Work Text:
The South Downs cottage was comfortable. There was always something to do in the garden to keep Crowley’s hands from itching demonically, even though most of it had been designed and reclaimed in the first ten or fifteen years they had lived there. And Aziraphale had never quite had enough time to read everything he wanted to, even without sleeping, plus he still took the odd trip to acquire more books. (The ethereal library was already bursting at its seams.) Aziraphale was also becoming a fair baker so he could enjoy the rich cakes, biscuits, and pastries he loved (and that Crowley would sometimes eat); and Crowley had actually learned to cook, just for his angel. Certainly, SOMEONE had to use up the vegetables that kept growing and ripening every single year, in and around and among the flowers, shrubs, and fruit trees.
To their joint surprise, it turned out that their young friends, the Them, visited several times a year, or at least twice yearly once they went off to university; and Book-Girl and Lizard-Boy likewise invited them to Tadfield regularly, and happily accepted random return invitations. To their greater surprise, they enjoyed the visits.
Today was unusual. Pepper, now a credentialed barrister, admitted to wear silk and argue before any court in the land, had taken a day off in the middle of the week and come to visit the two in the cottage, ALONE. They offered her tea and biscuits, and politely inquired as to her well-being, career, and happiness.
”Well….I have managed what I planned to do. People who might have been wrongly convicted have not been because of what I have done. That should be worth it alone, right?....right. And I have already made more money than I knew existed. But….something is missing.
“ When we were little, me and the rest of the Them, we used to have FUN. And we talked about things that mattered in between having fun, like nuclear reactors, and keeping the earth safe for everybody. And that one day….that summer day, you know the one I mean; when we were eleven, and those weird people showed up to cause trouble. I told her, ‘I believe in peace, bitch!’, and kicked her shin hard, and she dropped the sword, and……you were there, you remember.”
She was silent for some considerable period of time. Fortunately, the teapot knew better than to allow its contents to go cold, no matter how long they must wait for Pepper to gather her thoughts.
“There are always more people who need help. If I work until I am eighty, I will not have helped everyone. But that’s okay; I will have helped a lot of people. It’s just…..it seems like such a WASTE. I worked hard to get where I am and to be able to work with people, make their lives better. Well, not those cops who fitted my clients up; they can go to hell with my compliments. But my clients, and their families, and friends and all….I am not asking for more than I am entitled to. But isn’t there a way that we can make a bigger difference? And—tell me to shut up and mind my own if you like, but how can you STAND to live here, read books and dig in your beautiful garden and—and NOT make a difference any more? You’ve looked after humans for a lot more years than I can imagine, and if anyone deserves to retire, you two do, but how can you stand it?”
No one had been paying attention, but a very dark, small cloud had been gathering, just the one in a sunny sky, apparently right over the cottage. Suddenly, a crack of the worst thunder Pepper had ever heard tore loose, the sky opened with torrential rains, and a lightning bolt struck Crowley’s prized heirloom Pippin apple tree, leaving it a heap of smoking splinters.
All three of them piled outdoors, then stood, staring. “What the—“ Pepper said. Aziraphale looked worried. Crowley looked very angry indeed.
“Pepper. Did you mean what you said a moment ago? Wanting to make a bigger difference? You realize that is dangerous business.” (No question mark at the end of that last sentence, as Crowley has come to trust Pepper’s spine over the years, and as he has seen her rise in her profession.)
Pepper blinked at him. “’Course, Crowley. Tell me what I can do.” He grinned at her, then at Aziraphale: a remarkably feral grin, and somehow his teeth were both sharper and more numerous than they had been a moment ago.
“Grab your pack, Pepper. We’ll need a few supplies. Aziraphale, may we borrow that misprint Bible? You know the one I mean, with the anti-demon charms.”
“Certainly, my dear, if you require it. But I will come with you as well,” Aziraphale responded.
“No, nuh-uh, nope—not a chance, Angel. You’ve been into Hell and walked safely out once before. Not going to risk it again. Pepper, here, stomped on War’s tender toes and chased her off when she was only eleven; if they mess with her, she’ll make ‘em sorry.”
“Really, my dear? You speak as if you have forgotten that I was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. That flaming sword was not just for show, you know.” Aziraphale was looking rather tight-lipped by this time.
“I know it, Angel. If we don’t make it back—but we will!!—it’ll be up to you to do the mopping up.” Crowley took three large steps over toward Aziraphale and kissed him soundly, dipping him, the drama noodle! then ran lightly up the stairs to the special annex to retrieve the misprint Bible he needed.
As soon as Crowley ran back downstairs, hair now tied up for battle, Aziraphale handed Pepper a cold pack with some sandwiches and a couple of reusable bottles of water in it. “Just in case, dear girl,” he told her. “And be careful!”
“First leg in the Bentley, Pepper. Hop in!” Pepper began to argue with him about why can’t she drive? but gave up in an unusually short period of time, and off they went, trailing a small cloud of dust.
