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

 iv. But The Lord Directs His Steps 

Beelzebub has seen their fair share of stupid. They work in Hell, after all, and majority of the souls that landed there often had stupid in spades. 

Most of them found it hard to grasp the concept of accountability, that actions always had consequences, and so even if they’d gone on a murder spree to kill a couple of perfectly innocent people and then later woken up to find themselves en route to the pits (after enduring several centuries worth of a line to get there, and after doing the paperwork where they lost a few fingers for fingerprint stamping), they were suddenly ‘innocent’ and ‘didn’t belong here’.

Humans. Stupid, thick-headed little twits with next to no concept of imputability. Beelzebub can never see the appeal of them, but somehow that idiot Crowley had decided to throw away loyalty (not that Hell valued the general kind very much, but they did value a very specific kind) for these little mudbabies whose lifetimes lasted for less than a century. 

Less than a century and they could already fit so much sin into it. Sure, there was a bit of tempting here and there, but Beelzebub is far from stupid and there’s like seven billion of the buggers now with only one permanent agent up on Earth, and only a couple of demons on long-term missions, like Legion and Mamon. They did send other demons up occasionally, but there’s only ten million of them in total, and three-fourths of them did paperwork and torture downstairs. Doing the math isn’t hard. 

And recently, they’d just found out that Crowley just took credit for some of the demonic things that humans came up with themselves, so there’s that too. 

The truth to their punishment to being demons, Beelzebub thinks, is not the fact that they’d been booted out of Heaven and now live in a stinkhole of officework, brimstone and fire, but rather the fact that they’re wasting their goddamn time. Humans are so efficient in making their lives and the lives of their fellow humans an actual, living hell that there’s really no need for demons at all. They’re demons in themselves, so the fact that Beelzebub and the others are playing officemates and writing up reports and trying to tempt them is just redundant and utterly useless.

Which is actually incredibly insulting. The thought makes them bristle because they had been an angel once, they had all been angels once, and now - what were they, footnotes to the universe because nobody actually needed them since humanity was a right mess on its own?

But that’s not the point right now, and there’s no need to be angry over the mercilessness of Heaven and the baffling stupidity of humans. Right now, they’re floored by the fact that these two qualities got swapped and instead they’re witnessing the baffling stupidity of Heaven’s Messenger. 

Here is the situation: according to reports from Legion, the principality Aziraphale is immune to Hellfire. The principality Aziraphale is also no longer associated with Heaven, although strangely enough, he hasn’t Fallen. This reads, to every demon in existence: very hard to kill enemy. Here is the other situation, as witnessed by Beelzebub themself: the demon Crowley is immune to holy water, and is no longer associated with Hell. Cross-checking this with a report that a mourning Hastur had given, Crowley is also not above killing other demons with holy water, and given his association with the angel, it’s not hard to connect how he’d have a supplier for it. This reads, to Beelzebub: traitorous flash bastard who will kill to continue existing.

Here is the other, other situation: Both of them are friends with the Antichrist.

Now, Beelzebub is not a coward. They’re a Prince of Hell, for Satan’s sake. They are, however, smart, and they know that most likely, Gabriel talking to either of the rogue agents would probably result in some level of smiting, and if Beelzebub stood around there, they would just get dragged in a fight even when they’re smart enough to leave well enough alone because it’s not like either of the idiots are doing anything to get in Hell’s way. Beelzebub is more than happy to take detours if it meant it was the smart decision rather than stick to any sort of blusterous pride that got a demon killed. 

Gabriel, as they had guessed, doesn’t appear to not have this sort of self-preservation instinct.

Instead, while Beelzebub disperses in a swarm of flies that scatter around and give them numerous angles to watch the whole thing (demons don’t functions like humans, after all) Gabriel instead stands right where he is, and tries for a welcoming smile as Aziraphale and Crowley come close. 

Crowley, sauntering around like his legs are made of barely-cooled off gelatin, stops. He has a box of something in his arms, and he looks like he wants to drop it to fistfight Gabriel, which Beelzebub can’t fault him for. Given how his limbs are occupied, he hisses instead.

Aziraphale just awkwardly shifts in his posture, not wanting to seem rude, but also incredibly uncomfortable with the sight of Gabriel, which Beelzebub also cannot fault him for, as Gabriel looks like one of the door-to-door salesmen frozen on the road to Hell, with that creepy many-toothed smile on his face.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel greets. “And the demon Crowley.”

“You have two seconds to bugger off,” Crowley says. 

Aziraphale, also with a box in his arms, adjusts his hold so he can gently put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder, placating. Smart angel. A fight wouldn’t do anyone any good right now.

A nearby fly on the ground catches Crowley’s low hiss of “He told you to shut your stupid mouth and die.”

Ah. Classic Gabriel.

Aziraphale’s posture softens. He smiles at Crowley, fond, before turning his attention to Gabriel.

“Gabriel,” he greets, a little awkwardly. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I was just stopping by, actually, when I saw you,” Gabriel says. “I thought it would be nice to check in with you.”

“Right,” Crowley says.

Aziraphale sighs. “For what, Gabriel?” he asks, “You don’t just ‘check in’. You’ve never done a courtesy call before.”

“Why not start now?”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Crowley mutters.

Gabriel frowns slightly. “Angels don’t lie.”

Crowley just snickers. 

“Alright, now.” Aziraphale steps in before anything can happen. “We’re just delivering donations from the children, Gabriel. That’s all.”

