#aziraphale being good with reptiles was all part of the ineffable plan

[tagerrkix]

Eden was their ✨disney princess era✨

[wanna-b-poet31]

A Mini Meta: What’s In A Name? (1.5/?)

So Like, I do a bunch of research for my metas and in pursuit of this one, I’ve had to learn wayyyy too much about each character’s name and meanings/origins. But because there’s no real place for me to put them in my planned metas, and I still have all this information to info-dump, here it is! A master list of all the character’s >probable< meanings. Consider this a Mini-Meta. 

Find Part 1 Here: (X)

Our Ineffable Duo

Aziraphale:

Note: Azrael, a possible interpretation of his name, means “one who God helps” and is often attributed to the Angel of Death.  

Anthony J. Crowley:

The elephant in the room with Crowley is “Crawley” and all I’m going to say about it is that Crowley’s right, it’s too “crawling on the ground-y sounding”.

Anthony, on the other hand, means “of inestimable worth”, which I feel is a good balance to his deadname. Crowley deserves this and every ego boost. Someone give him a hug.

The name “Crowley”’s meaning is at most Gaelic for heroic, although from a demonic standpoint, there is also no one-for-one model. There is an Aleister Crowley but he’s a real person who is known as the “evilest man to ever live” or some such moniker. But there is no connection between the demon and the person. I’d even argue that by giving himself a “J”  Crowley puts distance between himself and Aleister.

Note: Although Supernatural also sports a “Crowley” character, Good Omens predates the TV-Show and so no connection can honestly be made.

The Them

Adam Young:

Adam’s name has many significant implications beyond just sharing it with the first man and first person to leave Eden. However, I would be remiss if I didn’t tell ya’ll that in Akkadian, the word stems from the word “Adamu” which translates to “to make”. And I find this phenomenally relevant to his naming and unnaming powers.

Pippin “Pepper” Moonchild:

I have SOOOO much to say about the implications of nicknames, but for this mini-meta, I’ll just leave you with this: Pippin loosely means foreigner, and while that doesn’t really connect with her character much, neither does the name Pippin so I feel that works.

Pepper, however, simply means “berry”, but I think on a much more literal level the name “Pepper” refers to her firey and passionate sensibilities.

Brian I-Couldn’t-Find-A-Last-Name:

Brian loosely means “noble one” and given he’s ready to throw down against even his best friend if it meant saving the world and standing up to an all-powerful 11-year-old with immeasurable supernatural abilities with a crow-bar. I’d call that pretty noble.

Jeremy Wensleydale:

This name took an outrageous amount to time for me to research. I’m not touching Jeremy, because literally, no one calls him it, it has no power over him. Wensleydale, however, refers to a real place in England, apparently, they’re known for their cheeses. Here, “dale” refers to a town and “Wensley” is valley named after the god “Woden” AKA Odin, AKA Norse god of wisdom and culture and war. Which Idk how closely he’s related to Odin, I do think the wisdom and class resonate with Wensleydale’s character. Of all the Them, he’s the most bookish, and most overt with his love of books.

The Angels

Michael:

Literally means “Who is like God” in Hebrew, and is the only named Archangel in the Bible. I find it interesting that this name is meant to be a rhetorical question, meaning no one is like God. However, Heaven clearly has, let’s say, ignored this question and ruled as if they are God.

Gabriel:

God’s Messanger, whose name means “God is my strength”, which, I think he takes to an extreme. Yes, he clearly gets his power from his belief God has ordained a war he will win, but more than that, he also seems convinced that all of his >abusive< actions are blessed by God, despite the series making it very clear, she isn’t talking to anyone.

Uriel:

“God is My Light”.  Like Gabriel, I find this name infinitely amusing because yes, Uriel has a fiery personality like Pepper, short-tempered, and ready for a fight, little they do is actually from the mouth of God. Uriel is also closely associated with Noah’s Ark, reportedly being the angel who warns Noah and his family of the impending flood. Although we can’t know if they did or did not question killing the kids like Crowley and Aziraphale did, as it wasn’t on screen, based on their other actions, I’m gonna say no.

Sandalphon:

Note: It’s interesting that his name is wholly dependent on the existence of “brothers” and implies he serves as a mirroring character...of whom idk yet.

Metatron:

Although MANY theologians have argued over the meaning of this name, the most popular definition means “beside the throne”, and refers to the person next to God’s Throne. This works well as he is shown to be the mediator between God’s word and the Angels. This is less good because he clearly hasn’t talked to, or isn’t willing to let others talk to God.

