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pengychan · 9 months

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[Good Omens] Come What May, Prologue

Summary: While completely improvised, Gabriel's plan to transfer his memories in the container fly before erasure was rather solid. It came very close to working, too. But 'close' was not enough. [SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2] Characters: Gabriel, Beelzebub, Crowley, Aziraphale, Murien, Michael, Uriel, Saraquael Rating: T All chapters will be tagged as ‘come what may’ on my blog.

A/N: Bitches will get the best possible happy ending for their ship, uncomplicated and 100% satisfying, and then decide to create Problems. That's me, I'm bitches.

***

“... He doesn’t have a desk.”

“I’m sure it won’t take him long to clear--”

“Uriel. He has never had a desk.”

Michael’s word came out cold and clipped; it caused Uriel to go quiet, and Metatron to turn to her. It was a long, piercing look. “Do you believe he’s lied to us?”

Holding Metatron’s gaze was never easy, but Michael did, unflinching. “I know he has.”

Uriel frowned. “But why lie about a desk?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t trust him,” Saraqael spoke up, and looked over at Michael. “Can I start the memory wipe now?”

“Yes. Do that.”

***

The average adult human brain has the ability to store the equivalent of 2.5 million gigabytes digital memory. While it may seem impressive, the mind of an archangel - let alone that of the only first-order archangel in existence - is not built like that of a human. Its capacity is infinitely superior and can therefore contain nearly limitless information, which comes in handy when you’re immortal and there are indeed countless things, names and events to remember.

This doesn’t necessarily mean that the storage has to be full. Some archangels - specifically, the only first-order archangel in existence - do have quite a lot of empty space left for the data to move around like tumbleweed in a bad Western movie. However, the mind’s capacity is exponentially higher than any supercomputer in the world, and the amount of data in it is exponentially higher than that in any human brain. Or that of many, many human brains glued together with several supercomputers thrown in here and there. The more data, the more time is needed to delete it.

This is all to say that, however efficient the memory wipe is, it takes time. Not much time, but time nonetheless; enough for the subject to know it’s happening. It is generally painless, though.

Unless the subject in question is foolish enough to fight it.

***

“NO!”

Gabriel jerked upright, the half-open match box falling from his fingers. The fly-- the gift -- flew off, still empty, but he hardly noticed. He fell on his knees, clutching his head with another cry. He knew instantly that something hadn’t worked - odd, with a plan so brilliant - and now a hole had opened up in his mind, a back hole capable of pulling in galaxies and reducing them to nothing.

He had seen black holes at work, or-- had he? He didn’t recall. Those memories, too, were being pulled into the black, stripped from him, erased entirely.

It had started, it was happening and he couldn’t stop it.

“No, no, no, no, no--”

Archangel Gabriel stood and forced himself to move, forced himself to walk and then run as fast as he could with his memories and sense of self being actively ripped away by… by… who was doing this to him? He didn’t know. He didn’t remember.

The elevator. I need to get downstairs, I must go down, I must--

Where was the elevator? Was he going the right way? He needed to get in it to take him… to take him where?

Down. Down. Must go down. They’re there.

Who?

They-- no. No. Please. There is someone. It must go-- I must go--

Where?

Before… before…

Before what? What was happening?

Doesn’t matter. The most important thing… the only important thing--

Even with his thoughts disjointed and flashing across his mind in a futile attempt to escape the pull of nothingness he - who was he? - almost, almost made it to the elevator. At that point he could not recall where said elevator was supposed to take him, but he had to get in. He only knew as much, that he had to go because… because…

Almost there, he managed to think.

Where?

Closer. I’m getting… I'm getting…

Close. But ‘close’ was not enough.

The black hole tore away the last lingering memory he’d been trying to hold onto. It hurt, like something vital being snatched from his fingers. Purple irises flickered, then dulled to green, blinking in confusion at the threshold of an elevator that had been reached too late.

The archangel Gabriel was no more.

Just above the hollow shell, and just as empty, the container fly kept buzzing softly.

