Happy Holidays, Bookshop!
Happy Holidays, bookshop!
title: Bethlehem
gift for:: bookshop
author: tea_and_snark
rating: G
prompt: Bethlehem
author's notes: I hope you have a happy holiday season! I was intrigued when I read your prompt, and originally I wanted to head straight into research and make it some sort of historical epic. Unfortunately, by the time I had the chance to start writing, I was whisked far away from my university’s library and into the realm of my family; I think the final product reflects the warmer, closer feeling of being with the ones you love. I hope that I can give that feeling to you, too, in this story - or at least the melody of the most beautiful Christmas song.
(As a secondary note, I would like to say that the views on religion in this story represent my attempts to portray each individual character’s approach; none of them actually capture my own, nor am I trying to foist these views upon my readers.)
~*~silent night~*~
“And there was a glorious light in the heavens. The shepherds beheld it and came upon the manger, and they partook of the light of the infant Lord. Twelve days after the birth, the Magi arrived and they did bring gifts of frankincense, gold and myrrh. Mary did use these materials to form a ring of protection around her child, as she was an intelligent mother and understood the many dangers to a newborn in an unsanitary environment.”
Ms. Device was not popular among her Sunday school students. Newt had started going to Mass again, to get to know some of the other families in the neighborhood, but Anathema refused to undergo the sexist mind-numbing rituals of the centuries, and volunteered instead to baby-sit the Sunday school groups, effectively missing half the service while still allowing Newt the comforting feeling of her support. She had it all figured out, and she still came out on top - but after all, figuring things out was part of being a Device.
Plus, teaching Sunday school allowed her the opportunity to instruct the next generation in a more open-minded approach to theological practice.
“You see, God hath endowed woman with the special power to heal, protect and nurture, not to mention direct, control, and even conquer…”
Wensley looked mildly at Brian and whispered, “She’s not reading from the book anymore. I can tell because there aren’t any pictures of what she’s talking about.”
“Shhh,” replied Brian. “My dad says women who talk like Miss Device take their brassieres off and light people on fire with them. I wanna see if she does it -”
Wensleydale considered this for a while. He tried to visualize the results, and then transcribe his impressions into an intelligent expression of emotional response.
“Ew,” he said.
“She’s getting it all wrong,” said Adam.
Pepper huffed. “Oh, sure, of course you’d know, Mister I-Know-Everything-Cause-I’m-the-Son-of-the-”
“Well, if there aren’t pictures for it in the book, she’s probably making it up,” reasoned Wensley.
“I think you all might be getting it wrong, that Ms. Device knows a lot about the power of women and that might be more than Adam can tell you guys so we should just listen to her and learn,” tried Pepper once again.
“No, what I mean is she’s getting the whole story wrong. Listen, I know how it really goes.”
Even Brian turned around to look at Adam.
“Does it involve flaming bras and naked women?”
Adam nodded.
The little group on the fringe of the Sunday school class clustered a little tighter, and in childish whispers began to unravel the true story of Christmas.
~*~holy night~*~
The night began when the sun set. It was as simple as that; the night does not begin when the Virgin gives birth, nor does it begin when the angel sings. The angel was there when the night began, but he did not participate in the launching of the evening. Despite popular literary suggestions, nights tend to take care of starting themselves, without the aid of history-making events.
The sun set, and the angel stood on the hill watching it. It was a lovely show, although a little heavy on the orange, and the angel was prevented from fully enjoying it by the very earthly discomfort that his robes afforded him. He had miracled their insides as downy as they would go, but still there was little that could be done to improve a shepherd’s garb and still maintain its distinct look of rough living. The angel sighed and supposed he’d have to soldier through, at least for this one night.
It was an important night, after all, and it had just begun. Aziraphale had heard about the child, but information on the location of His birth was highly classified, and only the messenger angels were allowed to know. Aziraphale doubted Raziel’s abilities, however - he was always late to their appointments, and Aziraphale had a feeling that Raziel was supposed to be maintaining a more consistent correspondence with himself and the Powers Above. Of course, an angel could get in big trouble snooping around where he wasn’t needed, so Aziraphale lowered himself to borrowing a shepherd’s clothes and his herd for the evening to follow a few tips and track down the expecting parents.
There was a demon as well. He stood at the top of a bleak hill and looked down upon the village lit with tiny fires for warmth and safety. With one slow exhalation, he caused a black cloud to spread over the sky. As the sun dipped into the horizon, its light was reflected explosively on the new clouds, staining them orange and red. The colors were the more deeply expressed shades of the hills below, and for a moment the demon considered how pleasant it would be to walk on the clouds instead. This was before he remembered he had a job to do, and with a lazy twirl of his polished shepherd’s staff walked on.
