Part Two of vulgarweed's gift

[musegaarid]

Part one

(*~*)

Upon materializing again, Crowley promptly tripped over his reformed feet and landed on his face in a puddle of slime. Swearing profusely and glaring at Aziraphale who was attempting and failing at hiding his amusement, he picked himself up and attempting to shake the goop off him, making a face as he only succeeded in wiping it on a larger section of his clothes, causing there to be a greenish stain across the front of his suit. More than ever, Crowley wished that he could do miracles again.

'Smooth,' Art commented sarcastically. 'Welcome to Hel. Not much like your Hell, is it?' she said, gesturing to the surrounding landscape.

'It's definitely missing the flames,' Crowley agreed. 'It looks a bit like the Underworld though, doesn't it?'

It did look a bit like the Underworld, with dark rocks surrounding the area and a rocky ceiling high overhead, but it was missing the black river. There were also some plants growing, in the form of stunted and dying vines, as well as brownish grasses and slimy moss. Hel wasn't any more cheery than the Underworld had been.

Art rolled her eyes. 'Well, it's not the Underworld, I can tell you that,' she said. 'See those big thick things traveling across the land and going into the ground?' she asked, pointing to them. 'Those are the roots of Yggdrasil. They'd never be seen this clearly in the Underworld, so even if I did lead you wrong, we're still in a Norse afterlife at least. Come on,' she said, starting to walk along what vaguely resembled a path. 'Hel doesn't like visitors very much, so she has wards up all around her hall. We'll have to walk up there.'

Crowley groaned and began to follow her. Behind him, Aziraphale hummed to himself and fell into step with Crowley.

They walked in silence for a bit, walking around boulders that occasionally blocked the path and avoiding slime pools of the type that Crowley had already become familiar with. After a while, Crowley began to notice a shape flitting behind them, hiding behind boulders whenever he looked that way, and Crowley had the very distinct feeling of a lot of eyes on him. It wasn't a comfortable feeling.

He sped up until he was even with Art. 'Is something following us?' he asked, careful to keep his voice low. Aziraphale had also caught up to Art, and cast Crowley a worried look as he asked.

'Probably,' Art said, keeping her voice low. 'Major paranormal creatures don't tend to travel outside of their realms, but minor ones do. Kobolds especially like to travel into different realms. And this is a realm of spirits, after all. They tend to avoid Hel's hall, so normally they wouldn't be even this close to it, but they might be curious because of us.' She shrugged. 'Just ignore it for now. It's not got any major power, whatever it is, and it's not threatened us so far, so we should be all right.'

Crowley nodded and attempted to keep his eyes focused only on the path ahead of them. Aziraphale cleared his throat. 'So, does Yggdrasil really go into all the different realms then?' he asked, his voice much louder than Crowley and Art's had been. 'I mean, I've never seen any branches of it in Heaven of course, but others have told me that it has branches in all realms, even the ones that have nothing to do with the Norse pantheon.'

'Well, it doesn't show as a random branch just sticking out of the clouds and into Heaven, of course,' Art said, laughing a bit. Her volume had also increased to match Aziraphale's. 'I see it in all of the realms I go to, but I know to look for it. Maybe more importantly, when I look for it, I believe I will see it. From what I've heard from people who don't primarily worship the Norse gods, you don't see it until you start believing it should be there, and then it pops up. And then, Yggdrasil has more aspects than just a tree, so it might not materialize as a branch in certain realms too,' she added, climbing over a boulder blocking the path with practiced ease. Crowley and Aziraphale followed her with considerable less grace, just barely avoiding a painful fall when Aziraphale slipped and half landed on Crowley.

'Sorry, my dear,' Aziraphale said, quickly levering himself off Crowley.

'Mmmph,' Crowley grunted, more concerned with not falling off himself.

