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Busses were definitely one of Hell’s inventions, Aziraphale was sure of it. The uncomfortable seats, the fact that the heaters continued to blast out warm air during the summer months and that the windows were always open in the winter, and of course the teenagers that one usually found at the back, playing whatever passed for music nowadays from their phones.
Luckily, this particular bus, the no. 6 to Oxford (via Central London), was empty. The last of the other passengers had alighted just outside of Tadfield, leaving Crowley and Aziraphale alone. The air conditioning had miraculously found a pleasant middle ground between icy blast and hairdryer-to-the-face, and he found a recline lever on his seat, that had not been there when he had climbed aboard.
Still, it was nowhere near as pleasant as riding as a passenger in Crowley’s Bentley.
Thinking of the Bentley, and the burning wreck it had become, provoked a deep sense of sadness in him. He had never been particularly attached to the car, not like Crowley was, but Crowley had loved it, and he himself had so many memories attached to the vehicle that it was difficult to believe that it was really gone.
Much like his bookshop, he supposed. He knew that it was gone, that it had burned down and that his precious collection was lost, but it was still hard to believe.
Maybe when he saw it. Or saw what was left of it.
He supposed it didn’t matter. Not really. After all, he didn’t imagine that Heaven was going to let him simply continue his life on Earth after everything that had happened. They wouldn’t let him go back to his cosy little bookshop, his meals out, and his clandestine meetings with Crowley in the park. As soon as Heaven had a moment to think about it, he was going to be recalled, and if he ever did get to come back, it would be on very different terms.
He glanced at Crowley. Although the bus was empty, they were sitting next to each other. The demon had taken the window seat; his arm was pressed against the window as a cushion, and his head rested against it. On the other side of the window, the countryside sped by far too quickly. Crowley’s sunglasses covered his eyes, making it difficult to tell, but Aziraphale didn’t think the demon was asleep. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but there was something about Crowley that led him to believe that he was very much alert and paying attention to everything that was happening around them.
“What do you think’s going to happen to us?” Aziraphale asked. He spoke in a low whisper that the bus driver, the only other occupant of the bus, wouldn’t be able to hear. If Crowley was asleep, it probably wouldn’t disturb him, but if he was awake, he would hear and answer.
“Dunno,” the demon muttered without moving a muscle. “Nothing good though.”
Aziraphale nodded. That was what he had been afraid of.
“Our lot don’t do executions, as a rule,” Crowley added. “If it had just been averting the apocalypse, I might have got away with it. They could twist that somehow, make it seem like they wanted me to do it. You know, to avoid the embarrassment. But what I did to Ligur…” He finally moved, just to shake his head a little. “If they take me down to Hell, I doubt I’ll ever make it out.”
That was a sobering thought. “Well, you already know how Heaven deals with dissenting voices,” Aziraphale said. The thought chilled him to the bone, but he pushed the fear away, refusing to let it show, not in front of Crowley, of all people. “Not the worst thing that could happen, I suppose. But I was rather hoping that if I were ever to fall, you’d be there to…”
“Catch you?”
“Something like that.”
Crowley frowned. “You’re not…” he sighed, then sat up a little straighter and turned to face Aziraphale directly. “Angel, you’re not going to fall. For what we did, they’re going to make sure neither of us ever bothers them again, and I’m pretty sure you’d make a very bothersome demon.”
Heaven didn’t execute their prisoners. Heaven didn’t even take prisoners. As far as he knew, there had only ever been one time when angels had risen up against other angels, and it had resulted in the Fall. Nobody had been put to death, they had simply been sent away to live out the rest of eternity outside of Heaven’s warmth and protection. But Crowley was right. They weren’t going to do that, it was too risky. For as long as he was alive, Aziraphale would be a thorn in Heaven’s side; an embarrassment to them. The angel that had dared to love a demon, the angel that had gone up against both Heaven and Hell, that sided with humanity. They were going to make sure that he was never going to be able to bother them again.
“Hellfire,” he said, in a whisper so quiet that after he has spoken he wondered whether he had really said it at all.
“That’d be my guess,” Crowley said. “And for me, holy water. Makes sense, since that’s what I did to Ligur.”
“You did?”
“Didn’t I tell you about that?”
Aziraphale shook his head. When he had given Crowley the holy water, he had been terrified that his friend would use it — either accidentally or even on purpose — to end his own existence. If what he was saying was correct, then perhaps he had indirectly done just that.
“So that’s it, then.” Aziraphale said.
“Game over.”
The angel sighed and adjusted his position in the bus seat so that the side of his body gently touched Crowley’s. He looked out the window and watched as the expanse of black that was the unlit British countryside was slowly but surely replaced with the well-lit sprawl of London.
“It won’t be so bad,” Crowley said. “I mean, Ligur went fast. It was agony of course, but only for a few seconds, then he was gone. Oblivion. As you can probably imagine, Hell’s big on torture, but I don’t think they’ll go for that in this case. I think it’ll be over in seconds. Same for you. They won’t want us hanging around, giving other angels and demons ideas, you know?”