“Uh, Crowley? I know you have that special Bible you can handle ‘cause of the misprint, and it has anti-demonic charms, but what would you think about some holy water? Didn’t Aziraphale tell us one time you’d used the stuff when they came to drag you away?”
Crowley looked sharply over at her, staring long enough that even Pepper began to get uncomfortable about the length of time he’d taken his eyes off the road. “Yes, what about it?”
“Well—we could get us a couple of supersoakers and fill them with holy water, couldn’t we? They have both a spray and a shoot setting, if we needed to take out a bunch of demons or just one? Would you be willing to do that?”
“Willing? Pepper, you’re brilliant! Let’s stop at that store and I know where there are a couple of churches between us and the entrance to Down Below. You will have to do the filling part, and be careful to stopper everything well and wipe it off thoroughly, or you will be driving back alone to explain to Aziraphale how I got discorporated. Neither of us will like that.”
“Of course I will. You do know I am a full grownup these days, don’t you?”
“Still barely an egg,” said Crowley, and proved it by waggling the tip of his forked tongue at her as though she were still eleven years old, and getting the same near-hysterical giggles as applause.
Supersoakers filled with holy water and laid on the floor of the back seat safely, the black Bentley sped toward one office building lurking among many others. Uncharacteristically, Crowley found a legal parking space for his beloved car, and slung his supersoaker into a quiver over his shoulder. “Last chance to beg off, Pepper.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Crowley. Every demon needs backup, right?” She grinned at him, and slung her own giant water gun.
“Now. These are only for rank and file demons. If you spot one wearing a frog on his head, in a filthy mac, skin like a maggot and hair like a mouldy haystack, stinks like a heap of fresh chicken manure, squirt him twice. When we get as far in as Lord Beelzebub, though, put up the gun and be VERY respectful. Treat ‘em as if they were the judge at the most important trial of your life. Got it?”
Pepper nodded solemnly to acknowledge his instructions. Together, they stepped into the building and took the down escalator.
There was the usual crush Down Below, with people bumping into each other and even knocking whatever they were carrying out of their hands, without so much as an “excuse me” to be heard. Crowley lowered his head slightly so as not to catch anyone’s eye without intending to do so, and Pepper took her cue from him, following closely behind. They made it safely through two apparently-interminable corridors, but then their luck seemed to have run out.
“CROWLEY!!” the snarl ripped from behind them. Both Pepper and Crowley turned right around, to see a large demon wearing a chameleon on his head, a chameleon that matched his eyes, glowering at them. Behind him was the smaller demon Crowley had already described, smelling just as dreadful as advertised.
“Ligur. What a displeasure to see you again! And Duke Hastur. Still hanging together, gentledemons? I am surprised to see you, Ligur; thought we’d got rid of you for good. I suppose when the Antichrist restored the balance, he felt he needed you too, can’t imagine why.” As he spoke, Crowley was unlimbering the supersoaker, hoping his being rude to the pair would distract them from his actions. He glanced sideways at Pepper and quickly looked back at Ligur and Hastur, relieved to see her likewise dropping her weapon off her shoulder, ready for use.
The large, dark demon glared at Crowley and said, apparently to the small pale one, “I TELLED you he couldn’t be trusted! Even more’n any other demon! Here he is, back like a bad penny, lookin’ for trouble. Well, we’re the demons to give ‘im some!”
The skinny, pale demon sneered at Crowley as well, and said, “Oh, this’ll be some fun now! Got them irons in the fire ‘n’all, we’ll mark that clean skin up for ‘im! ‘Ey, 'oo’s that he’s got wiv ‘im?”
Crowley fired off his first blast of holy water from the supersoaker, straight at Ligur. A second later, Pepper’s first shot hit Hastur dead-on. Both demons screamed much more loudly than they had been speaking, then collapsed into puddles. Crowley leaped backwards, then grabbed Pepper’s shoulder and trotted quickly the other direction, hoping to make it to Beelzebub before any more trouble could start.
By the time they reached the throne room, there was a loudly murmuring mob behind them, but apparently no one was willing to be the first to be permanently discorporated, assuming no more Antichrists were in the wings to restore the world after all. Crowley and Pepper, who had been jog-trotting to make it there first, came out into the middle of the medium-large room, and then stopped, very suddenly, staring at the dais. Crowley pulled himself together and said, very respectfully, “Lord Beelzebub,” and offered a deep bow, “making a leg” as gracefully as any courtier before any earthly ruler.
“Crowley. Still a traitor,” they answered. Beelzebub was still rocking those fishnet socks, but the fly hat was nowhere in evidence at the moment. What was in evidence, and what was a huge surprise to the titian-haired demon and the pacifist-principled fighting woman, was a tall, violet-eyed man in a bespoke three-piece suit, held on his knees by the hand on his nape of a smallish, white-blond haired angel, who was addressing Beelzebub themself.