As they slipped off the boulder with relief, Art was waiting for them at the gate to what looked like an imposing castle, built out of the rock itself. 'This is Hel's hall,' Art said as they trudged up to her. 'Before we go in though, there's a couple of things you need to keep in mind. First of all, she's the daughter of Loki and the monster Angrboda, but she hates both her parents, so don't mention them. Second, because of that, her appearance isn't exactly the prettiest, and she's really, really touchy about that.'

'So it's true that she has, ah, a disfigurement?' Aziraphale asked, lightly touching his face.

Art nodded and snorted. 'That's a nice way to put it. Half of her body's rotting. Quite frankly, it's disgusting. The other half is that of a beautiful woman. She tried to keep her body angled so Baldor could only see that side of it to seduce him, but it didn't work of course. He saw her other side and was revolted. He's another topic you should never, ever mention around her.' Art started to open the gates and then paused. 'Actually, you might just want to not speak at all. That's probably best.' Without giving them a chance to respond, Art opened the gates and strode up the path to the castle. Crowley scowled at her back and flipped her off even as Aziraphale muttered something about disrespectful young people, but both of them obediently followed her up.

The doors to the hall opened silently for them, and Crowley warily followed Art inside, looking for any sign of life inside and seeing none.

'Quite a lovely place, isn't it?' Aziraphale murmured. 'I quite like the decorations,' he added softly as they passed a tapestry depicting men being cut open and fed to a wolf and a hallway which had wall decorations in the form of bodies in various stages of decomposing chained to the wall.

'Definitely add a homey and friendly touch,' Crowley agreed.

Art overheard them and shook her heads. 'Death gods get really morbid; they can't help it,' she murmured. 'Hades wears robes that are made of the spirits of the damned.'

Crowley wrinkled his nose. 'Nasty,' he muttered. 'Almost worse than tartan,' he added with a pointed look towards Aziraphale, who ignored him.

Art laughed, but fell silent and composed her face as they turned a corner into a lavishly decorated room with richly colored rugs and tapestry. The centerpiece of the room was an imposing throne, with human skulls adorning it and gold covering every other inch of the throne. On top of that, the dais it sat on looked to be made entirely out of bones. Crowley swallowed thickly and glanced towards Art uneasily.

The only thing more imposing and terrifying than the throne was the woman sitting on it. Just as Art had said, the woman had two very different halves. The rotting half was truly disgusting, with skin flaking off her cheekbones, and her teeth exposed by the lack of skin over her jaw. Her blue eye was completely exposed and slightly drooping in its socket, and all the skin on that side of the face and body was either brown or black. The other half was indeed a beautiful woman, with auburn hair, full lips, creamy skin, and a sparkling blue eye. She was dressed in an expensive gown, sparkling in jewels and made entirely of velvet, but despite her beautiful half and the expensive gown, all Crowley could feel as he looked at her was revulsion.

'Mighty Hel, Queen of the Dead,' Art intoned, stepping forward and bowing slightly, which the other two hastily copied. 'We come seeking your advice, for we have a challenge to face which may only be overcome by your wisdom.'

Hel's face did not change, but Crowley had the feeling she was displeased. Looking to Art, he noticed with a jolt that she was frowning slightly and didn't look completely confident anymore. 'Is that so?' Hel asked idly, her eyes never leaving Art's. 'What problem would that be? The challenge of how to conquer the realms of the dead for their god, so he may control all the afterlives?'

Art's face hardened. 'That is madness that I last heard from Hades,' she said sharply. 'If it was him that told you that was our goal, I am surprised you listened to him. He's insane right now, and he thinks everyone and everything is against him.'

'Of course you would say it is madness,' Hel said coolly. 'The alternative is admitting that you are a traitor working for their upstart of a god and throwing yourself on my mercy. Which is nonexistent, by the way.'

'At least listen to their plea,' Art said, apparently forgetting she had told them not to talk, Crowley noted. 'You have granted us an audience so you owe at least that much!'