***

NUMBER DEACTIVATED

For a few moments, Beelzebub stared. Then they stared some more. They tilted their head, and squinted for good measure. The words on the screen made no more sense than they did before.

NUMBER DEACTIVATED

That had never happened. That was not supposed to happen. Why would Gabriel deactivate his number? And most of all, why would he do that without so much telling them? The idea he may have had second thoughts about their entire… agreement, and all that came with it, briefly crossed their mind - only to be immediately dismissed with a scoff.

No, of course not. He would not. The most pompous archangel of all Heaven was currently wrapped around their little finger, which would have been quite useful to Hell if not for the fact they were, unfortunately, wrapped just as firmly around his. Quite a mess they had gotten themselves into. And neither of them wanted out, Beelzebub was sure of it.

So what was going on? Something smelled fishy, and not just because Dagon had been in the room. They tried to call again, just to see if something would change, and it did. Now the message that pinged on the screen had more words.

Unfortunately, none of them was good.

NUMBER DEACTIVATED. FOR FURTHER COMMUNICATIONS, CONTACT ARCHANGEL MICHAEL.

***

“Oh, and this is your station, sir! I mean-- I know I don’t have to call you that, you’re technically below me, but I was never in charge of anyone before. So, I hope I don’t mess up?”

Muriel smiled, watching the new junior recording angel - 38th class, one below them, they had no idea there was a rank below theirs! - look over the scrolls and the archive he was now tasked to help them keep in order and update and all that. He turned to them, and smiled back.

Did he look… vaguely familiar? Muriel must have seen him around before, even though their office was so remote, they saw very few angels.

“You’re doing great!” he exclaimed, like he’d just seen them perform the miracle of miracles. “And… where am I again?”

“The archives. Ah, a lot of angels have never been around here, it’s all right! I’ll show you around,” they offered, still a little giddy at the notion that they now had someone else to work with on a daily basis. Things could get a little lonely in that corner of Heaven; Saraquael’s arrival had been the biggest thing to happen in… nearly five centuries, they guessed.

“This is a new junior recording angel, 38th class. He will work under you, so do show him the ropes. Jibreel, you will do everything they tell you to. Is that clear?”

Muriel could quickly tell that a lot of things were not all that clear to Jibreel, but that was all right. They liked explaining things, and he liked to listen. And he smiled a lot. They liked that, too.

Yes, they were going to get along swimmingly.

***

[On to Chapter 1]

#good omens 2 #ineffable bureaucracy #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #go2 spoilers #gos2 spoilers #come what may

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pengychan · 8 months

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[Good Omens] Come What May, Ch. 2

Summary: While completely improvised, Gabriel’s plan to transfer his memories in the container fly before erasure was rather solid. It came very close to working, too. But ‘close’ was not enough. [SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2] Characters: Gabriel, Beelzebub, Crowley, Aziraphale, Muriel, Michael, Uriel, Saraquael Rating: T All chapters will be tagged as ‘come what may’ on my blog.

A/N: Crowley is not having a good day, but then again almost no one else is either.

*** [Back to Prologue] ***

“Lord Beelzebub, I am not saying I am not willing to take you Upstairs with me--”

“Then do it. I only need to be invited in so I don’t discorporate the second I step inside. I’ll do the investigating mysel--”

“But I do suspect you would be noticed right away.

“I won’t be. I can be inconspicuous,” Beelzebub replied, gaining himself a raised eyebrow from Crowley.

“With all due respect,” he said, in a tone which suggested he didn’t think the respect due was all that much, “I suspect our ideas of what’s inconspicuous may not coincide.”

An annoyed buzz. “I can turn into a fly. Fly on the wall, that’s the definition of inconspicuous.”

Both of Crowley’s eyebrows went up almost to his hairline. “A fly? A singular fly? Not necessarily a swarm?”

“Yes.”

“Then why the swarm in my car? Were you trying to make me crash?”

