the good grace to know which is which (chapter seven)

This is a little late because my internet kept dying this week, but here! 

vii. The Way They Should Go

Crowley knows something is up the second they get to the fair. Stopping time is a little party trick he does often after all, often enough that he knows how the fabric of the universe feels like when someone stops it from spinning, and so when he gets that funny feeling while he’s driving, he knows something has happened. Aziraphale, from how he stills and fidgets in his seat, notices too. 

Figures Adam would take a page out of his book. Not that Crowley is really very fond of books. That’s not the sort of human he’s supposed to be.

He doesn’t need to ask what’s happened, because as soon as they step out of the car, Pepper says, “Gabriel and Beelzebub were here.”

Beside him, Aziraphale closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath through his nose.

“They didn’t do anything,” Adam says, “Just asked about stuff.”

“What sort of stuff?” Crowley asks.

“The Ineffable Plan,” Adam says.

“Already?” Aziraphale turns to Crowley, worried. 

They’d barely had a bit of a break, after all. Crowley had thought that both sides would take some time off and let themselves plan and cool down before the next war, whatever it’s supposed to be, but not this soon. 

“It’s okay,” Adam says. 

Crowley isn’t sure what about Heaven and Hell trying to orchestrate humanity’s doom is okay, but Adam has A Look in his eyes that Crowley has always associated with a mischievous plan in the works, so he raises an eyebrow and asks, “Oh?”

“They said they had a treaty,” he says, “Heaven and Hell have a truce right now, meaning there’s not going to be any fights happening soon. They’re trying to figure out the Ineffable Plan, but that’s all they’re here for. I could tell they were telling the truth.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale says, relaxing a little.

Crowley frowns. “Bit of a stupid move, though, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I was saying,” Wensleydale says, looking to Brian like he’s making a point. “Wouldn’t be the Ineffable Plan if it weren’t completely ineffable.”

“Solves that problem on its own,” Crowley says.

“Unless they get impatient,” Aziraphale says. 

Crowley turns to him. He shifts, uncomfortable, with the little gulp, the looking away and the tilt of his head downward before he speaks. 

“It’s a possibility, you must admit,” Aziraphale says, “It’s Gabriel.”

Okay, fair point. And Beelzebub. Both of them had decided to execute Aziraphale and Crowley on a whim, after all. Who’s to say they wouldn’t just decide to start an apocalypse of their own?

“It is,” Adam admits, and that makes the first flutters of anxiety roil around Crowley’s stomach, but the boy continues, “But I think there’s also a big chance they won’t.”

“Why so?” Crowley asks.

“They were trying to convince me to help them figure out the Ineffable Plan. Well, they tried to ask me about it first, really,” Adam says, “I told them I didn’t know. They tried to convince me to help them talk to God.”

Aziraphale blinks. “Excuse me?”

“If anyone knows the Ineffable Plan, it’s Her,” Crowley says, as it sinks in. “Beelzebub is trying to find a way to talk to God directly?”

“Beelzebub and Gabriel,” Wensleydale says, “Adam says they were both here.”

“Wait, Gabriel?” Crowley throws Aziraphale a confused look. “Isn’t She in Heaven?”

“I - ” Aziraphale looks uncomfortable again. “Well, we pass messages through the Metatron, and he replies but - he’s not exactly Her, is he?”

True, and knowing how angels worked, they probably just take whatever the Metatron says at face value despite the possibility of him never really speaking to the Almighty before he replies. Maybe they’ve never really spoken to Her, maybe She just speaks to them when She feels like it.

He doesn’t know how Heaven works anymore, barely remembers how it worked the first time, so, who knows?

“So,” Crowley says, “Let’s say even Gabriel doesn’t know how to talk to Her, and he and Beelzebub are trying to figure out the Ineffable Plan, how does this help us?”

“They don’t know how to find Her,” Aziraphale says, “And She just does what She wants, so.”

“And if they throw all that out the window and decide for themselves?”

“Then we’re lucky that Beelzebub is entertaining the idea that the Ineffable Plan might not even involve a war,” Adam says.