'I owe nothing to you,' Hel hissed. 'Little bitch, don't think you can trick me. You and my detestable father would love to see my realm fall, and I will not allow it to succeed.'

'This is madness,' Art yelled. 'What has happened to your mind that you would believe in this? All they want is to go back to their own afterlives; they're not looking to bother you!'

'The Christian god has looked to destroy the old gods since humans first believed in him!' Hel snarled back. 'Are you so blind as to not have realized that? He has sent people to force our worshippers to convert or die, his people made worshipping us illegal in many places, and they burned our temples and killed our priests. Is it so hard to believe that now he would turn his greedy eye to seize our actual realms? No,' Hel continued, her eyes both gleaming with the glint of madness, 'He is trying to destroy us, and I will not allow it. My land will never be taken by any other god, and those who try to make it so will suffer horribly.'

'Nobody wants the fucking dead realms,' Art snarled right back at her. 'When the fuck will you and Hades realize that? Hades pulled the wrong lot and was forced to take the Underworld, and he's resented the Olympians ever since. You didn't choose to rule Helheim either, you were cast down here by Odin. When will it get through your head? Nobody wants to get your realm. Nobody wants any afterlife to rule because they're the worst fucking things to rule! You paranoid bitch, you're the one who can't see what's going on!'

As Art spoke, Hel's face had convulsed into a mask of rage, but she calmed herself and her face became once more impassive. 'I think a stay in the dungeons might cause you to see differently,' she said calmly, as if Art's words had had no effect on her. A clanking behind them caused Crowley to turn around in time to see rotting, grinning skeletons enter the room. One tried to grab Crowley and Art, without turning around, flicked a knife out and smashed the pommel into the skeleton's throat. They backed off after that.

'If you lock me in your dungeons, Hel, you will be getting a visit from Loki very soon,' Art said icily, glaring straight at Hel. 'You may not aid us, but you will let us leave your hall without any interference, or I swear I will turn against you, and the next time I come here, you will no longer be the ruler of this realm. Odin owes a debt to me, and he cast you here; he can cast you out.'

Hel was so silent and still after Art had spoken that Crowley feared Art had gone too far, and one glance at Aziraphale's pale and drawn face confirmed that he felt the same. 'You may leave, but you have no right to go gallivanting around my realm,' Hel said finally. 'I do not want trash like you in my realm, whether in the dungeons or in my hall anyway. My warriors will escort you to the trunk of Yggdrasil, and you will stay there until you find a way out on your own, or until you die. And if you try to come back to my hall, or try to leave the tree at all,' and here she grinned, revealing one side of pearly white and one side of yellowish brown and broken teeth, 'I will rip out your lungs and your guts and feed them to my wolf, and you will never be able to die to escape the pain for you are already dead. So keep that in mind, should you want to come back and bother me.'

'I assure you, we will,' Art said coldly, not waiting for Hel's dismissal but abruptly striding out of the room. Aziraphale followed her, leaving Crowley to hastily fall behind them as the doors shut and the skeleton fighters surrounded them. Art paid no notice to the skeletons, striding past them without any emotion whatsoever and walking as if she was the one leading them to a place and not the other way around.

They left the hall and walked up a long path, not as rocky as the one they had traveled to the hall, but steeper, and with a cliff on one side. How long they walked, Crowley wasn't sure. They walked in silence now, Art all but shaking in anger, and both he and Aziraphale too defeated to say anything.

Eventually, the rocky landscape changed to one with more life in it. Crowley began to notice flowers growing alongside the road, with other plants as well. Birdsong could be faintly heard, and he frowned, wanting to ask if animals could enter Helheim as well as humans but not wanting to break the silence.

They rounded a corner, and Crowley sucked in a breath as he spotted the tree on the other side. It was enormous; all the roots that Art had pointed out connected into its huge, ancient and weathered trunk that reached up towards the ceiling of the caverns and extended branches outwards, covering a good portion of the ceiling. He heard a squirrel chattering distantly and birds singing in the branches, along with the buzzing of bees and the soft hiss of a snake. Yggdrasil was, without a doubt, one of the most impressive sights Crowley had ever seen.