A few seconds of pain, and then nothing, for the rest of eternity. The idea of nothingness was more terrifying than the method of execution. As an immortal being, he had never before considered the idea that he might cease to exist. Aziraphale tried not to think about it. And of course, as with anything that one tries not to think about, the thoughts kept repeating on him. They surfaced time and again, impossible to ignore, growing worse with every attempt to suppress them.
He imagined his own death, enveloped in flames, but found that that didn’t bother him as much as the thought of Crowley’s execution. He simply couldn’t imagine the world without Crowley in it, and he didn’t want to imagine it. It seemed to him that the world would carry on almost unchanged without an Angel in a bookshop, but take away Crowley, and things would be that little bit bleaker. He wouldn’t want to live in a world without Crowley in it.
“There’s still Alpha Centauri,” Crowley suggested. “I mean, I’m not saying they wouldn’t come looking for us, but it might buy us a bit of time. I mean, it’s not like there’s anything for us here anymore, is it?”
Alpha Centauri had barely been an option before, when the world had been about to end. Aziraphale imagined it a desolate place, devoid of anything. Nothing to do, to eat, to read. He wouldn’t be able to stand it, and neither would Crowley. Not knowing that the world was still there, waiting for them.
“Just for a couple of centuries,” Crowley continued. “Just give them time to cool off, then maybe we could sneak back without them noticing. Think about it; what’s our other option? Certain death? I know what I’d prefer.”
He had a point. But there had to be another choice. There just had to be. They couldn’t have gone through all of that to save the planet only to be faced with the option of leaving by force or by choice. But given a choice between that and hellfire…
Fire… An idea began to form in his mind. One that was so crazy it might just have a chance of working.
“Playing with fire,” he said.
“Hmm?”
“Agnes’ prophecy. ‘Choose your faces wisely…’ what if we could?”
Crowley stared at him blankly
“Choose our faces. What if we could?”
“Not following you, angel,” Crowley said.
Aziraphale sighed. “Holy water won’t hurt me,” he said. “You can survive hellfire. What if when we were taken to our respective headquarters, you looked like me, and I like you?”
Crowley smiled. “It’s a nice thought,” he said. “Too bad it’s impossible. I don’t know about you, but I don’t have the ability to change the way I look.” He paused, shrugged. “Well, apart from the snake thing, but I don’t think that would help me in this case.”
“But we do. I possessed someone just this afternoon, and it was surprisingly easy. All you need is a receptive host, and I promise you, I would be very receptive.”
He watched Crowley’s eyes behind the dark glasses, as he slowly began to connect the dots and form a more complete picture of what Aziraphale was trying to suggest.
“You want me to possess you?”
He nodded. “And I you.”
Crowley went very quiet for a moment. He leaned hard against the backrest of the bus seat and stared forward, exhaling slowly through pursed lips.
“Of course, I’ve only ever done it when I was discorporated, but imagine it will just be a case of slipping out of this body and into yours, and if we do it at the exact same moment, there won’t be any of that awkward dual occupancy stuff to deal with.”
“Dual occupancy?”
“It should work.” He couldn’t think of any reason why not. Of course, he was hardly an expert on such things. “Will it work?”
Crowley turned to look at him. “You’re asking me?”
“Well, yes. You’re the demon, after all. I’d have thought you were the more knowledgable on these things.”
Crowley shook his head. “I’ve never possessed anybody! Not exactly my style, possessions. Messy business, usually. No, of the two of us, the only one that’s ever possessed anybody is you”
Aziraphale thought about that. A part of him felt as though he should be ashamed at what he had done; it was what Heaven would expect of him, after all. But he didn’t. In fact, he felt rather proud of himself.
Crowley smirked and shook his head. “You’re pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”
“No.” He was.
“Yeah, well, I don’t like it. What if our bodies are still susceptible to the holy water, or the fire? I can’t have you dying for me.”
That gave him pause. Aziraphale considered it, then shrugged dismissively. At least this way, they had a better chance of survival. “Honestly,” he said, “I can’t say for certain that we won’t still be vulnerable, and I don’t relish the thought of finding out the hard way, but I don’t think we will. It’s not the body that’s angelic, or demonic, it’s the being inhabiting it.”
“They’ll figure it out,” Crowley said.
“No. They won’t. It wouldn’t even occur to them that it’s possible.”
Crowley frowned, but there were cracks beginning to appear in his resolve. Over the years, Aziraphale had grown quite adept at temptation. He had learned at first by watching Crowley in action, and by listening to the words he used when he tried to convince Aziraphale to do something that technically he shouldn’t. He had learned to listen for cues that would tell him it was working, and grown adept at knowing the right buttons to push to get what he wanted.
In theory, it was a skill he used every now and again, when one or the other of them decided to invoke their Arrangement. In practice, he used it much more frequently. After all, it wouldn’t do to grow rusty.
One final push should do it, and not even a hard one. “Think about it. What’s the alternative?”
“Alpha Centauri,” Crowley said, but without enthusiasm.
Aziraphale sighed. “Yes. Maybe that is the safer option.”
They sank into silence. As Azirapahle waited, he watched the lights of the city flying past the window. One. Two. Thr…
“Hang on,” Crowley said. “Don’t give up on the idea that quickly; it’s got some promise. You’re going to have to talk me through how to do it. You know, since you’re the possession expert around here.”
Aziraphale turned away before Crowley could see the triumphant grin.