He’d been told there was an angel - a character he was vaguely sure he was familiar with. The angel would attempt to create a signal announcing the location of the holy birth, most likely a celestial marker. Crowley’s assignment was to prevent him from doing so. It was pretty easy so far - he’d already spotted an unusually well-dressed shepherd on the opposite hill, across the village, inexpertly waving his staff. When the shepherd failed to gather his flock the traditional way, he crossed his arms and several straying sheep flew through the air to land within a few feet of the rest.
In a second and a whirl of warm air, Crowley was on the new hill, startling the angel.
“Oh, I thought your side would be sending someone along,” he said, when he’d recovered his senses.
“Good for you,” sneered Crowley. “Of course you know that means I’m going to make you leave this place.”
“Oh, quite the contrary, my boy. I’m not even sure if this is The Place. I’ve been following rumors spread by the shepherds for days now. Why, I even borrowed this flock from a young fellow on his way -”
“You borrowed a flock?” asked Crowley skeptically.
“Well, the boy was asleep, and I thought that as long as he didn’t wake up before I returned his flock and clothes intact - which he won’t - then all’s the same to him. He looked like he could use the rest.”
“And you’re on the ‘Good Side,’” muttered Crowley. “I expect you’ll be forced to move on if I compel you. You said you needed to keep your flock intact, after all, and I think you’ll be convinced that this is no safe place for it.”
“On the contrary, I’ve found this area very comfortable -” began Aziraphale. Crowley cocked an eyebrow. A sheep behind the angel burst into flames.
Aziraphale, shocked, turned and wished the flames away before the very singed sheep became too traumatized. Crowley sneezed and it ignited again. Aziraphale caused a stream of rain to put it out. Crowley wound up to hit it with the fire-wish again, but Aziraphale levitated it and Crowley’s wish harmlessly hit a rock instead. The two struggled mentally, Aziraphale attempting to dodge Crowley’s sheep-igniting willpower by ferrying the creature around the sky, making it harder for the demon to concentrate on. At last, the collision of both their conflicting wills resulted in a burning batch of wool in the sky above one of the valley barns and a very surprised and suddenly shorn sheep galloping into the distance across the hills.
The angel and the demon slumped to the ground, panting, their staffs cast aside.
“There, you’ve gone and spoiled a perfectly innocent shepherd’s flock,” Crowley said.
“You started it,” retorted the angel.
“You were the one who stole it in the first place.”
“And I would have returned it in good condition if it weren’t for you. What do you call that in the sky, eh?”
Crowley smirked. “Roast Lamb of God.”
Aziraphale sighed and turned his head away from the demon.
“Oh, come on,” said Crowley, suddenly needing to keep the angel’s attention. “Let’s say we call it even this one night. Go for a drink?”
Aziraphale smiled as he realized how much he really wanted to. In an instant the sheep were returned to their master, and Aziraphale’s usual clothes were restored. He rose, and they walked into the village, and if they noticed large groups of shepherds on the hills with upraised faces pointing to the burning sign in the sky, they tried not to think about it too much. After all, if the shepherds followed it, they would only find themselves in an old beaten barn, with none but the animals to keep them company, and mangers full of hay for a bed.
~*~all is calm~*~
Aziraphale couldn’t remember what they were arguing about. All he knew is that he’d had no company for tea in the shop for two weeks, and he was growing increasingly uncomfortable in the lack of company.
Christmas commerce forced him to sell a book or two, but there was a numbness spreading through his heart that somehow kept him from being too disappointed. He was far more disappointed with something else. Something that was warm and peaceful, like that night in Bethlehem when they’d shared a drink over their combined failure -
Aziraphale didn’t really like to drink alone.
Aziraphale didn’t own a car; if he went anywhere far, it was as a passenger in the Bentley, and for the shorter distances he walked - he disliked taxis and their dirty seats. This arrangement, unfortunately, left few solutions for traveling distances too far for walking when his demon friend wasn’t available or willing to be available. That’s why, on Christmas Eve, Aziraphale consulted a map of London. It was a new one he’d bought that day from the corner store. He had the card of one A. J. Crowley, and now he had an idea of the general shape of London, from above.