“I have no time to answer irrelevant questions,” Beelzebub replied, and turned their attention back to Aziraphale. “You may be persona non grata in Heaven, but surely you are not physically prevented from going in. Are you really unable to think of an excuse for you to go upstairs? Perhaps to return something, a handbook, whatever crap Heaven hands out to its agents on Earth? They love handbooks. Gabriel wouldn’t shut up about them.”

He… did have a handbook, come to think of it, but no one had asked him to return it and he found it would make a rather weak excuse. “I may have something that belongs to Heaven, but I don’t really think it’s anything they want back badly enough to let me step much further past the threshold.”

“And that’s exactly as far as you need to get. I’ll take it from there.”

Aziraphale shifted on his seat. “If you’re found out, it won’t take much for Heaven to guess I may have been the one to let you in.”

“I won’t be.”

Crowley rubbed his forehead with a groan. “Say that you do find His Royal Smugness up there, being held prisoner or whatever it is you think has happened to him. How do you plan on breaking him out?”

“... Once I step into Heaven, I can return at will. I’ll work out the details of the plan later.”

“Calling it a plan is more generous than I’ve ever known you to be.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. Now, if we have an agreement--” Beelzebub began, only to trail off when Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“And what if Gabriel is… not there anymore?”

He’d hit a nerve, Aziraphale could tell almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Beelzebub stiffened, and something crossed their face before they forced it back in a more neutral expression. “Of course he’ll be there,” they said, voice too tightly controlled to sound natural. “Where else in Creation would he be?”

“Well… I sincerely hope it is not the case, but if Heaven realized he was not planning on letting Armageddon happen… given what sentence was passed on me last time…”

“Do not.”

Beelzebub’s words were clipped and cold, something barely in check behind the clenched jaw and bunched up shoulders. Yes, the thought had definitely occurred to them as well, and they couldn’t bear to contemplate it. Aziraphale could understand that.

Crowley, however, didn’t seem particularly impressed. “I cannot say I’d cry buckets,” he muttered, only to rear back when Beelzebub turned to him with a look of utter fury that made Aziraphale fear, for a moment, that they’d make poor Nina’s coffee shop explode in Hellfire. Thankfully, they only spoke in a low buzz… but the words were far from reassuring.

“You’d better hope, for the sake of your precious Earth, that he is safe and well,” the Lord of the Flies snarled, eyes fixed on Crowey, causing him to shift on his chair. “He’s the only thing keeping me from starting Armageddon here and now. If he’s gone, I will stop at nothing until both Heaven and Earth and everything else in this wretched universe is a scorched, lifeless wasteland.”

Aziraphale swallowed. Oh, this was not going great, was it? “Lord Beelzebub, I would absolutely understand your grief, but for the entire world to pay--”

“This entire world is nothing to me without Gabriel in it. Am I clear?”

“Why, yes, I think you have made your point quite--”

“Am I clear, Crowley?”

As Azirahale anxiously looked around to make sure no one in the shop had noticed the commotion - Nina was giving them a funny look, but that was about it, so she seemed unaware that the fate of Earth was being decided at that table - Crowley cleared his throat. “Crystal,” he croaked, and that was it.

For a time.

***

“Perhaps giving him a different face would have been easier.”

“Nonsense. This needed some fine-tuning, is all, but it’s nothing beyond me. Now, no one in Heaven will quite recall what Gabriel’s face looked like.” A few taps on the touch screen, and Saraquael shrugged. “There, see? All done. The entirety of Heaven could see Jibreel right now, and not one would know who he used to be.”

“Won’t someone question the fact they cannot recall what Gabriel looked like, just as we announce he was called upon by God for another mission?”

“Don’t be silly, Uriel, of course they won’t. Angels don’t question. We found out long ago what a bad idea that is.”

“Of course not,” Michael spoke up, and looked over at the screen. Indeed, it showed a green check mark - the relevant memory had been erased from the minds of all lesser angels. Not from those of Archangels, of course. Just in case. “That’s good. You did well, Saraquel.”