Crowley stills. Very slowly, he turns to Aziraphale, who has also turned to him. The children, sitting on the bench, patiently wait for them to speak. 

“Excuse me, Beelzebub?” Crowley asks. “As in - ” He makes a motion towards his head, sketching out the outline of a fly as best as he can, and then flattens out the expression on his face as best as he can. “That Beelzebub?”

“Yeah.”

“Same Beelzebub who hates Heaven and tried to kill me with Holy Water?”

“‘Less there’s another one,” Adam says. “Gabriel looked confused but played along with it because that got my attention.”

Crowley runs a hand over his face. He’d have expected it from Gabriel - actually, no, he wouldn’t have, but if it had been Gabriel, then it would have made sense in a ‘through and through he’s still an angel’ way. But Beelzebub?

“They were trying to convince me to help them figure out the Ineffable Plan, because for all I knew, it maybe didn’t even have to involve a war,” Adam says. “I told them if they really wanted to figure out the Ineffable Plan, they should stick around, hang out with the humans a bit.”

“That sounds like a bad idea,” Crowley says.

“I’unno sounds kinda cool, doesn’t it?” Brian asks, “Hanging out with a demon and an angel?”

Wensleydale frowns and motions to Aziraphale and Crowley. “Brian, they’re a demon and an angel.”

“Well, I don’t think they took my advice but I could tell it bothered them,” Adam says, “The whole possibility of the Ineffable Plan not having to involve war, and then the possibility that figuring out the Ineffable Plan can be done by sticking around the humans.”

“But humans don’t know, my dear, it’s...” Aziraphale slowly trails off. Crowley sees the pieces clicking together in his head. Brilliant, brilliant angel.

He sighs first, though. 

“My boy,” Aziraphale says, “That is quite clever.”

A demon questioning if a war is ever needed for the Ineffable Plan, being told that the answer might be with the humans. If guided correctly, they could see exactly why Aziraphale and Crowley had fallen in love with Earth, and maybe, just maybe they could actually think, huh, maybe we actually don’t need a war after all.

But, humans are also equally as horrible as they are good.

“What if they focus on the bad parts of humanity?” Crowley says. “It happens, that’s why a lot of people get disillusioned.”

Adam looks thoughtful at that. 

“True,” Aziraphale says. “You were lucky enough to be raised by wonderful parents, Adam, but the rest of the world isn’t all like Tadfield.”

“My mum says a lot of what we think and how we define our beliefs is often a reaction to what we observe and experience,” Pepper recites. “She says what we have experienced beforehand has a huge impact on how we think too.”

“Beelzebub’s a demon,” Wensleydale says, “That’s a lot of bad stuff in the ‘beforehand’ part.”

Like trust issues and getting disillusioned by Heaven, but Crowley doesn’t say that.

“I think, if we want to get this right, they might need some help looking in the right direction,” Aziraphale says. “A bit of a convincing that they should stick around humanity, the whole of it and not just the side of it they’re going to want to see to further their set beliefs.”

Adam nods, thinking it over. On his lap, dog yawns. 

“That’s not even counting Gabriel,” Crowley says. 

“Well, if they’re working on this together, it could be, uh.” Aziraphale searches for the expression. “Two birds with one stone.”

“We could save the world again?” Brian asks.

Pepper sighs. “I’m putting this on my resume when I get older.”’

Adam closes his eyes. Crowley feels a bit of power rush off from him. Dog’s ears perk up.

“They’re not together,” he says. “They’ve gone separate ways.”

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale says.

“I think Gabriel’s looking for them, though, so there’s a chance they might find each other again,” Adam says. He opens his eyes. “You do have a point, though. I think they could use a little push.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to give it to them?”

“Maybe,” Adam says, cheeky. He looks up at the sky as the first raindrop hits him square on the nose. “But, I think we should get out of the rain now.”

-

Miles away, someone’s phone buzzes.

-

It’s raining. 

Several places are raining, really, as is prone to happen in the world, but it just so happens that, as the afternoon rain falls down on Crowley, Aziraphale and the Them, the morning rain falls down on Beelzebub as they land in front of their destination.