“The children?”

“The Them,” Aziraphale says, and then remembers Gabriel (and Beelzebub) has no idea what he’s talking about. “Oh! Adam, Pepper, Wensley and Brian.”

“Ah, the children at the airbase,” Gabriel says. “They’re here?”

“With us on vacation. Adam’s idea, you know how he is.” 

Gabriel doesn’t, in fact know how Adam is, and neither does Beelzebub, but Aziraphale plows on. 

“The children’d thought to gather some of the luggage they’d brought with them, along with some trinkets they’d bought to drop it off here. They’re absolute darlings.” Aziraphale beams, proud. “They did want to go to a fair today, and it’s the last day it’s going to be open, so we offered to drop this off here.”

“You know, funny how a couple of children can think to do your jobs better than you,” Crowley says, grinning.

Aziraphale turns to him, exasperated. “Crowley, dear.”

“Sorry, couldn’t help it.”

“The Antichrist is predisposed to charity?” Gabriel asks.

“He’s a lovely boy, Gabriel,” Aziraphale says. He looks like he’s about to say more but catches himself before he can do it. “If you’re checking in, then that’s all we’re up to.”

“I see,” Gabriel says, and doesn’t move from where he’s standing.

“Well?” Crowley asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah.” Gabriel says, and - he looks nervous. He looks nervous? He looks nervous. 

Beelzebub wonders if having too many eyes all over the place is making their vision go funny. 

“What is it?” Crowley asks, impatient.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale says, sighing. “What is this really about?”

“I - ” he starts, hesitates, then. “I have a question. Perhaps several.”

“Hmm,” Crowley says.

“We’ll see if we can answer them, then,” Aziraphale says, glancing at Crowley for a moment. He nods. The angel turns back to Gabriel. “What is it?”

Gabriel dithers. He looks down at the ground, like he’s unsure of his words. Then, finally, he asks. “Do you happen to know how to contact the Almighty?”

Beelzebub nearly pops back into humanoid form out of surprise.

Crowley’s other eyebrow joins the one already raised.

Aziraphale blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do you happen to know how to contact the Almighty?” Gabriel asks, a little more smoothly than the first time.

“Well,” Aziraphale says, clicking his tongue. “Well.”

“We don’t,” Crowley says.

“I certainly tried to get a word in with Her,” Aziraphale says, “When all that business with Armageddon was going on. I got an answer from the Metatron instead.”

Gabriel expression settles into a frown. 

Aziraphale almost looks pitying.

“Have a try at it?” he suggests, although it comes out unsure. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck than me, you’re an Archangel, after all.”

“Where is Adam Young?” he asks instead.

One of Beelzebub’s flies moves closer, just on the ground right next to Gabriel.

“Why?” Aziraphale asks, tone suddenly dropping to icy. 

Huh. Angel of the Eastern Gate indeed.

Gabriel raises both hands up, placating, but not afraid. “Now, now,” he says, “I don’t wish him any harm. I just want to ask if he has a way to contact Her.”

“Why do you want to contact the Almighty, anyway?” Crowley asks. “Can’t you just pray?”

“All prayers are received in the Request Center in Heaven,” Gabriel says. Crowley mutters out a little, “Wait, what.” but it’s mostly drowned out by Gabriel continuing, “At least, most of them are. Some, apparently, aren’t.”’

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asks.

Gabriel sighs and folds his hands behind him. “There are certain...matters in Heaven that need to be addressed,” he says. Beelzebub knows exactly what these are. “My work is here is not bother you. I’m just here to find answers.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t have them,” Crowley says. He walks past Gabriel, and Beelzebub makes sure to get all flies in the way out of there before any of them can get crushed under his shoes. Aziraphale follows him, giving Gabriel a respectful nod as they both pass by him.

Right before they reach the door, Gabriel says, “Aziraphale.”

Both of them stop anyway.

“Yes, Gabriel?” Aziraphale asks.

Gabriel turns around to face him. “By any chance, would you be willing to let me see the Antichrist?”

The softness fades away from Aziraphale’s face again, replaced instead by a blankness that makes Beelzebub think that, could this angel have Fallen with them, they would have had a rather formidable Prince on their side.

“No,” he says. Then he turns and opens the door to the orphanage, and gets inside.

Crowley, smiling, flips Gabriel the bird before following him in.

Gabriel scowls, but wipes the look off his face in a few seconds, and Beelzebub can nearly hear the gears tick around his head as they turn. They run his wording over and over again in their head, because, see, while angels don’t lie (they can, and some of them do, but they’re just prissy about it sometimes), they are very, very good with words, and constructing them together so they can have plausible deniability. 

Would you be willing to let me see the Antichrist can be read as several things - two of these can be requesting permission, another can be a request for help. None of these barricade Gabriel from actually going to see the Antichrist should he wish it. He doesn’t need permission to see the Antichrist, and he doesn’t need Aziraphale’s help in seeing the Antichrist either, he’d only been checking to see if he would give it.

The Antichrist might not know how to contact the Almighty, but he if he wished it, he might be able to.

Beelzebub doesn’t stay to see what else Gabriel does. Instead, they gather, flies condensing in a swarm behind the building, faster than flies should be able to gather. They’re barely humanoid before they stretch their incorporeal wings and take off, searching for Adam Young, knowing that Gabriel is following close behind.