The Demons

Ligur:

So, Ligur is not a canonical demon. Consequently, his name has no set meaning. He’s not a “real” demon with a 1-for-1 equivalent floating through Hell. My best guess is that it’s a reference to a Chuthulu Mythological Race “Lloigor” which is known for being invisible, but when they do show themselves, are distinctly reptilic. Which, I think vibes well with the chameleon on top of his head.  

Hastur:

Note: A strict etymological breakdown of the name is associated with “chaos” and is meant to denote one who revels in destruction for destruction’s sake. It’s also very fitting for Hastur, given his desire to cause fiery chaos.  Like Metatron, there are many interpretations you can find here: (x).

Beelzebub:

Note: Beelzebub is a real demon with a fascinating mythos you can read more about here (x). Seriously, ya’ll I have a million citations, please hmu if you want more info.

Note 2: Also! Also! Also, Beezlebub makes an appearance in Lovecraftian stories and Chuthulu mythos.

Dagon:

Note: Dagon makes a few appearances in Lovecraft’s work...there’s a short story called “Dagon”... and while they’re often not included in the Chuthulu mythos, the short story “Dagon” is the first to introduce Chuthulu-like elements...so? #canon in my eyes.  

The Humans

Anathema Device:

Anathema is pretty straight forward. The name refers to someone who is detested or shunned. But more Bible-related-y Anathema refers either to something that was consecrated or to someone denounced as evil or accursed and therefore set aside for sacrificial offering. Which, is pretty much the role of Anathema. Her family has chosen to sacrifice her and her freedom in exchange to stop the end of the world. While I wouldn’t call her evil or cursed, she is definitely detested (as a witch) by the Witchfinders and Adultery Pulsifer.  

Agnes Nutter:

Alternatively: Agnes Sampson was a Scottish healer and purported witch known as the "Wise Wife of Keith". Sampson was burned in the North Berwick witch trials.

Alternatively: Agnes Waterhouse was the first person executed for witchcraft in England (1566). However, she was hanged, not burned like Sampson and Nutter.

Newton Pulsifer:

Like the character himself, Newton’s name is pretty unremarkable. It means “New Town”. Not much depth to his name. However, a “Newt” does have some religious imagery attached to its name. It supposedly symbolizes rebirth and renewal, which flows with his character arc.

Madame Tracy:

Tracy refers to “Warrior” and can sometimes mean “superior to” and “more powerful”. All of these seem to fit with a woman willing to share her body with an Angel and stand at the end of the world without flinching. Also, she clearly overrode Aziraphale’s choice to shoot a child and refused to do something she couldn’t and wouldn’t do. she’s a badass.  

Shadwell:

Shadwell means a shallow spring, but it is also a place in West London. Given Shadwell’s naming strategies I’d actually not be too surprised if he just named himself after a street name he saw. He’s not too creative.

Warlock Dowling:

Warlock means “Deceiver” and like if that’s not his life story. Through no real fault of his own, he spends the first 11 years of his life as the prophecized Anti-Christ by Heaven, Hell, and our ineffable Duo. I suppose you could say he deceived them, but really, I think it’s hilariously on the nose as he’s the not-Anti-Christ.

Harriet Dowling:

Harriet is of French origin, and means “estate ruler” and as the diplomat’s wife, I think it’s fair to say she rules the huge estate we see in the series.  

Thaddeus Dowling:

Thaddeus is likely Greek meaning “heart” and surprisingly (maybe only to me) in the Gospel of Matthew, appears as one of the apostles, although later in the Gospel the name “Jude” is also mentioned, and likely is referencing the same person.  

Sister Mary Loquacious:

“Mary” often translates to beloved or rebellious, while Loquacious refers to “talkative” which, man. I kinda love it, because she’s one of the characters who not only talks alot (relative to her short time on-screen) but also is a sweetheart.

Diedre Young:

Diedre is a young Gaelic princess who died of a broken heart, although its etymology could also just mean “young girl”.  Little is relevant to the larger arching story.

Arthur Young:

“Arthur” is Celtic for King, and legends from the round table (and some references from Ep. 3) aside, little about his name seems relevant to the story.

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Winging It - Ecclesiastes 10:1

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael. Rating: T  

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: don’t you hate it when you’re trying to have a lunch date and archangels keep crashing it.