“As always. I still believe it’s an unnecessary precaution.”

Michel frowned. “No precautions are ever unnecessary.”

“He’s in an office that gets a visit every few hundred years when things get busy. And when that happens it’s for information, not to see the scrivener. No one will even really look at him for a long time to come.”

“There is an angel mentoring him.”

“Muriel? Not terribly bright, that one. We probably would have had no need for concern even if I hadn’t erased their memory of Gabriel’s visage - which I did. A very efficient miracle.”

“And entirely off the record?”

“Obviously. I am no amateur.” A gesture of the hand, and the screen was gone. “Now, I believe we should resume contact with Hell, no? If Armageddon is to happen at all.”

Michael frowned. “Yes, we ought to. Beelzebub, however, was not inclined to speak to me.”

“I could try calling,” Uriel suggested, gaining herself a long look.

“I don’t see any reason why you should succeed where I failed,” Michael said. “No offense.”

“None taken. But as Metatron has said we are meant to work together to the best of our abilities until the role of Supreme Archangel has been filled again, it is my duty to offer help.”

Uriel’s voice was colder now, and Michael’s lips were pulled in a thin line. It was enough to make Saraquael roll her eyes and turn her wheelchair to leave. Frankly, she was entirely uninterested in their power squabbles. She had done what they needed her to, and she’d rather get some time off. Part of her faintly wondered something they had no response to - namely, why in all Creation had Gabriel suddenly balked at the Great Plan of starting the War to end all wars - but she shrugged it off.

That ship had sailed, and no one could get any answer out of Gabriel anymore.

***

“... going faster than a rollercoaster…”

“What is that?”

“Huh?”

“That thing you said. A roller-- something? I don’t know what that is.”

Jibreel blinked at Muriel, suddenly aware of their presence. He’d kind of zoned out, to be honest, humming a… thing? A song, he thought, it was a song that just kept coming out of his mouth. “A rollercoaster?”

“Yes, that.” Muriel tilted their head to one side, blinking. “What is it?”

“Well, it’s… er…” Jibreel frowned. Something seemed to tug at the corner of his mind, but it was fleeting, there one moment and gone the next. He shrugged. “Ah, not a clue, really. Isn’t it funny?”

Muriel smiled back, and sat. “Yes. You’re funny, Jibreel.”

“Am I? Oh. Thanks.” He smiled again, and for a while there was more silence. There was no work to be done at the moment, so he leaned back on the seat, humming a bit more. He didn’t even notice Muriels’ puzzled glances, nor did he notice when they began to take notes.

“... Jibreel?”

“Huh?”

“What’s getting closer?”

He paused again, and tilted his head. “I… don’t know. Is something getting closer?”

“It’s what you’ve been saying. Or… humming.”

“Is it? Ah. Yes, I guess it is?”

“And, uh. Do you happen to know what it is?”

“What’s what?”

“The something that’s getting closer.”

Jibreel frowned again, trying hard to think. It didn’t come very easy, really, a lot like trying to find something in a very large, dark house, with just an intermittent flashlight illuminating a small spot at a time. And the place was mostly empty anyway, walls barely discolored where the furniture once was. It made his head all ache-y and he found he didn’t like that much.

“I… don’t know.”

“Oh,” Muriel said, and they looked a little disappointed. Jibreel found he didn’t like it when he disappointed someone, so he frowned again, trying very hard to focus, to make that flashlight flare as bright as possible. Getting closer, getting closer… was he getting closer?

Closer to what? Was there anything? I think there was something. It was important. It was…

Jibreel squeezed his eyes tighter, forced the light to flash brighter, quicker, trying to illuminate the entire empty house, for anything left behind-- left behind by what -- and suddenly the brightness was unbearable, burning in his head, in his eyes. When he opened them he could dimly see Muriel, he could hear them gasping, but everything seemed slowed, as though behind a veil. His jaw fell open and he spoke, hearing his own voice as many, ringing distant, coming from miles away.

“Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend into heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there.”

