Chapter Text
The Antichrist had now been on Earth for about a week, and an angel and a demon had been feverishly plotting how to influence him away from Armageddon for about six days. The exact details of the time involved were a bit blurred as most of this had been done while mildly sloshed, because how else were you supposed to unflinchingly stare down the fact that the best case fail state of your plan is the end of the world?
Aziraphale had last sobered up a good deal more recently than Crowley, and was currently regretting it. They were having some issues with the plan and Crowley's state was not helping in the slightest. "Really, I wonder sometimes if Gabriel thinks I'm stupid or incompetent. Been doing this same job for six millennia, I've thwarted you just as often as you've got one over on me - we made sure of that! Cancelling each other out is the reason the Arrangement exists in the first place! And, oh, you'd think that would garner a level of respect for my professional experience, but no, he seems convinced I'm just playing elaborate dress up. You know how he popped up at that sushi place I like?"
Crowley did. Aziraphale had gone on quite the rant that evening, too, after they had agreed to the Plan. He made a garbled encouraging noise, but didn't bother to speak and interrupt the angel's flow.
"He had no idea what sushi even was! And he claims to enjoy human clothes, but he couldn't even open the vents on the back of his jacket, honestly, a little acknowledgement of the skill and intent the humans put into the things they craft- anyway," he said, calming himself down somewhat, "I've said all this before, dear boy. What I was trying to get to was, they don't precisely believe I'll be at all effectual, Upstairs, but they've agreed to allow me to try regardless. Probably they'll make me report to two Archangels at once, rather than just Gabriel, if they want to 'keep an eye on me' as it were."
Crowley nodded as sagely as he could at that point, which wasn't very because his neck was half-convinced he was in snake form right then. The Archangels had wanted to "keep an eye" on Aziraphale's reports before, most recently in the 1980s when he had worked himself to exhaustion keeping up with the situation in his neighbourhood performing unauthorised blessings and healings left and right. Probably they were worried they had another Watcher situation on their hands, the guardian getting too close to the flock.*
*They’d been very worried about the space race as well, too many echoes of the Babel situation back in the day, humans trying to get too close to the heavens for Heaven's liking. Happily, they left off after God didn't give any sign of caring about Gagarin, White and Walker, or Leonov's achievements. They didn’t even seem to have noticed the Voyager probes or any of the Mars missions, which in Crowley’s opinion was the more insulting - if less dangerous - option after all the effort the humans had gone to.
Fortunately, Aziraphale's shop was warded against any celestial observation, whether from Above or Below, and had been since its inception. If his bosses wanted to see what he was getting up to in here, they would have to come in person. Crowley had no idea how he'd sold that as a necessity, but quite possibly they were uninterested enough in the angel's little human diversions that it had never occurred to them to try.
“Have you any idea how to, ah, get into the household yet, my dear? I’m afraid I have very little idea on, on character specifics myself.” Oh no, it was time for the angel’s anxiety about thinking badly of his bosses to spill over into generalised anxiety. Latching on to anything else to worry about and get Crowley to make it better - though he probably wasn’t aware about that last bit. Poor bastard wasn’t drunk enough, clearly.
”Weeell, I have to look after the little imp, right? Keep him safe an’ teach him to be the worst little terror that ever walked the earth, an’ all that. They want me to go and get hired as a nanny for the little tyke. Not much choice in that one. Joke’s on them, though, I’m gunna make my persona a Mary Poppins from Hell so’s I can claim a movie trip as research. May as well have some fun with the role- oh. Oh, no, angel whatever you’re thinking stop it right now, got it? I’m not dealing with whatever you just thought up for a decade. No! Nein! Nyet!”
Aziraphale, the complete ass, just smiled brightly in that way he had that meant “I’ve taken what you’ve said under advisement, old chap, but my idea was in fact better than you think and I can absolutely make it work.” Generally he got like this when sleight-of-hand magic or amateur acting were mentioned. ”My dear, we both know that our dealings in this matter will be as minimal as possible to avoid suspicion! I’m sure I can avoid any real infringement on your delicate sensibilities-“
”Delicate- how dare- you take that back!” Crowley was flailing his arms like an uncoordinated windmill now, on the verge of forgetting the point of his argument in favour of simple outrage. The only thing holding him back was the near-certainty that this was what Aziraphale was trying to steer him towards. “I swear, angel, I will replace all your vinyls with jazz!”
”Well, there’s no need to be so rude, I’m sure,” sniffed Aziraphale, “You realise I’m going ahead with the idea just for that, yes?”
”You’d do it regardless and you know it, angel, at least I’m not just rolling over about it. Don’t suppose I get to know what you’re going to do in advance?”
“Don’t be ridiculous my dear, that would spoil all the fun. Top-up?” The angel tilted the bottle in the demon’s direction temptingly.
”Yeah, go on then. If we’re not going to plan anymore may as well get smashed. Cheers!”