***

“Run this by me again. Some angel wrecks the Great Plan, you do your duty to ensure he is adequately punished, and somehow you’re the only one who gets screwed over it?”

“... In extremely crude terms, yes.”

“And your closest cooperators carried it out.”

Gabriel folded his arms, giving Beelzebub what he hoped was a sufficiently icy look to hide the fact the memory still make him feel… ill, he supposed, was that what feeling ill was like? It was awful. Being human was awful. He couldn’t wait for it to be over. “They did,” he said, his voice clipped and cold, hoping they’d let the matter drop.

Beelzebub raised both eyebrows, seemingly unimpressed with Gabriel’s attempt at expressing cold disdain. “Did they pull them out, or did they cut?”

“What?”

“Or both?” the Prince of Hell leaned forward, all inquisitiveness and morbid curiosity. Had Gabriel bothered to be around Earth much during the Inquisition, he would have recognized it as the look on a torturer’s face while surveying another torturer’s handiwork, trying to figure out who did it better. “Just curious. Did it leave a mark?”

“That’s-- in no way relevant!” Gabriel protested, and this time his voice did shake. He hated that, and he shut his mouth so abruptly his teeth clicked together.

“Show me.”

“No!” Gabriel snapped, rearing back, acutely aware of the fact Beelzebub could force the clothes off his back to look if they wished, and he would be powerless to stop it. Actually, while the fact he might end up in Heaven again if his vessel was destroyed kept them from killing him, there was plenty that the Lord of the Flies could do to him. Plenty of horrible things, all manners of torments they could unleash and oh God, why had he acted without thinking, why had he thrown himself at the mercy of a being who had none, and who would not tolerate defiance?

Not much of a change from Heaven, it seems. 

The thought was absurd as it was horrifying, and Gabriel could scarcely believe it had come from his own mind. Before him, Beelzebub’s eyes darkened, their features twisted… and then nothing happened. They stared a moment, clearly angered, then they let out a long breath and their features smoothed again in a blankness that was… almost as terrifying. 

“You may want to learn better,” they droned. “No answer but yes zzzir will be accepted once you take your place in Hell.”

A wise man would have known that was the right moment to keep quiet; just nod, and let the matter drop. But Gabriel - formerly an archangel, a man for less than twenty-four hours - was in no way, shape or form wise. “I am never joining you in Hell,” he protested. 

“That remains to be seen,” Beelzebub said, sounding almost bored, and paused to rub their chin, looking intently at him. “Either way, what happened to you confirms my theory,” they finally declared, causing Gabriel to look back at them, blinking. Had they… truly worked out something about the Ineffable Plan? About the reason why he’d been cast out?

“What theory?” he asked, leaning forward. Beelzebub met his gaze, deadpan.

“God is an absolute lunatic.”

“Wha-- God is not-- don’t say that!” Gabriel protested, rearing back as though smacked, and looked around like he feared God themselves would show up in that room to smite them both. Of course, no such thing happened. God had never truly showed Their face to anyone in eons; Gabriel and the others only ever speak to God through Metatron… and last Metatron had spoken to them, it was to spell out his sentence for trying to destroy an angel without God’s permission.

A crime born of pride.

Beelzebub snorted. “What, are you outraged on behalf of the one who cast you out? Or are you scared?”

“Both!” Gabriel snapped. “Don’t you ever-- call God a-- and look who’s talking!”

A shrug. “Unlike a certain someone up above, I make no mystery of being a lunatic.”

“Ah,” Gabriel paused, thinking it over. Of all things the Prince of Hell could be accused of, he supposed false advertising could be crossed out. “... Fair,” he conceded. 

At the door, the barrier of Hellfire still crackled, but Gabriel could no longer hear Sandalphon calling out. Worry gnawed at the back of his mind - what if he’d been hurt? What if he’d been destroyed? - but Beelzebub had said that Hellfire wouldn’t harm him unless he was stupid enough to stick his hand in it to open the door. Sandaphon was probably not that stupid, Gabriel thought rather patronizingly, which was sort of rich coming for someone who had temporarily forgotten about his own mortality to run in front of a speeding car only hours earlier. 

Either way, he had little choice but to take Beelzebub’s word. And little time, too, because sooner or later some human would notice the flames engulfing the door and try to do something about it. Amusing as it might be to imagine a human trying to extinguish Hellfire with one of those funny red cylinders they liked to use, Gabriel suspected it would cause a stir.