“J-Jibreel? What’s going on?” The shaky question reached him just as pain did, cutting through his head like a blade. He groaned, closed his eyes, and then it was all gone - the voice in his chest, and the light in his head, and the burning in his eyes. Jibreel leaned back against his seat, feeling oddly emptied-out, like a sudden burst of power had died down. He only opened his eyes again when he felt a touch on his arm and realized that Muriel was grasping it, looking down at him with obvious concern.

He didn’t like that any more than he liked the pain. He didn’t want to cause concern to anyone. “... Sorry,” he mumbled, blinking and trying to sit up.

“What… what was that?”

“I don’t know. Ugh, my head’s not made for this anymore…” He rubbed his forehead, and when he looked up again Muriel was quiet, biting their lower lip.

“Anymore?” they asked.

“Huh?”

“You said, your head is not made for this anymore ? It used to be… made for… something?”

He shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry. I can’t recall.”

“Oh. And, the thing that is getting closer…?”

“I don’t know if anything is getting close at all.”

“It’s all right!” The concerned expression faded in a chipper smile. “My bad, I shouldn’t have asked. Surely if you can’t recall there is a good reason, no?”

“Ah, yes. Probably. It does hurt, trying to remember. Best not to.”

“Definitely,” Muriel reassured him, and that was that. They went back to peaceful silence, and Jibreel leaned back, glancing up. He saw that small black dot dancing in the air above and smiled a little, the headache already gone and forgotten about. When Muriel left again, saying they were just going to check something and would be right back, he didn’t notice anything off in their voice.

Idly, he kept trying to remember more of the song.

***

“Lord Beelzebub? A word, if you please.”

As Aziraphale disappeared in the back of the bookshop, looking for the handbook he was supposed to return - like that warranted a visit back to Heaven - Crowley leaned against a bookcase, taking off his glasses to fix his gaze on Beelzebub. The Grand Duke of Hell was so far up above him in the pecking order of Hell, addressing them the way he was planning to was nothing short of unthinkable.

But as the situation they were suddenly in was pretty damn unthinkable, and he wasn’t new to doing unthinkable things for either a demon or an angel, Crowley figured this was the right moment to find out if Beelzebub’s desire to find the Archangel Fucking Gabriel was great enough to keep them from discorporating him where he stood.

Unaware of his thoughts, Beelzebub turned to look at him. “... I’m listening.”

One more look to make sure Aziraphale was not within earshot, and he turned back to meet their gaze. “I don’t know what happened to Gabriel, and after that little show he put up trying to burn Aziraphale into Hellfire, I don’t care much.”

“You made it clear earlier,” was the reply. Beelzebub stood rigidly, returning his gaze with a cold look. “Your point?”

“My point is that if anyone in Heaven catches a sniff of you upstairs on the day Aziraphale showed up again, it won’t take them too long to put two and two together. And they may not wait to have proof to retaliate.”

“I won’t be caught--” Beelzebub began, but trailed off when Crowley suddenly stepped closer.

“As I am sure you recall, I am immune to holy water,” he hissed, rather glad he got to use that particular bluff again. It was enough to make the dismissive remark Beelzebub had been uttering die in their throat. “And I have used it against a demon before. You’re not the only one prepared to pull all the stops and do your absolute worst should anything happen to your angel. Neither of us wants to find out what the other would do.”

A brief pause, the two of them sizing each other up, and finally Beelzebub nodded.

“I see. That is quite the threat.”

“It is a promise.”

“I understand. Does he?”

Crowley blinked, taken aback. There went the cool, threatening display he’d so carefully performed. “... Huh?”

A slight nod towards the back of the bookshop. “I couldn’t help but notice you waited for him to be out of earshot before you gave your little speech,” Beelzebub said. “I did not understand what made you get in the way of Armageddon, but I think I do now. I know you’re as ready as I am to raise literal Hell should anything happen to your angel. But does he know that?”

Crowley reared back, sputtering a little. “That is-- not really the point, is it, let’s stay on track and--”

“Have you even told him?”

