the good grace to know which is which (Chapter Three)

iii. Man Plans His Actions

The sixth place Beelzebub has marked down is an orphanage. It had been founded by a man who grew out of another orphanage, as he was never adopted, and managed to - with luck and hard work and a good head on his shoulders - land it bigtime and end up being a CEO. He never forgot where he came from and never forgot that there are kids who are living through what he’d gone through.

For a second, Gabriel actually wonders how Beelzebub had even managed to find these places at all, with their genuinely good people that would make Heaven proud if Heaven were inclined for that sort of thing. He’s heard they didn’t even have wi-fi downstairs. Most of them still typed on typewriters, because that was as far as they’d advanced. Somewhere in the depths of Hell is a movable-type printing press, likely. 

Aside from that, there’s also the fact that they’re a demon. Finding evil should be a piece of cake to them, but finding good shouldn’t be something they’d excel at because it’s not something they’re used to doing. And they don’t even visit topside much - their own words.

It’s likely human agents, or other demons of Hell. Maybe the one who had a tendency to have numerous bodies running around all at once, Many or something. Between all their vessels, they’re bound to have found something. 

Gabriel gets himself an appointment with the orphanage founder, idly deciding Heaven can just read a lengthy report about the amount of miracles he’s doing, and strolls in the building with that amiable smile on his face, waiting for the headmistress who’s suddenly remembered that they had a visitor for the day. She doesn’t know and will not know what he’s visiting for, but she just knows he’s visiting, and she needs to take him to the founder. 

She does. She leads him up winding staircases and past kids who are running down for the backyard since classes are out and it’s playtime, until they get to the founder’s study. Everyone is welcomed to the study, just as long as the man who owns it is there. 

Gabriel smiles at the human when he gets inside. He can appreciate the room’s decor. Silver and white and glass and sleek. A little crowded with books and paperwork, but passable. 

The man shakes his hand, not sure why he’s doing so but knowing this is what he should be doing, and Gabriel doesn’t even beat around the bush. He asks him right away - does he know a way to contact God?

The man stares at him, and Gabriel worries if the miracle had somehow broken. The man laughs awkwardly.

“I am not a man of faith, good sir,” he says. 

Ah. Well, that’s never really been a problem, but it is a problem in that the man wouldn’t know how to directly contact the Almighty of his own choice, then. 

Gabriel’s never been one to dally. Efficiency is heavenly, after all, so he smiles again and is about to wipe the man’s memory of the past hour or so, when the door suddenly opens as the receptionist lets in an oh very important appointment, so sorry, sir, this absolutely can’t wait. 

He doesn’t even need to turn to know who it is. He can hear the heavy thud of their platform shoes. 

“Heavens, you really don’t know how to pull your own weight, do you?” Beelzebub says, moving to stand next to him. 

“Resourcefulness,” he repeats. 

Beelzebub only tuts and turns their attention to the rather confused human who can’t believe he’d forgotten not one but two appointments today, when he could have sworn he’d had none at all until the end of the week. 

“Hello, sir,” they start. “My name is Belle Zebub, and - ”

“He’s not a man of faith,” Gabriel says, just to see whatever hopes Beelzebub had crushed. 

He sees their hands clench. 

The human starts to lean forward, like any other confused human about to ask a question would be expected to. “I - I’m really going to have to ask what your appointments are, I can’t seem to - ”

Beelzebub snaps their fingers. The man slumps back into his chair, asleep. 

“He’ll wake up in five minutes, don’t smite me,” they say, already heading for the door. Gabriel walks past them as soon as they have it open, and quickly moves out the way when they nearly slam it close while he’s still in the process of getting through the doorway. 

He’s considering whether or not it’ll really be worth it to visit the last place, especially since Beelzebub had just crossed out an entire town, when he hears loud, angry stomping behind him.

“The treaty, Beelzebub,” he reminds, stepping to the side to avoid them. They match his pace instead. 

“I can’t wait for the next scheduled apocalypse,” they say, “I’m going to tear your throat out.”

“I think threats count as a breach, don’t they?”

“Are you bleeding, newsboy?” 

He presses his lips to a thin line. The nicknames are getting tiring. 

“No. So stop invoking the treaty,” they say. “Bloody angels, I swear to Lucifer himself.”

If Gabriel flinches, he doesn’t let it show more than he needs to. Not that Beelzebub notices, of course. 

“Look,” Beelzebub says, moving in front of him to cut him off. He stops, but levels them with an unamused stare. “You can get out of my way entirely - ”

“You’re the one blocking the path.”

“ - or we ignore each other like adults instead of squabbling like children every time we see each other. I have work to be done and places to be, so if we can agree on this and be on our way, it would go much better for the both of us.”

Gabriel snorts 

Beelzebub frowns. “What.”

“Sensible people will see trouble coming and avoid it,” he says. 

“And?”

“And - I’m an angel, Beelzebub, I don’t argue with demons,” he says.

“You - you are arguing with me right now, you moron,” they say, hand twitching like it wants to bury itself into the crevices of his skull. Instead they run said hand over their face, turn around for a minute so they don’t have to see him, and let out a long-suffering sigh. “Alright. Okay. Let’s assume you’re not arguing. What are you doing?”

“Firstly, I saw an opportunity laid out before me, and I took it,” he says, smiling when they rolls their eyes behind their glasses. “Secondly, I am acting on said opportunity. If I happen to run into you, it is only with the intention to stop you from spreading evil.”

“Except I can’t spread evil, because we have an agreement; we both signed it, even,” they say, “We’re arguing.”