"So, you admit I'm right. I see you're starting to learn."

"Wha-- no! God is absolutely not a lunatic! You are, if you think-- I won't ever join your side. I may not know what the Ineffable Plan has in store for me--”

“Oh, still clinging to the belief you have a somewhat relevant role in it? Or any role at all?” Beeluzebub sneered. Gabriel clenched his fists so tightly his nails sank in his palms. 

“Everyone is part of the Plan,” he spat, regretting evenr telling them as much as he had. Why had he actually done that, answered their demand to know what had happened? The Prince of Hell had no right to give him orders, even when they sounded more like requests. He was about to add something scathing, or at least he would have once he did come up with something scathing to say, but he had no time to try.

Suddenly, something rumbled. Beelzebub blinked. Gabriel groaned and doubled over, empty stomach clenching painfully.

“What was that?”

“N- nothing,” Gabriel gritted out, just as his stomach decided to give its best imitation of a jet engine. This time, the Prince of Hell clearly worked out where the noise had come from.

“What is your body doing?”

Gabriel opened his mouth to deny his current vessel was doing anything against his will, but he realized quickly enough it would be useless; his stomach thundered like… well, not like Metatron’s voice, but close enough. “Hunger,” he gritted out. “Aziraphale said it’s hunger.”

“Then you need to nourish your vessel,” Beelzebub said, matter-of-factly. “Or you’ll die.”

“I know. Aziraphale tried, but I can’t make myself--” Gabriel trailed off when Beelzebub waved a hand, extinguishing the Hellfire at the door. 

“Come with me,” they ordered. “I might just know what could do the trick.”

***

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I don’t think the food is too bad.”

“It’s not the food, it’s nice - not that you would know since you keep swallowing everything without chewing. It’s Gabriel.”

“Ah,” Crowley muttered, taking a sip from his drink and leaning back against the chair, one leg stretched under the table and the other crossed over it. “I also have a bad feeling about him.”

“You do?”

“I have a lot of feelings about him and all of them are bad.”

Oh, of course. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. Crowley rolled his eyes. Not that Aziraphale could see that behind the dark glasses, but he knew his demon well enough to guess that rolling was precisely what his eyeballs were doing.

“He’ll be fine. He only needs to stop being stubborn and eat something. And if he doesn’t, then he dies and it’s  the circle of life. By the way, like the new direction cinema is taking? Soulless remakes of beloved classics. I think it’s one of my finest ideas yet.”

“I don’t believe it was your work for one single moment.”

Crowley made a face. “Fine, so the humans and their fancy corporations got there first. And I am fairly sure corporations are something Heaven came up with. But it was among my plans.”

“Didn’t you cry watching the original?”

“What-- I did not!”

“Warlock says you did.”

“Warlock lies. He lies a lot. I taught him well,” Crowley shot back, tilting up his chin as though to challenge Crowley to say otherwise. Aziraphale chose not to remark having seen some smeared mascara on that particular day - angels’ memory is, of course, nothing short of miraculous - and just nodded, letting the matter drop.

“Regardless,” Aziraphale said with a sigh, setting down the chopsticks on his now empty and thoroughly cleaned plate, “I am concerned. This is unprecedented.”

“And also entirely not our problem,” Crowley pointed out. His leg bounced slightly. “It’s his problem. We got him someplace to stay and basic instructions. You know, I think this is the right moment to discuss that idea we were floating around.”

“Crowley, if this is about your plan to set free every snake in the London Zoo Reptile House, it is entirely yours and I will not--” Aziraphale began, only to trail off when Crowley waved a hand. 

“No, not that one, angel. I can do that on my own, thank you.”

“You better not, there are children visiting and last we went speak with them, the reptiles were plenty happy--”

“I’m talking about the plan to get away from London for a bit. Possibly without giving our new address to the forces of Heaven or Hell or whatnot. Somewhere in the South Downs, maybe?”

Our address. 

Crowley spoke those words like it was the most natural thing in the world, like there weren’t just about a million implications to an angel and a demon - however native they might have gone after millennia on Earth - to share the same address. And by extension, the same home. You don’t share an address without also sharing home, too. Unless of course your aim is tax evasion or something equally dishonest Aziraphale would never be caught doing. 

Not that he would be caught even if he did it, of course, but that was no reason to be dishonest. 