Art flopped down against one of the roots and watched the skeletons retreat with a sigh. 'Well, that went about as badly as I thought it might,' she muttered.

'You think?' Crowley asked sarcastically. 'No, being stuck out here with no hope of getting back to my people with no company besides ourselves and a chattering squirrel for eternity sounds excellent. If I wanted to waste away in limbo, I could have just stayed in the Underworld.'

'Crowley!' Aziraphale hissed, elbowing him hard in the stomach. 'At least try to have some appreciation for the people who try to help you!'

Crowley gasped, trying to get some air back into his lungs6. 'All right, all right! It's just that this isn't helping, and I'm sick of being stuck in afterlives I don't know with no idea of how to get out!'

'Well, I thought this would work out better than it did,' Art snapped back defensively. 'It wasn't like there were many other afterlives I could take you to! If I took you two to Valhalla, the thick headed bloodthirsty jackasses up there would cut your heads off and use them for a round of football before you could say a word. If I tried to take you to the Egyptian realm of the dead, you'd probably end up getting your hearts eaten by the Ammit and then you'd find a way to come back and bitch to me about that.'

'I don't think my heart would outweigh the feather of Ma'at,' Aziraphale protested.

'Yes it would,' Art said flatly. 'You've been alive for millennia. Although you've done hundreds and hundreds of good, even great, acts, you've also killed people and had to also do some darker acts as well. I can't guarantee it'd balance. That's assuming your heart would even count, since you don't have a mortal form. If it didn't, you'd just be stuck in limbo there, and I'd be listening to you bitch at me the same as you are here. So in the end, it doesn't really matter,' she said grimly. 'I can't take you out of the dead realms and into the mortal one, because that'd upset the balance and I'd get a whole bunch of death gods kicking my ass. And, quite frankly, I don't want to deal with that.'

Crowley groaned and let his head fall back against the root. 'Why do the pagan afterlives have to be so complicated?' he moaned to the uncaring tree. 'Why can't the gods just go, 'oh, I'm so sorry to hear you've ended up in the wrong afterlife, here's a pass to get back to yours!' Why did we get stuck here anyway?'

'Why did you end up in the wrong afterlife?' Art asked thoughtfully. 'Has it happened before?'

'Not in six millennia,' Aziraphale said wearily,' And we've both died hundreds of times.'

'Hmm,' Art said, frowning thoughtfully. 'Anyone have a really serious grudge against you? Like, not just a general grudge for your people trying to start the Apocalypse, but a really personal one?'

'Not so far as I know, though maybe I just forgot it,' Crowley said.

'Hmm,' Art said again. 'Well, I'll look into it once I get out of here. It's strange, that's all.'

They fell back into silence. Crowley watched the bees buzz overhead, and tried to ignore the fact that he was once again practically trapped in limbo with no way out.

6 No, Crowley had no idea how a spirit could still need air either.

(*~*)

'Care for a bit of string, my dear?' a cracked, old voice asked on his right, and Crowley jumped in shock, for no one had spoken for several hours. He looked over and saw an old woman in a frumpy old dress, squatting down beside him. He knew very well she hadn't been there less than a minute ago, but was getting so used to surprises that he didn't even question it. She smiled at him, revealing crooked teeth, and held out a piece of red string. 'You never know what string can do for you.'

Crowley attempted his version of a polite smile (it always came out more sleazy than anything, and began to refuse. 'Thanks, but I don't think I need-'

'Take the string, Crowley,' Art ordered, and he looked at her and saw her face drawn and pale.

Not sure of what was going on, he looked back at the old woman and mutely took the string. She grinned even wider and got up, hobbling around to Aziraphale and offering him a piece of blue string, which he accepted with a nod of thanks. She then walked over the roots and disappeared behind the tree.