“You’re arguing. I’m not. You’re agitated, and I’m perfectly fine,” he says, spreading his arms out to make his point .”Patience incarnate.”

“Bastard incarnate you mean,” they say. Then they sigh, shaking their head, and continue down the hallway. “Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest thou also be like unto him.”

Gabriel leans back a little. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Beelzebub says. “Solomon was onto something, yeah?”

“I am not a fool!” 

“Really? Could have fooled me, big boy, you could certainly win an award for acting like one,” they say. 

Gabriel speedwalks down the hallway to catch up with them. “I could write you up for this.”

“A bruised pride doesn’t equal a physical bruise,” they say. 

“An insult to an angel might.”

“You know we play Pin The Hot Poker Iron On The Angel downstairs?” they ask, and he actually pauses. They snort. “Yeah, too late for that. And we know you don’t quite like us.” They stop in their steps so they can point between themself and him. “That’s why we need a war, Gabriel.”

Well, he’d known that the demons hated them, and it’s not really that big of a surprise they’re doing that, but it’s disconcerting to be told that to his face. He follows them, not because he wants to, but because the exit is the same way as they’re heading.

The silence between them is tense. Every single human that passes by them, which isn’t a lot since the children are now outside playing, makes sure to get out of their vicinity like they’re avoiding a ticking bomb.

Finally, when they reach the doorway, Beelzebub stops again, as they reach it first. 

Expecting them to talk, Gabriel halts. 

Beelzebub lifts a finger. “Leave me alone - ” and then another  “ - or we ignore each other for the whole time we’re here. You have to pick one.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because I’ve been trying to avoid you this whole time, and you keep being the one to start the conversation. Now choose.”

He weighs his options. Both yield the result of being blind to the enemy’s tactics, and on the off-chance they figure out the Ineffable Plan first, then Gabriel would have made a costly mistake. 

Gabriel is capable, yes. He’s smart, like any angel is smart, and he’s efficient, like any angel is efficient. But Beelzebub is also of angelic stock. Sure, they’ve got new features, like the flies and all, and they’ve shred their old name (he can’t actually remember what it was before) but the capacity to do most things angels can do is still there. They’re smart like any angel is smart, and they’re efficient, otherwise they wouldn’t have been appointed to run Hell. 

Gabriel is capable, but so is Beelzebub. And he knows this. Any good soldier knows to not underestimate the enemy, and for all Gabriel says and constantly reminds others that good will always triumph and evil will always sow the seeds of its own destruction, he also remembers the First War; he remembers the amount of blood on the floor, the graces blazing into ashes, and the wings marred and broken ugly by violence. He was there. It’s why he’s an Archangel, the title, not the rank. 

(If he recites ‘good will always triumph and evil sows the seeds of its own destruction’ over and over and over until the words stop feeling like words to tamp down the fear that comes with the memory of holding a sword for the first time in his existence, no one ever has to know.)

So, like any good, sensible angel, he would be an actual fool to turn a blind eye to whatever Beelzebub is doing. Not even angels know what the Ineffable Plan is. It’s free game. He doesn’t have the odds stacked in his favor just because he’s still got his holiness and his grace, the odds are just stacked, and if Beelzebub gets over them first, it’s game over.

“No,” he says.

Beelzebub sighs. “I hate you.”

“That’s not news.”

Beelzebub turns around and pushes the front door open, muttering, “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you so much.”

Deciding it’s a good time as any to shake himself from his morbid musings, he moves in step with them. “So, the village you crossed a large X over, what specifically are you looking for?”

“If you think I’m going to tell you, you’re more of an idiot than I thought.”

“I’ll just follow you.”

“Why can’t I smite you? That’s rhetorical, shut your blessed mouth.”

He snickers, already feeling much better. In the distance, he hears the sputtering of an engine. 

Beelzebub suddenly stops. So does he. 

They can see the parking lot from where they are, and in the parking lot, there is a black Bentley that should have been destroyed for driving through fire and being on fire, but is fine anyway due to the whim of a rather unruly, prophecy-defying boy who just happened to be the Antichrist.

“This day keeps getting better and better,” Beelzebub says. 

The car door opens. A man-shaped being with pretty white curls gets out, and when the other car door opens, another man-shaped being steps out as well, this one with short red hair. 

“Why are they here?” Gabriel asks.

“Do I care?” Beelzebub is already turning on their heel and walking away from the parking lot. When they notice Gabriel hasn’t moved, they spare a glance back to him. “Newsboy, get a move on!”

“Neither of them are part of Heaven or Hell anymore,” he says, “I see no harm running into them.”

“They’re in association with the Antichrist, I think that’s something,” they say. “If you want to get thought out of existence for trying to mess with his favorite angel and demon, be my blessed guest. That’s one answer to my problem.”

A thought surfaces in Gabriel’s mind. He can almost hear the ting! of a comical lightbulb.

He starts walking towards Aziraphale and Crowley, and Beelzebub actually stops in surprise and hisses, mostly out of disbelief that a creature so stupid can exist. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer. It wouldn’t be good to give the enemy any hint as to his own operations. They wanted him to move on his own ideas anyway. 

Maybe, just maybe, if there’s anyone who can figure out how to contact the Almighty, it could be them. They’ve managed the near-impossible before, working together long enough and not smiting each other, stopping the apocalypse, befriending the Antichrist. Hell, they might be able to put a good word for him with the Antichrist. Maybe the kid has answers. Maybe the kid can call his grandmother.

It’ll be worth asking if they know what the Ineffable Plan is all about, anyway.