You go too fast for me, Crowley, he’d said a few decades earlier. This time, however, he said nothing. It was still fast enough to make him dizzy, but he found he was not scared. He found part of him - probably all of him except for a tiny voice in the back of his head and maybe his left knee - looked forward to it.

The South Downs sounded lovely. Maybe they could find a nice cottage. 

“We could give the address to someone here on Earth,” Crowley was going on. “The Them, maybe. I like the Them. And they like me, I hope - you really want a bunch of kids who got rid of the Horsemen of Apocalypse not to dislike you, am I right.”

Aziraphale smiled. He still remembered the way something in his stomach dropped when he’d seen what had been his flaming sword in the hands of War; the crushing doubt - had he done the right thing, surrendering it to humanity? - had returned… only to be vanquished when a little girl had grasped its hilt and turned it against War herself.

I believe in peace, bitch.

Well, stabbing someone with a sword might not be most people’s idea of upholding peace, but as the Romans said - if you want peace, prepare for war. It had proven him, to his utter relief, that he had done the right thing… and so had Crowley, when he had given humanity the gift of knowledge, the ability to tell the difference between good and evil. Because if you don’t know how to choose, you never really have a choice, do you? That was what he’d struggled so much with. What Gabriel was going to struggle with the most, probably, and it concerned him--

“... Bigger on the inside, you know?”

“What?” Aziraphale blinked, just then realizing he hadn’t been listening for the past minute. 

“The place in the South Downs, I mean. We could make it bigger on the inside. For your books.”

“Oh. Oh, right. I would take them with me. That might be bothersome--”

“You only need a suitcase.”

“It’s a lot of books.”

“Bigger on the inside. Is it me, or you forget you can do miracles most of the time?”

Aziraphale shifted. “Well, not frivolous ones. Last time, I got a rather strong-worded note by Gabriel and-- ah.” He blinked, and nodded to concede the point. Gabriel would not send him any more strong-worded notes. Gabriel had been fired and thrown out without a letter of warning, without even getting to put his possessions in a cardboard box. “... Well, someone will take over his duties.”

“And you really think they’ll bother telling the angel even Hellfire cannot hurt that his miracles are frivolous? After what happened to good old Gabe for trying to mess with you?” Crowley grinned, leaning back to balance the chair he was on its back legs, but Aziraphale didn’t smile. It made him uncomfortable, to think about it -  even if he’d tried to destroy him, he had never wished for Gabriel to be punished on his behalf.

… Or maybe he had, just a little. But not so harshly, never. 

“Well, you know, maybe Michael will--”

“Ugh, that wanker. If she does, you can tell her--”

“Good afternoon to you as well.”

“Gah!”

As Crowley tumbled back on the ground - oh, he really should have told him not to do that with his chair, it was an accident waiting to happen - Aziraphale looked up to see Michael standing by their table, hands folded tightly, a polite and entirely impersonal smile on her face.

“Aziraphale,” she said, voice neutral. “Mind if I join you?”

With the mind’s eye, Aziraphale saw her again - carrying the holy water Crowley was meant to die screaming in, looking ever so self-assured. Suddenly, Crowley’s grudge towards Gabriel didn’t seem so petty anymore.  

“... Very much, really,” he informed her. “But I suspect that’s not going to stop you.”

“No,” Michael agreed, taking a seat. “Not at all. Now, I suspect you have as little wish to endure my presence as I wish to endure yours, so I’ll make this quick,” she added as Crowley pulled himself and the chair back up, rubbing his head with a groan. “I have reliable information that you have met Gabriel.”

Not too long ago, that statement would have been met with some stammering and an attempt at sounding as innocent as possible. Now, to Crowley’s immense pride, Aziraphale didn’t even bother with that. “Oh?” he said politely, tilting his head on one side. “Have you not come to sample this restaurant?” He smiled innocently at her unimpressed look. “It is quite rude, you know, turning up at a restaurant and sitting at a table without ordering a thing. May I recommend a dish or two?”

“You may not,” Michael said coldly. She folded her hands on the table, looking all the world like a CEO at a meeting. Except that she wasn’t the CEO - that would be God, and last someone else had tried to replace Them things had turned kind of messy. Michael was more of a branch manager, Crowley assumed. “I have to know what transpired when he came to you.”

Well, that put Crowley before a choice: telling her to have her show up at Gabriel’s doorstep and give him a heart attack, or not saying a thing only to annoy her. Considering that he’d had plenty of chances to have some fun at Gabriel’s expenses, he went for the latter option.