“Told me what?” Aziraphale’s voice caused Beelzebub to turn with a raised eyebrow and Crowley to nearly jump several feet up in the air. He quickly cleared his throat, and dropped on the nearest chair. He meant to make it a casual gesture, but he probably came across more like a dropped sack of potatoes.

“Uh, just that you need to be careful, angel,” he said, trying very hard to ignore the light scoff that left Beelzebub, who looked entirely too pleased with themself. Aziraphale didn’t seem to even notice and walked up to them, handbook in… well, hand.

“Here it is! I can pop in and give it back to the first angel we come across,” he said, holding it up. “I am sure you’ll understand, I’d rather only stay for as short a time as possible. I have not been banned as far as I am aware, but I am not particularly wanted either.”

Beelzebub nodded. “You only need to step inside and invite me in. I’ll take it from there.”

“... Very well. Shall we go?”

Don’t, Crowley wanted to say, but he was all too aware that they didn’t have a lot of a choice: by the looks of it, helping Beelzebub find Heaven’s Supreme Wanker was their best bet to keep Armageddon Part Two from coming to pass, or at least delay it long enough to come up with a viable plan to permanently stop it.

Let me come with you, he also wanted to tell him, but he knew that his presence would only risk making Aziraphale’s arrival in Heaven all the more noticeable: he could turn into a snake, which was however quite a bit more likely to draw attention than a fly. For Aziraphale’s safety, his visit to Heaven needed to be as brief and unremarkable as possible.

In the end, he stood with a snort.

“I’ll be waiting outside the elevator, angel,” he finally said. “If you’re not back in twenty minutes, I’m coming upstairs myself.”

Aziraphale seemed a little flustered at the prospect. “That’s… needlessly risky, I’d say. I’ll be fine. There is no need for you to come looking for me,” he said. Beelzebub, on the other hand, gave Crowley a look and a slight nod. Of course, they would know where he was coming from.

“You know he’d be coming and you know you can’t stop him, Angel of the Eastern Gate,” they said, and stepped past them both, heading to the door. “So let’s get this over with. Go back to Earth as soon as I’m in. I’ll handle this.”

“I… right.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, and put the book under his arm before following them. As he closed the door, then looked over at Crowley. “You don’t suppose they might have any idea of the layout of Heaven these days?”

“They likely don’t have a clue, no.”

“Perhaps I should--” he began, but was cut off by Crowley’s grip on his arm.

“Angel. Once they’re in, they’re on their own. They’re fine with that and you should be too.”

“Yes, but--”

“You’ll be back right away. Promise me.”

Aziraphale, looked up, blinking, and sighed in that mildly exaggerated way that barely hid the smile curling the corners of his mouth. “I promise,” he said, and Crowley finally remembered to breathe again.

***

Muriel really, really, really wished they had taken their own advice.

It was good advice, too. ‘Mind your business’ and ‘don’t ask questions’ was usually great advice in Heaven and… everywhere else, they assumed. They had never set foot outside Heaven, truth be told, but they could only assume it was the same everywhere. Except Hell, maybe? They were not sure what would qualify as good advice in Hell. They were pretty sure, though, that they probably did not want to find out.

So what am I hoping to find out here?

Here, as it happens, was in front of an elevator. In front of several elevators, really, because Heaven had plenty of internal elevators in order to move from one sphere to the other. Muriel knew where they were, but they’d never had any reason to visit most of them. Not that they were entirely certain they had any reason to do that now, either.

Except for one thing Jibreel had said, when they had asked him what he could remember.

An elevator, I think? I was standing near an elevator.

Among the many, many things Muriel was currently Not Sure Of was what clues they thought they were going to find in front of any elevator, but it really was the only lead they had. All they could tell was that something was not quite right. Jibreel’s lack of memory was odd, but what had happened earlier, when he’d tried hard to remember… it was something else. The words he’d uttered and his voice had been startling, as was the way his eyes had lit up purple.