No one spoke for a while, Crowley and Aziraphale examining their strings, and Art appearing to be in deep thought. Finally, Aziraphale broke the silence. 'Was that a goddess?' he asked Art.

She seemed to shake herself and come out of her thoughts. 'Hmm? No. No, that wasn't a goddess. That's a result of what happens when myths start to get mixed,' she said, shaking her head. 'Have you heard of the Norns?'

'The old ladies who weave the fabric of mortals' lives?' Crowley asked, dredging up a bit he thought he'd heard somewhere.

'Well, kind of,' Art said. 'The Norns play a chess game. It's the Fates- the Greek version- that weave. That was a combination of the two, I think.'

'So, is this the string of our lives, then?' Crowley asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach. 'Does this mean that we'll never get back to the living realm? That we're dead for good this time?'

Art shook her head. 'No, I don't think that's it at all. They don't normally give spirits their life string. I'm not sure why she gave it to you.'

'To help us, maybe?' Aziraphale suggested.

'How would it help us?' Crowley grumpily asked. 'We can't use string to climb Yggdrasil or anything. There's no way for it to help us get out.'

'Yeah, you really can't use it for that,' Art said. 'Even if you could get back to your afterlives by just climbing Yggdrasil- which you can't, that's not how it works- I don't see how a tiny piece of thread would help.' She thumped the root she was sitting on in frustration. 'But there has to be a reason she gave it to you, and we're missing it!'

'I don't know, what can you do with string?' Crowley muttered. 'You can… tie it in a circle and use it as a toy lasso. You can make a noose to pretend to hang yourself with. You can… what? What can it be used for?'

'String games,' Aziraphale said absently.

There was a pause. 'String games?' Art asked carefully, saying it as if she was trying to hide the fact she thought Aziraphale had gone crazy.

'Yes,' Aziraphale said, a bit huffily. 'Like children play, you know. Cat's cradle and all of those.'

'Oh,' Art said slowly. 'Yeah, I know what you're talking about- my mother used to do those sometimes.' She watched Aziraphale play with the string, her brow creasing.

'Oh, wonderful,' Crowley said sarcastically. 'String games. That'll get us out of here for sure.'

'Actually, it might,' Art said slowly. She looked up at the tree, then back to the string that Aziraphale was holding. 'Yggdrasil is the tree of life, after all.'

'What does that matter?' Crowley asked, and then realized she wasn't paying attention to him. All of her focus was reserved for Aziraphale's string.

'Aziraphale, do you know how to do Jacob's Ladder with that?' she asked abruptly, watching him intently.

'Jacob's Ladder, hmm,' the angel murmured. He focused on the string and moved his fingers in a pattern a couple of times, and held up the finished result. 'This is it, isn't it?' he asked, holding up the finished result.

Art examined it. 'Yeah, I think that's it,' she said finally. 'Go put it against the tree, would you?'

Aziraphale eyed her curiously, but got up to do so. A moment later, he inhaled sharply, and Crowley turned around to see what was the matter- and gaped at the golden ladder now extending past the tree's branches.

Art laughed delightedly. 'Thought that might do it,' she said, grinning. 'Symbolism and all that good shit's always been a huge part of religion, don't you know.'

'So that's it?' Crowley asked. 'We climb up that ladder, and we'll get back to our afterlives?'

'Well, Aziraphale can,' Art said slowly, 'But Jacob's ladder in the old story only goes to Heaven, not Hell.'

Crowley sighed. 'So I'm still stuck here.'

'Didn't say that,' Art said, scowling at him. 'You know how to do Witches' Broom?'

Crowley began to say no, but then thought back to a time in Germany and a young shop-keeper practicing some old household magic. 'I might, actually,' he said, and tying the string in a circle, wrapped it around his fingers in the shape he thought he remembered doing. 'That about it?' he asked.