“Well, good luck finding out.”

Michael’s gaze darkened. “Tell me what happened after his arrival on Earth.”

“Or else what? You’re going to miracle me another rubber duck?”

“Towel!” Aziraphale exclaimed, delivering a swift and actually rather painful kick to Crowley’s shin. “I believe you told me it was a towel you had her miracle for you.”

Oh, Crowley thought. Oh, right. “Ah, yes. Absolutely. That was the towel. I mean, I would have liked a rubber duck, but a towel was also fine,” he muttered, glancing at Michael through the dark glasses. She looked annoyed, but not confused or suspicious, thank Satan. 

… Well, no, Satan definitely had nothing at all to do with it. Maybe he should give in and thank God, if anything because they’d made Michael and… about everyone else just dense enough not to see through their rouse. But maybe it would be best not to try their luck by bringing it up again and risk saying something that would make it obvious even to the dumbest of archangels.

“... Anyway. Duck or towel, you should know better than to try threatening us. The guys downstairs sure learned the lesson. Didn't you?”

Michael gave him a look that told him, in no uncertain terms, that she would be very happy to personally dunk him in holy water if she believed it would destroy him; Crowley had to give her a point for being much, much better than Gabriel at giving the evil eye. Then again, she was known for personally throwing Lucifer out of Heaven, while Gabriel was mostly known for telling a teen virgin that she was pregnant and nearly giving her a heart attack.

Two wankers, but the one sitting across him could actually be very dangerous and maaaaybe he shouldn’t push her too far, or she might just try her luck with him.

“I have not come to threaten you,” Michael gritted out. “I have come to talk.”

“Oh, I see. Taking over Gabe’s duties as a messenger already? You were quick to replace him. Very efficient,” Crowley blurted out, his ‘do not piss off this one’ strategy already flying out of the window. He watched with keen interest the expression on Michael’s expression turning to fury and then something else - was that guilt crowley had glimpsed? - before her features smoothed in a neutral look. “That is none of your concern. I demand--”

Crowley made a buzzing noise, the kind you get for a wrong answer on a television quiz. Michael gave him an annoyed look, then spoke again. “... I am here to ask what has happened since you met Gabriel.”

Aziraphale nodded politely, but made a point to have more of his drink and wiping his lips before replying. “He arrived at my doorstep. I took him in, and healed him. He panicked and ran in front of a car. I healed him again. We gave him some, er, instructions about life on Earth, and took him to a hotel. To give him some space.”

“To get him out of our hair,” Crowley added.

“That too,” Aziraphale conceded.

Michael ignored that last statement. “I see. When Sandalphon found him in the hotel where you left him--”

“Oh, so he found him. And what was he there to do? Tear off another couple of limbs?”

That clearly hit a nerve, because Michael slammed a hand on the table hard enough to make a couple at the far end of the room wince and turn. She was livid, anger barely in check. “Harming him was never our choice,” she hissed, almost better than Crowley would have. “We were concerned as to how he was faring.”

“How lovely,” Crowley said drily. “Why turn to us if you already know where he is?”

“Because he’s no longer there. Sandalphon called back to tell us Gabriel had... turned to Beelzebub.”

Crowley blinked. He looked at Aziraphale. Aziraphale looked at Crowley. Crowley raised both eyebrows. Aziraphale opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again like a fish out of water. Or like a guy who has just been told that the Archangel Gabriel ran off with Beelzebub.

“... I am sorry,” Aziraphale said slowly, brain clearly struggling to get any meaning out of the words he had just heard. “Gabe has just done what with who now?”

A rueful smile. “So much for getting answers. I assume this means it comes as a surprise to you as well.”

“One hell of a surprise, pun intended,” Crowley muttered, and scratched the back of his head. “Wait - what would good old Bub want with him?”

“Claim him on behalf of Hell,” Michael said bitterly. “As far as they are concerned, it makes no matter that he didn’t truly Fall. He was cast out, and they consider him their property now.”

“But they can’t, can they?” Aziraphale spoke up, frowning, “They cannot claim a mortal soul until, well… death.”

“But then they only have to kill him.”

“Unless he surrenders it willingly.”

“I can’t see that happening.”

“... Right. Me neither.”

“What would even happen to his soul if he dies in this mortal form?” Michael asked. Aziraphale shrugged. 

