- We should have an island – he suddenly said, surprising both Aziraphale and himself, probably out of the need to think about something slightly less stressful than the hundreds of lives which right now depended on them.

- What do you mean, dear? - the angel replied, talking slowly while he attempted to pick the lock.

- In our kitchen – Crowley continued talking without thinking, the clicking coming to an abrupt halt – We should put a huge island in the middle, where we can sit for breakfast -

- Our...our kitchen? - Aziraphale slightly raised his head, though he didn't turn around.

Crowley froze at the emphasis on that first word, realizing he'd just asked the angel to live with him and abandon the bookshop all at the same time.

- Er...I mean...ngk – he managed to blurt out, momentarily forgetting how to put words together – Y'know, I thought...Muriel has the bookshop, and now you're back, and we're...we're us, and… - he bit his tongue, then shook his head – Nah, never mind, forget I said anything...shit – he added that last swear just to himself.

Silence fell again, but this time Crowley could feel its awkwardness tying a knot around his throat. However, when Aziraphale spoke a second later, the demon realized he had been the only one feeling awkward.

- Marble – he simply stated.

- Marble? - the demon reiterated.

- The island – Aziraphale explained, resuming the lock-picking, the soft clicking invading the air once again – It will be light-gray marble, matching the kitchen counter...There you are – he muttered when he found the piece he'd been looking for, pushing down on it with the pin.

The angel didn't see it, and Crowley would never admit it, but his heart fluttered and his lips drew a smile bigger and brighter than they ever had. Feeling a new rush of energy, the demon continued looking through the rest of the kitchen, practically bouncing.

- Open concept, yeah? - he asked, the grin washing away from his face as he finished emptying a cabinet – Nothing -

- Evidently – the angel chimed, clicking his tongue when the second pin slipped out the keyhole – The kitchen, living room and dining room will be connected. And there will be a chimney -

- Fuck yeah. I hate being cold in winter – Crowley said, then added an afterthought – I'm also sticking my TV set in there, though -

- Very well – Aziraphale laughed, then let a beat go by in silence, carefully moving the pin through the mechanism – So long as you let me have a library upstairs, with all my favourite books -

- Two floors, then? We're going big here, Angel – the demon joked, finishing off the second island with still nothing edible in his hands, growing sweatier the more those humans seemed to be doomed.

- Of course there'll be two floors, dear – the angel sassily shot back – Where else would you put our bedroom? -

The demon's brain all but short-circuited at the notion of those two words being put together, but he made a quick recovery before Aziraphale could realize, although the bastard probably already knew exactly what he'd done to Crowley

- Bedroom, 'course – he coughed – A guest one, too. Y'know, in case the kids ever want to visit when this is over -

- Certainly – Aziraphale agreed – Tartan curtains? -

- Hell no – the demon hissed as he moved to the third and final island, making the other cackle.

- Oh, come now – the angel insisted, groaning as he tried and failed to turn the lock – How many times do I have to tell you tartan's stylish? -

- Angel, tartan's never been stylish – Crowley teased, and could practically see the angel's eye roll through the back of his head – Not once -

- Piffle – he fought back, the demon delighting in the use of one of those words only the angel knew the existence of - You leave me no choice, dear boy. It's either the curtains or the couch upholstery -

- Fine – Crowley fake-growled, painting a wide grin in both their faces – Tartan curtains. But I'm not allowing any text-based brick computers through the door….What the fuck do they cook in here, spoons?!- he growled after the umpteenth emptied drawer, growing impatient.

- Deal – Aziraphale compromised, his voice too becoming more strained as a thin sweat began covering his forehead. He tugged on the pin, to no avail – Oh, come on!...I hope you'll move your houseplants in? -

- Yeah! - he jerked his head up, excited by the mere thought - Oh, I already know where I'm putting the Ficus. And the Aspidistra is going on the kitchen island. Beautiful -

- While we're making demands...bugger, almost had it! - the angel swore when the second pin re-emerged unsuccessful from the lock – I demand my red chair and the gramophone; and that's final -

- Sure. We can squeeze a little study for you somewhere – Crowley suggested, then hissed a couple of swears when he finished the last drawer of last island – Shit. I've dismantled the entire room, and not a fucking crumb. That Mashheet must've miracled it all away -

- It seems it's up to me then – Aziraphale muttered, frowning in his concentration as he continued wrestling with the stubborn lock, a thousand starving faces materializing in his mind.

- No pressure – the demon commented, unable to help himself, and almost thought he'd have to run for his life after the glare the angel gave him – Er...wooden floors? - he attempted to distract Aziraphale from the wanting to kill him.

- Parquet – the angel said, turning back to the lock, his palms beginning to sweat as well – A light tone, maybe Maple, so the rooms seem more illuminated -

- And rugs – Crowley pointed out, startling a laugh out of the angel, who would never have guessed the demon was about to say that – Oi, I'm serious! Do you have any idea how snuggle-able wool rugs are when you're a snake? -

- I'll take your word for it, my dear. We'll have very many rugs, and... – Aziraphale muttered, frowning, suddenly ceasing to talk, deep in concentration. After another tug of the pin, he cheered triumphantly – Ahá! -

There was a loud clack, and then the door screeched open. Aziraphale raised on his feet, preening proudly, and Crowley cupped his soft face instantly, smiling ear to ear.

- Oh, you miracle worker, you beautiful Angel! - he said, leaving Aziraphale completely breathless just as a peck was pressed to his lower lip – I could kiss you endlessly, but y'know, people dying 'n all – he smirked.

- Pity – Aziraphale muttered under his breath, a second before Crowley released him and they both ran into the pantry.

The room was, to their dismay, completely empty. However, their stomachs hadn't yet reached their feet when they felt another miraculous tingle crawl through their corporations, making them look at each other in the act.

- Another one – breathed Aziraphale, glancing towards the kitchen on the other side of the door.

- Yup – the demon replied in the same tone of voice, briefly following the angel's gaze and then turning back towards the empty room, freezing suddenly – Oh -

- What is it? - the angel turned back around, and this time it was him who followed Crowley's gaze – Oh. Well, I'm pretty sure that wasn't there a second ago -

They both stared at the small linen basket which had appeared out of thin air, sat in the middle of the pantry floor. Hesitantly, they stepped towards it, already dreading what they would find within it. Angel and demon glanced at each other as they approached it, brows furrowed, and then finally looked inside it.

The groan they simultaneously let out was of pure, sheer exasperation.

- Oh, you have got to be kidding me -

- I'm fucking sick of everything -

Happy Monday everybody!

It's been a while since I last said it, but you cannot imagine how thankful I am that you took a little time out of your probably very busy day to read this little story of mine!

Formalities aside: only five chapters left! (If all goes as planned). Man, our quartet are sure having a night, aren't they? I hope they can get some nice rest after all of this :)

And enter Raphael. Will they or won't they? Keep reading to find out, I guess!

Lastly, Mashheet. I do love a good conflicted character.

Welp, that's all from me!

Have a nice week/weeks/month? Who knows when I'll update next :))