If people won’t get them anywhere, then maybe possible thin parts in the veil of reality will.

There’s not a lot to these thin parts, especially when one is of angelic stock and able to access multiple planes of existence at once, but they do fluctuate, every now and then, and they tend to act like doorways. Maybe, if Beelzebub’s lucky, they could get a doorway straight to Her.

Yes, they’re aware they’re grasping at straws here, but it’s going to be better than doing anything the Antichrist says. And infinitely better than asking Crowley for any advice.

They stare at the museum for a minute. What are they doing?

They could be looking for texts to study. Actually, that had been one of their first ideas, but most holy texts - credible ones at least - are under the guard of Heaven’s vault. They could have pitched the idea to Gabriel, but they’d be loathe to give the angel any idea he could use to get to the answer before them.

So here they are, just slumming it around with their next best option.

And they’re soaking wet. They slip the glasses off their face for a second, irritated, but still thinking too much to dry themself off.

The rain stops hitting them, suddenly, but not because they’ve done anything. They look to the side.

“You looked like you needed help,” the young boy holding the umbrella over their head says.

“I didn’t,” Beelzebub says. They slip the glasses back on.

“Cool,” he says, “Thought it would be nice to offer it anyway.”

Beelzebub looks at the I.D he’s wearing and the small bag of snacks in his hands. He’s a museum visitor. 

Discreetly, Beelzebub thinks up a similar I.D pass to manifest into their satchel. 

“You visiting the museum too?” the young boy asks, “You’re super early, then, it’s not open yet.”

“Why are you here if it isn’t?” they ask.

“I got hungry, actually,” he says, lifting the bag of snacks. “And I wanted to see the city, so I snuck out. Dad doesn’t know I’m out.”

Rebellious kid. Eh, small bles - curses. 

“I was walking past when I saw you,” he says, “You?”

“Morning walk,” they say.

“In the rain.”

“Yeah.”

”Why?”

“I wanted to,” Beelzebub says. 

The young boy frowns and tilts his head. After a while, he says, with evident concern, “Are you okay?’

Beelzebub frowns back, confused. “Of course.”

“Okay,” he says, although he sounds unsure. “The museum doesn’t open for two hours. Do you wanna go get some food with me? I heard they’ve got some really nice pancakes in a diner down the road.”

“No,” Beelzebub says.

“Come on, it’ll be my treat!” he says, oddly insistent for a young child. They wonder if he’s one of those kids they’ve heard about who trick and lure people to get nabbed off the street by discreet white vans they work for. He fishes out a wallet from his jeans, and Beelzebub takes a second to inspect him. Good, well-tailored clothes, well-groomed hair, manicured nails. He looks rich. If he’s part of some kidnapping scheme, they must be rather successful with their business.

He lifts the wallet up. “Got it from my dad.”

Or he’s really just an ordinary child who happens to be a little thief. 

“Or we can wait here,” he says. “I don’t want to go back to the hotel anyway.”

“Can I ask why you’re inviting a complete stranger to get food with you?” Beelzebub asks, still waiting for a grown adult human to grab them if this is in fact a kidnapping ploy.

The boy shrugs. “Let’s say we’ve got too much money to squander, but it’s in my dad’s wallet, and I hate him, so I’m blowing it all off in any way I can think of.”

A very rebellious thief. He doesn’t look older than twelve.

Beelzebub smiles, amused, feeling a little bit better.

“I think I’ll pass,” they still say. 

“Your loss,” the boy says. “I was gonna ask the diner people if they had suggestions for haunted places, mystery spots and all that in the city. Would have been neat.”

A good offer, but Beelzebub’s already done their research. They shake their head.

“Blow off the money buying what your dad hates,” they say, “Then he wouldn’t be able to use any of it.”

The boy grins a little wider. “Thanks. I like you. Uh…?”

“Belle,” they say. 

“Thanks, Belle. Maybe I’ll see you later when the museum opens,” the boy says, pocketing the wallet. 

He sticks out his hand to Beelzebub to take. “Only polite to introduce myself before I leave,” he says, “My name’s Warlock.”