But most of all there was something else - faint, held back by invisible chains but there nonetheless, causing the hair on the back of Muriel’s neck to stand on end. It had been brief, and sputtered quickly, but they had sensed it nonetheless. Pure, raw power.

Somehow, Jibreel was a lot more powerful than he looked and knew. A lot more powerful than a junior recording angel of any class had reason to be.

And it made absolutely no sense.

Muriel paused in front of the last elevator on their list, the big one connecting Heaven to Earth and Hell - not that anyone usually went all the day down there - and sighed, looking around. As was the case with all other elevators they’d visited before, they could see nothing amiss. Not a single clue as to… whatever was going on with Jibreel. Only whiteness as far as the eye could see.

Maybe inside the elevator, they thought, but held very little hope and couldn’t check right away: someone was using the elevator right now, coming up from below. Muriel only realized as much a moment before a ding rang out and the doors opened.

“... So, now you’re able to come in at will, but please make sure-- oh! Hello! My apologies-- I didn’t realize there was someone waiting to get on the elevator.”

Inside said elevator was an angel - had to be, no one else would have clearance to get there, obviously - smiling at them a little nervously, a book in hand. Muriel failed to notice something dark and small flying quickly over their head and disappearing into blinding whiteness.

“Oh! It’s fine! I wasn’t actually trying to get in, I was just…” a quick look at the elevator was enough to tell that, angel aside, it was empty. “... Never mind. But, uh, may I help you?”

The other angel looked somewhat relieved to be asked, and smiled. “Ah, actually, it would be grand. I would like to return this handbook, you see. It’s no longer relevant to my role - or lack thereof - on Earth, and I just happened to find it while putting some order in my… well. I imagine it may be of use to another angel, or perhaps in the archive? Am I all right to return it to you?”

“Of course!” Muriel smiled, because they liked being helpful and this angel was smiling, too. He looked a little nervous, really, but they didn’t think anything of it.

“Wonderful! Thank you very much,” he said, and handed over the book. It looked well-worn; he must have been on Earth for a very long time. Muriel often wondered what being on Earth would be like: working alone in their office got lonely, sometimes.

Well, all the time. Except that now there was Jibreel, and it wasn’t that bad anymore. They should probably stop wondering too much about him; if anything had happened with Jibreel prior to his arrival at their office, it was well above their position to know. If they went sticking their nose where it did not belong, they could cause trouble for both of them. And what if they moved Jibreel to another office? They liked his company. They liked any company.

“Um. Are you well?”

The angel’s voice snapped Muriel from their thoughts, and they recoiled. “Oh! Yes-- sorry-- of course, I’ll send it over to the library now,” they said, putting the book under their arm.

“Brilliant. Well, I should be going then - thank you for your help!”

Another somewhat nervous smile and he pressed the middle button, taking the elevator back down to Earth. A very quick visit, that, but it really didn’t take long to return a book after all.

And it took even less to let a single fly in, but that was not something Muriel was aware of. They just walked back towards their office, thoughts of the unanswered questions about Jibreel shoved in the back of their mind, idly going through the pages of the handbook.

***

Well. Heaven sure had changed since the Fall.

Truth be told, Heaven had not quite been Heaven before that, because there had been no Hell to be a counterpoint to. It had simply been the up, where they all dwelled. Or maybe someone did refer to it as ‘Heaven’ back then, before it became a way to differentiate it from Hell down below? Possibly. Beelzebub was not sure. But they did remember endless skies, galaxies so close you could reach out and touch them, and the occasional mad race from one newborn star to the next, fighting the gravitational pull of the occasional black hole. It sure as Hell and Heaven both hadn’t been like this.

Gabriel had described Heaven a few times during their meetings. At first he’d pretty much boasted about it, about what a beacon of efficiency it was; then he’d talked about it less and less, and sometimes with a frown. The more time they spent together on the middle ground that Earth offered, the less enthusiastic he had seemed about Heaven in general - until he’d stopped mentioning it altogether. Beelzebub had noticed, but never thought much of it; it wasn’t like they really felt like talking about Hell during those meetings, either, unless it was to bitch and moan about their responsibilities and idiotic underlings.

