Chapter Text
They made it all the way to the gates mostly unnoticed, only a few low level demons that hustled to get out of their way but unfortunately their luck ended there. Beelzebub stood, barring their path and looking pissed.
“Oh. Fuck,” said Aziraphale quietly, nearly under his breath.
Crowley had never heard Aziraphale swear before, and he might not have this time if he hadn’t been half supporting his angel, acting as a crutch for him to hobble along, the deep wound in his thigh not quite able to support his own weight for their escape.
Beelzebub hissed, the flies buzzing as loud as possible, “I’m not going to be overshadowed by you traitors! I’ll kill you myself.”
“But what if you didn’t?” said Crowley brightly.
Beelzebub blinked. “What? Why would I—”
“Now look here, King Aziraphale already has supporters in the rank-and-file, what with such an impressive display in the pits, and no one really liked Belial anyway. Such an arse-kissing layabout, you know? And Aziraphale, why, he’ll be as much of a layabout too, never a problem for you! But with less annoying brown-nosing. And posturing! Gaw! Remember what a peacock Belial was about technically being your superior but never actually lifting a finger to run the joint? Why, everyone knows you’re the real power in hell.”
The flies calmed, some even landing on nearby surfaces for a mouthparts cleaning, and Beelzebub stood tall and casual, their mouth pursed as they thought.
“Why should I let anyone at all be above me then?”
“Ah, well…” Crowley stalled.
“You make a cogent point, my dear demon,” said Aziraphale, pulling away from Crowley and walking over to stand with Beelzebub, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture prim and proper and polite. “You shouldn’t. I stand here, defeated by your magnanimous radiance, and concede my title of King of Hell.” Aziraphale bowed, tipping an imaginary hat to Beelzebub. “May we go, now?”
Beelzebub blinked, then barked a laugh. “A voluntary demotion?”
“We promise to say you beat us in combat, if anyone asks,” Crowley added. "Violently and impressively. King Beelzebub forever!"
Crowley was aggressively pruning a non-compliant holly bush, which had disappointed him with a weak showing of berries this year and clearly needed to learn a lesson, when the ground in the garden cracked, spitting sulfurous vapors. Five demons burrowed up from the ground, dislodging multiple pavers and an entire bed of roses as they arrived at the earth’s surface.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing? I told you to come up outside of the garden.” Crowley shook a trowel at them. “The Prince’s gonna have your heads for disturbing his sacred abode.”
The demons froze, shrinking until they cowered near the ground. With perfect timing, Aziraphale stormed out of the house, saw the state of his climbing roses, gasped and glared at them. With a wail, they threw themselves prostrate on the ground, babbling over top of one another for forgiveness and mercy.
Aziraphale crossed his arms. “You all shall be punished thoroughly for this! Ten filthy shameful blessings will be assigned for each of you.” With a snap, the garden righted itself, and if the blooms were a little more abundant this time, no one noticed. “Now what was so urgent you interrupted my tea time?”
“I’ll handle this, angel. Go back to your cocoa before it gets cold. I’m sure it’s nothing,” said Crowley.
With a harrumph, Aziraphale swiveled on his heel and went back inside. The demons watched him go warily, then turned to Crowley.
“Well?”
Much less terrified of Crowley, the story came out easily, the five of them taking turns and only interrupting one another to take credit and other such common hellish speaking conventions. Turns out there were plans of mutiny fomenting, or at the very least, a betting pool had gotten a little too serious and there were actual plans to try and turn Aziraphale against Beelzebub to try and unseat their current regime. Crowley thought it was all just a ploy to see a match between them in the arena.
“He shoulda been King, ya know?” said the tallest of the lot, a black haired beetle aspected demon with green compound eyes.
“I think that’s a bit above your pay grade, don’t you,” Crowley said, showing a menacing amount of teeth. The demon relented, mumbling but not arguing. “Beelzebub beat him fair and square and is his right superior. Besides, there’s too much paperwork as it is as a Prince. Sloth becomes him.”
In truth, the only paperwork they’d done was transferring Crowley under Aziraphale’s direct command. Crowley, as his only underling, occasionally intervened with demons who misbehaved on earth or caused them problems, threatening to sic Aziraphale on them. Otherwise they all went back to pretending the others didn’t exist, for the most part. It was a comfortable system that worked out with everyone. Even Heaven, who were keeping the whole thing secret and ignoring their existence so as to not give any other angels any dangerous ideas. Or inspirations.
Crowley assigned the low level demons their punishments by randomly naming places and good deeds to each of them before sending them off with the threat of violent discorporation should they misbehave again. The demons scattered and Crowley went inside, miracling himself clean of any gardening debris on his way in.
Aziraphale sat at the table but his knife full of jam hovered over a scone as he gazed unseeing into the middle distance. Crowley slunk up behind him, insinuating himself under his angel’s chin and wrapping him up in a big hug.
“Everything’s fine,” Crowley said.
Aziraphale set his snack down and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “It’s hard not to panic when I sense demons coming.”
“Completely understandable.” Crowley nuzzled in, breathing deep of the smell of Azirphale’s cologne. “But they’re more afraid of you than you of them, now. Remember that.”
“Hmmm,” he replied, and Crowley could feel the smile, warm and beaming, in his voice. “I suppose I did show them what I’m capable of.”
“Indeed, My Prince.”
“Oh hush,” said Aziraphale, and they both laughed.