“Prince Beelzebub. As was agreed some twenty years ago, both Heaven and Hell were to leave us, your earthly agents, ALONE. I am displeased to inform you that one of your allies, and, I believe, your personal friend, has chosen to disturb our peace and your agreement. It now only remains to determine whether this was with your permission and connivance, or whether he has broken the word you both gave us on his own responsibility.” Aziraphale followed this remarkable speech by pressing Gabriel’s nape down further, until the spiffily-dressed angel’s forehead was touching the flagstones in front of the Fly Demon’s feet.
Beelzebub stared at both angels for a moment, apparently speechless, then pulled themself together and glared at Gabriel. “Is this TRUE?!?”
“Uh-uh-um, Prince Beelzebub, um, you didn’t really expect me to leave these insolent rule-breakers to flourish, did you? What kind of example—arrgh!” as Aziraphale’s hand tightened on his nape and pressed his forehead more firmly into the stone. “I thought you WANTED me to! Don’t you remember? You told me—“ and again, his speech was stopped, this time by the tiny foot of the Prince on the back of the angel’s head, grinding his face further into the stone.
“You are a fool, Gabriel,” the dispassionate voice of the Prince rang out. “An agreement was made. You were supposed to abide by it as much as We Here Below. Had you succeeded, that might have mitigated your offence. You did not. I will be thinking of ways to punish you properly while I inform your superiors of your transgression, and that you will be remaining with us here for a time. Angel Aziraphale, Traitor Crowley, will this satisfy you?”
Crowley bowed deeply again. “Provided we three have permission to depart untroubled, yes, Lord Beelzebub.”
“Have we your guarantee, Prince Beelzebub?” Aziraphale asked. “That we shall be free to depart, and that no further molestation will be offered us?”
Beelzebub gave him an angry look. “It is agreed. I shall take every ounce of this humiliation out of this one’s hide!” and they stepped harder on Gabriel’s skull. “You, Dagon, tell Michael she has the conn Upstairs until I am finished with this one!”
Aziraphale bowed courteously, Crowley bowed deeply, and Pepper followed their example carefully. Beelzebub waved their hand and the three found themselves back on the surface, not far from Crowley’s beloved Bentley.
Crowley puffed out his entire lungs’ ration of air and unslung his supersoaker. “Much less destruction than I thought. Though I wouldn’t be in Gabriel’s shoes for anything. Angel, WHAT are you doing here???? I thought you were the reserves, staying in the cottage?”
Aziraphale leaned over and pressed his lips to Crowley’s forehead. “Please, my dear, you know quite well who and what I am. You should be the least likely being to underestimate me that way. And in any case, we fight together, always. Never again to be parted for more than the length of a day or two at most, you promised me. And particularly if you planned to take one of our young friends there with you! It would have been irresponsible for me to allow the two of you to go alone.”
Crowley glared a bit at Aziraphale, but then turned to Pepper. “Thank you, Pep; couldn’t have done it without you. Angel, you should have seen her; she didn’t flinch at-TALL; fired as coolly as anyone I’ve ever known. Held her fire, too, until it was time.”
Pepper, quite unaccountably, found herself silent in the face of these happenings. She quietly unslung her own supersoaker and took Crowley’s from him, following the angel and demon back to the Bentley and taking her place in the rear seat. They drove back to the South Downs cottage at a high rate of speed, but nevertheless arrived unscathed. Once there, Pepper declined tea or wine; took the supersoakers with her to be given to a pair of young siblings of her acquaintance, and left for her own home, all without much to say either to angel or demon.
“Almost forgot, Angel. Here is your misprinted Bible; turned out we didn’t need it after all. Certainly not with a real angel right there in Hell, on our side.” Crowley trotted back up the stairs to the special annex and clattered back down, singing as he came. “…If love is what you need, A soldier I will be…”
“Crowley! What are you singing? Bebop again??”
“I don’t care if heaven won’t take me back, I’ll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe, Don’t you know you’re everything I have?”
“Not bebop, Angel—an anthem.”
(I'm an angel with a shotgun, shotgun, shotgun
An angel with a shotgun, shotgun, shotgun)
Get out your guns, battle’s begun
Are you a saint, or a sinner?
If love’s a fight, than I shall die
With my heart on a trigger
They say before you start a war
You better know what you're fighting for
Well baby, you are all that I adore
If love is what you need, a soldier I will be
I'm an angel with a shotgun
Fighting 'til the war's won
I don't care if heaven won't take me back
I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe
Don't you know you're everything I have?
And I wanna live, not just survive tonight
Sometimes to win, you've got to sin
Don't mean I'm not a believer… *
Aziraphale was listening closely now. “Sometimes….to win…you’ve got to sin; don’t mean I’m not a believer…..” a crease formed between his eyebrows. “Crowley—usually sinners ARE believers.”
“So literal, angel! Never mind. I am just glad we didn’t have to fight a whole war this time. Not yet.”
Those two, beloved of each other, settled down for a quiet evening together, angel reading aloud to demon and stroking the beautiful long hair, now untied, until sleep overtook him altogether, and remained untroubled.