Now that they were seeing Heaven for themself, they could tell one thing: Gabriel had utterly failed to convey what an absolute, blindingly white, empty nightmare Heaven actually was. Had they not been in the process of trying to make the compound eyes they were currently sporting somehow used to the whiteness, Beelzebub might have considered taking some notes to make hell more… hellish.

But no - that was not why they were there. Gabriel, they thought, I need to find Gabriel.

Easier said than done, that. Heaven was surely at least as massive as Hell was, with different spheres housing departed souls as well as those where angels of all levels dwelled. Unless he had been destroyed - a possibility that Beelzebub, for their own fragile sanity and the survival of Creation itself, avoided pondering too hard - he could be just about anywhere.

No matter. I have time to search.

Below them, going about their duties, were some lower-ranking angels. Beelzebub had hoped to eavesdrop on something of use, assuming that angels in break rooms were as loose-lipped as demons, but it seemed angels had no break rooms of any kind. No walls to hide behind, but no common space either. All light with no warmth. Corporate nightmare fuel at its best, impersonal isolation to counter Hell’s suffocating, stifling crowding.

No one's ever given me anything before, Gabriel had told them once, and it echoed in their mind now. Of course not, this was not a place where such things happened. Neither was Hell, but at least it didn’t advertise itself as such. Heaven was meant to be a place of warmth and love, or so its PR efforts claimed; perhaps it was so in the spheres where good mortal souls resided, but there was little of either love or warmth to be found there, where angels made their home. So little, its Supreme Archangel was incapable of wrapping his mind around the gift of a single fly in a matchbox.

Did they find the fly? Could it be that’s what gave him away, my gift? Was it my doing?

No, they couldn’t allow themself to think that way. They chased the thought away, but not all of it. Something kept buzzing, aptly enough, through their mind.

The fly, of course. It had been a gift to Gabriel, but it would still recognize Beelsebub as its true master. Surely, if it was still in Heaven, it may sense their presence if they got close enough to it, and heed their call. Maybe it could bring him to Gabriel; it wasn’t much of a lead, but it was the only one they had, so may as well focus on it.

So they did - or they tried to, before a booming voice rang out all around them and almost caused them to smack against a column. They knew that voice well enough, and Satan knew they had no desire to hear it, now or ever again.

It was Michael’s.

***

“... And of course we give thanks to Gabriel for all his work as Heaven’s Supreme Archangel in these thousands of years, for his service to all of us, and wish him the best for the new tasks God had set out for him. Amen.”

The thundering voice all around faded, and its last words were met with silence - or so it seemed to Jibreel. Maybe there had been answers from other angels who, like him, had felt compelled to answer the announcement with an ‘amen’ of their own, but he couldn’t hear any.

The office was pretty isolated, just as Muriel had said; he had seen no one else at all since they had left again. Some work had come through, nothing much, and he had processed it the way they had shown him, telling himself - loudly - what a good job he’d done once the parchment had faded into light to go to the archives. Then he’d sat back, waited some more, and listened to the announcement by one Archangel Michael about the departure of the Supreme Archangel of Heaven, assigned to a new task by the Voice of God.

Jibreel assumed that this Gabriel had to be pretty good at his job, to be the supreme anything. He wondered what new task God had assigned him. He didn’t think Archangel Michael sounded very sad about the fact he had left, which seemed pretty cold to him. He would probably be sad if Muriel never came ba--

A sudden, frantic buzzing sound snapped Jibreel from his thoughts. He looked up to see the fly who kept hanging around him had suddenly stopped flying around and was hovering in place, buzzing louder than usual. Then suddenly it flew off and it was gone, lost somewhere in the endless, empty whiteness. It didn’t come back.

Jibreel found that made him pretty sad, too.

***

[Back to Chapter 1]

#good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #muriel #come what may

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