“The usual, we suppose. Either Heaven or Hell, and not a clue of which it is until it actually happens. We don’t know, Gabriel doesn’t know - and neither does Beelzebub, I’ll bet. Which, if they do want him in their ranks, is probably the reason why he’s still alive.”

Michael frowned. “I see,” she muttered. Probably not an answer she liked, but still better than the worst case scenario, Crowley supposed. Not that he’d seen much difference between Heaven and Hell when he’d last been upstairs posing as Aziraphale; over the eons since the War things sure had changed there, and for the worst. All that whiteness and huge spaces would drive anyone crazy. Maybe he would also be spoiling for war, if he was stuck up there. Crowley had no idea how or why would anyone actually wish to go back there, but Gabriel desperately wanted to.

“Maybe Bub is planning to tempt him into something that will doom him to downstairs,” Crowley suggested. “Now that’s something I’d like to see. They haven’t done any work on the field since… huh. Come to think of it, I am not entirely sure they have ever done any work on the field. Being royalty and all.”

“Still, Beelzebub must have gained some kind of control over Gabriel,” Michael muttered. “When Sandalphon got there… he wasn’t very coherent in his call, but he said that Gabriel had turned his back to him to hide behind Beelzebub. That makes no sense, it’s not like him at all. Why would he-- what is it?” she asked, blinking at Crowley, who had raised an arm like a school kid about to ask a question. 

“Question,” he said. “Was Sandalphon there when you yanked out Gabe's wings?”

The way she stiffened was enough of an answer on its own, but she did reply. “He was.”

“And he just… waltzed in on him? Expecting to be welcomed with open arms?”

Michael stared. Frowned. Stared some more. With some imagination - and a flaming Bentley hurtling through a ring of fire on the M25 was testament to the fact he  did not lack it - Crowley could see the gears turning in her head. Finally, her frown deepening, she opened her mouth and spoke.

“... Do you think he took offense?”

“If he did-- take offense--” Crowley stammered, then snorted. “For what, getting a pair of wings yanked out of their sockets?” He gestured wildly, almost hitting a waiter who was only trying to pass by while balancing several dishes, a pile of glasses, and his own fragile mental health. “While he screamed and begged for you to stop? Naaaah. Who’d be that petty?”

Michael seemed unsure as to what to reply; not too surprising, really. Angels were the kind who showed themselves to humans in blinding looking like wheels within wheels, with a thousand eyes and multiple animal heads, yelling at them with voice like thunder to ‘FEAR NOT’. It had taken them an embarrassingly long time to realize there were better ways to go about it, after a few heart attacks the Bible did not mention. In the end, Michael turned to Aziraphale. 

He shrugged. “That is sarcasm,” he informed her. “He did take offense.”

“And he’s probably terrified of the lot of you,” Crowley muttered. “I mean, hiding behind Beelzebub? You’ve got to be desperate. Aaaand pretty foolish, really. They’re not known as someone to give help to those who need it.” 

Not anymore, anyway. It had been a very, very long time since the Fall. What they had been before then was a distant memory, for all of them. Unaware of this thoughts, Michael seemed to take offense herself. 

“He has no reason to fear us. God did not order us to… to harm him further.”

“Is that supposed to reassure him?”

Another confused look. “It ought to.”

Ah, archangels. So out of touch. So amazingly clever and so incredibly stupid. Crowley opened his mouth to say as much, but Aziraphale got there first.

“Was he told that? That he meant no harm?”

“Of course! Sandaphon told him to--”

“Fear not?” Crowley guessed.

“Of course! And that he would not be harmed - he wouldn’t listen!”

Aziraphale nodded. “It sounds like trauma.”

“Trauma?”

“It’s… a human thing. He fears you.”

“Because he is human now,” Crowley pointed out, and leaned forward on the table, chin resting on the palm of his hand. “Which raises the question, why are you pursuing him? He’s not one of yours anymore. You cast him out. Not your problem, no?”

Ah, there is was, the anger - looming behind her eyes like thunderclouds. Not too long ago, she might have tried to smite him and would have probably won; but, after the little show he and Aziraphale put up with each other’s faces, she clearly hesitated to start a fight. Not with Aziraphale there to back him up, at least. 

“It is none of your concern,” she gritted out, and stood. “As you won’t cooperate, consider this meeting closed.”

“What, are we supposed to believe the lot of you won’t be watching us like hawks, hoping we can get you to him? What makes you think we can? Beelzebub got him. Good luck getting hi-”

“We can get in touch with him, I believe.”

