meaningless and monumental
it was my mums bday and didn’t have time to write this yesterday so I present to you, Chapter 2!
Aziraphale wanted to contact Crowley.
He didn’t know why- god knows why he wants to be around him at all- but he had an inexplicable urge to speak to him.
Gabriel had just spoken to him, saying something about clothes not existing soon??? And that Crowley was to do with it??? So, he probably should call the demon to make sure that he wasn’t about to erase pants from existence or something.
He walked over to his telephone and quickly punched the number that he had memorised at this point into the keypad.
It rung and rung for a while until Crowley picked up.
“Ngk. What,” a groggy voice said from the other end of the line.
“Hello, Crowley, Gabriel spoke with me today,” the angel began.
The demon interrupted, “was it about Armageddon?”
Aziraphale made a silent “oh” sound. That’s what Gabriel had meant. “Yes. Can we meet somewhere?”
There was a pause. “Er, I’m a bit busy at the moment.”
Crowley sighed. “If we must speak in person, Tadfield. 17 hog back lane. Er, in an hour..”
A click and the line went dead.
Crowley was always difficult. Aziraphale sighed. And confusing.
He considered calling again, but knowing Crowley, he’d probably thrown his phone across the room. There was really nothing he could do.
About an hour of procrastination and an uber later, Aziraphale was standing outside a quaint little cottage in lower Tadfield. Why would Crowley want to meet him here rather than one of their usual meeting places? He didn’t know.
He tried the door handle- unlocked. Inside was dark, just a small lamp illuminating the house. A soft snoring was the only sound. Creepy, Aziraphale thought.
He stepped further into the room, looking around. The front door connected to a lounge room that was cluttered with boxes of plants. Crowley’s plants.
As his eyes adjusted, the Angel noticed a single lounge chair pushed up against a wall. And draped across it was Crowley, out cold with something in his arms.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale called to him, stepping closer.
“Ngk,” said Crowley, jumping and looking around wildly. When he noticed the Angel, he said, “oh. It’s you.”
He sat up, carefully wrapping his arms around whatever it was that he was holding.
“Yes, you did tell me to come here.”
“Right. Er, what was it that I was telling you about?” Crowley wondered aloud to himself, then snapped his fingers. “The antichrist. On earth. Now.” A beat of silence. “Son of an American diplomat, I think.”
“What? Like, right now? Are you sure it’s the antichrist?”
He grunted. “I should know. I delivered the baby. Well, not delivered, delivered. Just handed him over.”
“An American diplomat, really? As if Armageddon was some cinematic film they wish to sell in as many countries as possible?”
“All of the countries and kingdoms in the universe,” Crowley echoed distantly, absentmindedly patting the bundle he was holding.
Aziraphale hesitated. “We will win, of course.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Of course I do,” the angel said irritably, “Heaven will likely triumph over hell and rule for all of eternity! It will all be rather lovely.”
“I have an interest,” Crowley said, “how many first-class composers do your lot have in heaven? ‘Cause Mozart’s one of ours. And Beethoven, all of the Bachs…” he trailed off.
“They’ve already written all of their music-“
The demon cut him off, “and you’ll never hear it again. It’ll all just be celestial harmonies.”
“And that’s just the start of what you’ll lose when you win. No more fascinating little restaurants where they know you, no gravlax and dill sauce, no more old bookshops!”
Ouch. Demons sure know how to hit you where it hurts.
Aziraphale tried to reply with some clever retort that he hadn’t thought of yet, but a shrill cry cut him off before he could do so.
He heard Crowley mutter, “shit,” below his breath.
“What’s that?” The angel asked, but the demon didn’t seem to be listening.
He had his head down, looking at and rocking the bundle in his arms, and making little shushing sounds.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale asked again, firmer this time, “what’s that?”
Crowley was forgetting something. He always was, but today more than usual. He had thought back to the earlier events of the day. He’d spoken to Hastur and Ligur, taken the antichrist, gave it to the nuns, and taken the surviving baby of another couple in the church, after they and the excess baby had perished in a fire. But something felt… off. Like that wasn’t quite true.
Oh, well, he was currently shushing said baby that he’d taken, and Aziraphale was questioning him. This was fun.
He looked up slightly. “His name is Adam.” He looked back down during the pause that followed, “he’s my son.”
An exasperated voice half-shouted, “What?”
“Shh! You’ll upset him more than he already is.” Crowley snapped his fingers, making a bottle appear from thin air, and gave it to the baby.
Slightly quieter, the same voice asked, “what do you mean, your son? Who- what- HOW?”
He snorted. “Adopted. Just after I dropped off the antichrist, the hospital burned down.” Then, quieter, “The antichrist and his family escaped. Adam’s parents didn’t. I couldn’t leave him there.” Even as he said it, it didn’t feel right.
Crowley was avoiding Aziraphale’s eyes when he said, “Shut up, I know you’re going to make some dumb comment about me being nice, so shut up.” Adam had stopped crying by now and was happily drinking milk from the bottle.
The angel smiled. He loved seeing how soft Crowley was with children. It was infuriating. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” Obvious Lie. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around it.”
“Anyways,” the snake said, “I have a plan.”
“To stop the apocalypse of course!”
“You can’t stop the apocalypse, Crowley. It’s inevitable.”
“Yes, but I have. A plan.”
“Yes. Please, Angel. I know you want to help.”
“I think this is the first time you’ve ever said please to me.”
Crowley sighed. “Alright. Picture this,” he said, standing up. A big mountain. A bird, once every thousand years, comes and sharpens its beak on the mountain-“
“Don’t get philosophical with me, Crowley. Plus, Is this bird immortal or something?”
“Er, let’s say it is. So, every thousand years, it sharpens its beak on the mountain. And it does that forever, until the mountain is all worn down-“
“How would a birds’ beak wear down a mountain?”
“Angel, let me finish. Once the mountain is all worn down, not even a moment of eternity will be done. And, I heard that the Almighty really likes the sound of music-“
“And you’ll be watching it over. And over. And over. For all eternity. How fun will that be? And you’ll never be able to eat ever again. No cakes nor sushi. Nothing. And no bookshop-”
“Alright. I get it,” Aziraphale said, “I’ll help you with your plan. I don’t want the world to end either. What is it?”
A smirk spread across Crowley’s face. “Good.”
2087
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