Art nodded. 'Yeah, so go do what he did.'

Crowley nodded, and got up and placed his string broom carefully against the tree's trunk. The string promptly changed into wood, and he was suddenly holding an actual broom.

'Nice,' Art said approvingly. 'I think the two of you can just follow those until it feels like the right place, and you'll be back in your afterlives.'

'Worth a shot,' Crowley said, feeling better than he had since he died. 'Thanks for your help. If you ever need to corrupt a soul, you know who to talk to.'

'Or if you ever need to save a soul,' Aziraphale added, giving Crowley a disapproving look.

Art laughed and shook her head. 'No problem, mates. It'll be nice seeing you topside.'

'Yeah, I'll be looking for you there,' Crowley said with a wave as the broom began to fly. 'It'll be nice to be back- WHOA!' He shouted as the broom took off and left Heheim behind. The last thing he heard was Art yelling for him not to crash into the tree because she wasn't helping him a second time, and he laughed and waved.

He'd never, ever in all six millennia been so happy to see the fiery Gates of Hell.

(*~*)

It was a week later, and Crowley and Aziraphale were sitting in the Ritz, enjoying the feeling of being alive again. Both Heaven and Hell had given them a hard time about going to the wrong afterlife, but since neither could prove it was actually Crowley or Aziraphale's fault, they were granted their bodies back after a few days. Both of them were thrilled to be back in London, even with the ansaphones that neither of them had missed, and the obnoxious people, and the inevitable Queen cassette playing in the Bentley.

Someone called over to them and Crowley twisted around in his chair, smirking slightly to see Art heading over to them. She grinned as she stole a chair from a nearby table and pulled it over to theirs, shamelessly stealing a bit of Crowley's filet minon.

'You guys are looking healthy,' she said cheerfully. 'A lot better than you did the last time I saw you, anyway.'

'All thanks to you, my dear,' Aziraphale said graciously. Crowley made a gagging noise, and Art snorted, waving it off.

'I don't actually have that much time here, because I have to go chase down a stupid vampire that keeps letting himself get spotted with his fangs out, but there's something I wanted to tell you,' she said. 'You know how we thought that you guys might have been forced to end up in the wrong afterlife?'

'Were we?' Crowley asked, intrigued. 'Who did it?'

Art nodded. 'Sadly enough, Cthulu did,' she said, rolling her eyes.

Aziraphale gave her an incredulous look. 'Cthulu did? But he's not a god, is he? Is he even real?'

Art rolled her eyes again. 'He didn't start as a god,' she said disgustedly. 'He was a fictional character, for fuck's sake. But, because mortals love to form cults around the weirdest of things, there was a cult formed around him, and there were just enough true believers to make him real and semi-divine. It's ridiculous, but that's what happened.'

'Why did he sabotage us?' Crowley asked, sipping from its wine. It was, to the wine's own surprise, an excellent Chianti.

'The jackass doesn't understand how the different gods work,' Art said in annoyance. 'He thought it'd start a war. He won't be doing it again, of course; the true gods don't appreciate a faker like him trying to start shit, and so he was told that if he tried it again, we'd all be having a calamari feast. He got the message,' she said with great satisfaction.

Crowley shook his head, laughing slightly. 'Well, if I ever meet him, I'll teach him how Hell does things,' he promised.

Aziraphale shook his head as well. 'If I meet him, I'll teach him what a good smiting is,' he said. 'I believe it would be justifiable.

'Oh, a good smiting would be very justifiable,' Art agreed. 'If you could find your sword to do it with, that is.' As Aziraphale squawked a protest, she laughed and fled. 'Be good!' she called. 'Don't piss off any more pagan gods!'

'No promises!' Crowley called, laughing as she ran out. He turned back to Aziraphale, his smile turning into something lighter and fonder. 'It's good to be back.'

Aziraphale smiled fondly back at him. 'It is, my dear,' he agreed. 'There truly is no place like home.'