A groan. “Come on, angel,” Cowley protested. Aziraphale gave him an apologetic look, then turned back to Michael. Who, on the other hand, looking sceptical. 

“You can?”

“Well, we have been nice enough to help him out, despite our… differences,” Aziraphale replied, ignoring Crowley’s low groan at the word ‘nice’. Also, ‘difference’ was an interesting way to spell out ‘the fact he tried to destroy me’. “And we might still have the means to contact him..”

“Then do it.”

“Later.”

“What-- why?”

Aziraphale leaned back on the chair, folding his hands. “First of all, because we were having a lovely time and intend to keep doing so. Secondly, if he knew we have been in touch, and is so keen to avoid you, he might no longer turn to us for help. So it is best for you to leave before we contact him. We’ll figure out what’s going on and I’ll get back to you”

“How do I know you will?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Well, I said I’d try to stop the Apocalypse, and in the end I did.” No need to let her know that they had done… next to nothing, really, other than running around a lot like headless chickens and eventually just giving a pep talk to Adam. “I do keep my promises.”

“Also, you have no choice,” Crowley informed her. "If you don't leave, we won't do a thing."

She clearly wasn’t happy, but in the end, there wasn’t much she could argue; for once, they held all the cards. As she stiffly left the restaurant - “I’ll be waiting for your call” - Crowley groaned. 

“We had a chance to get them both out of our hair,” he muttered, leaning back

“Crowley.”

“We don’t even know what the Heaven is happening with Beelzebub. Maybe Gabe has already been dragged to Hell somehow. Probably doesn’t have the phone anymore.”

“Well, it’s worth a try,” was the response. As Aziraphale fished the phone out of his pocket to call Gabriel’s number, Crowley made a face and turned to the entrance. Michael was gone. 

“And here I’d hoped the show we put on had scared the lot of them enough to leave us alone.”

“Oh, it did work, that’s the thing.”

“Huh?”

“That’s why I said yes,” Aziraphale said, looking from the phone. “She never wore her heart on her sleeve, but I can tell she is afraid of both of us. And yet she took the risk to turn to us anyway.”

Ah. Crowley suspected he was starting to see his point. “To find that arse.”

A nod, and he scrolled down to Gabriel’s number. “Yes. To find that arse.”

***

“I am not an expert in human etiquette, but I believe you’re supposed to close your mouth when you chew.”

“Mghf?”

“You’re making a fool out of yourself,” Beelzebub snorted, propping their chin on their hand and raising an eyebrow as Gabriel bit down on what was probably the fourth Lardburger in a row. Before him there was still a mountain of greasy, cheap junk food that would have given Aziraphale something remarkably similar to a stroke if only he knew Gabriel had rejected the finest sushi in London to stuff his face with… that.

“Not bad, is it? Hell came up with it last century - caused a wonderful increase in heart disease. It is addictive, by the way. Maybe I should have mentioned it before… before I… are you listening at all?”

Clearly not: entirely ignoring Beelzebub’s attempt at gloating over a small victory, Gabriel threw aside the empty wrapped of the Lardburger and proceeded to empty the bag of fries directly into his mouth. A few children - annoying, loud human children - a couple of times over looked at him, giggling. The Lord of the Flies rolled their eyes. 

“I have seen famine victims acting with more dignity,” they informed Gabriel, getting no reaction at all: he just kept stuffing his face with the utter abandon Dagon would show before a brand new victim to torment. In the end they just leaned back and watched, mildly amused against their own will. They suspected that fool was going to regret losing control like that but oh, why try to warn him while he was so clearly not inclined to listen? Let him go on and find out the fun way just how frail his vessel was. 

“You should drink something with that,” they finally said, deadpan, pushing the can of soda towards Gabriel and holding back a smirk. They were vaguely aware of a human saying that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and they could only come to the conclusion that maybe so did the way to a former archangel’s soul.

Before the week if out, he’ll be ours, Beelzebub thought, perhaps just a little too optimistic considering that stuffing one’s face with greasy fast food was not precisely a sin, let alone one worth damnation - regardless what an angel called Aziraphale might have to say about that. They just sat back, and waited for Gabriel’s gluttony to be sated.

Meanwhile, in Gabriel’s empty hotel room, a cell phone kept ringing uselessly. 

***

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"Dead flies make a perfumer's oil stink, so a little foolishness is weightier than wisdom and honor." Ecclesiastes 10:1