Carefully, Aziraphale wrapped himself in his tartan scarf. He wore his least favorite tweed coat, but he still prepared the back with scissors to contain the damage. To compensate for the unattractiveness of the outfit, he pinned a gaudy red carnation to his lapel. He thought it looked quite dashing enough.
He slipped on his woolen gloves and adjusted his brown cap. Then, he climbed to the top of the fire escape, and onto the roof, stretched his arms and his back, did a few tentative jumping-jacks before giving up completely, and unfolded his wings with a wince. The crisp winter wind swirled around them and urged him to take off. With a gentle swoop he was in the air; he knew exactly which direction to go.
He’d always thought they were both wrong all along. He never believed that coincidence could be so startlingly real. But when they were spent, when they had finished their struggle and left the hill as friends - such a peaceful grace had filled them both. It was hard to believe - it was hard to imagine the angel and the demon finding each other again and again - but eventually one came to find that Bethlehem was an idea in their hearts of how they were meant to be.
When Aziraphale alighted on Crowley’s window balcony, the first thing the angel said was, “You were right. We were in Bethlehem that night.”
“Of course I was right,” grumbled Crowley as he took the angel’s arm and led him inside. “I don’t know why you argued the point so long. I was starting to get bored around here by myself.”
Perhaps Bethlehem was that peace and warmth they found the first time an angel held a demon’s hand with love. If an angel loves a demon, who becomes good and who becomes evil? Let’s just call it even and have a drink.
~*~all is bright~*~
“Have you seen the papers? All the evening editions have headlines about mysterious sightings of an angel in the city skies.” Newt thought it was pleasant conversation, which is why he was surprised when Anathema burst out.
“I am sick of hearing childish stories about angels and demons!”
Newt stopped with a dollop of cream suspended on its spoon, waiting to be dropped on a mug of hot cider.
“They didn’t mention a demon,” he said. “I’d have to clip it if they did.”
“No, I’m sorry,” said Anathema, rising and putting a new record on the gramophone. “It’s just that these Sunday school children have been straining my patience. This morning, that Adam child held up the whole class telling what he called the true story of Christmas, when I’d been trying to explain the properties of incense and its protective uses - I suspect that Adam is a very psychically gifted boy, and I only wish he would pay more attention in class…”
“Anathema, you don’t have to put yourself through that. I told you, I don’t mind if you don’t come to church -”
“But how am I ever going to learn how to teach our own children? I can’t even control them!” Anathema slumped down in the sofa in front of the fire, and wouldn’t even touch the cider Newt put in front of her. He put a comforting arm around her.
“Darling, we don’t have to worry about children of our own until you feel you’re ready. And I’m sure you’d be a fine mother, whenever you choose to become one.”
“Next August.”
“What?”
“I’m becoming a mother next August,” Anathema said, carefully.
“You mean, I - you - and - we’re - oh,” articulated Newt as his arm over her shoulder seemed to work on its own initiative to bring Anathema into a full embrace.
“Don’t worry, dear,” he said into her hair. “It’s hard to be worse than that little devil, Adam. You’re going to have a little angel.”
Anathema’s head was crushed slightly into Newt’s chest, but she didn’t mind. She could hear his heart beating, and every pulse was happiness. She closed her eyes and breathed in his familiar scent, and for that one instant their joy was so perfectly matched to that of another pair’s that, in the minds of all four - the angel, the demon, the witch and the witch-hunter - the same exact thought was shared:
You feel just like Bethlehem.
title: Bethlehem
gift for:: bookshop
author: tea_and_snark
rating: G
prompt: Bethlehem
author's notes: I hope you have a happy holiday season! I was intrigued when I read your prompt, and originally I wanted to head straight into research and make it some sort of historical epic. Unfortunately, by the time I had the chance to start writing, I was whisked far away from my university’s library and into the realm of my family; I think the final product reflects the warmer, closer feeling of being with the ones you love. I hope that I can give that feeling to you, too, in this story - or at least the melody of the most beautiful Christmas song.
(As a secondary note, I would like to say that the views on religion in this story represent my attempts to portray each individual character’s approach; none of them actually capture my own, nor am I trying to foist these views upon my readers.)
~*~silent night~*~
“And there was a glorious light in the heavens. The shepherds beheld it and came upon the manger, and they partook of the light of the infant Lord. Twelve days after the birth, the Magi arrived and they did bring gifts of frankincense, gold and myrrh. Mary did use these materials to form a ring of protection around her child, as she was an intelligent mother and understood the many dangers to a newborn in an unsanitary environment.”
Ms. Device was not popular among her Sunday school students. Newt had started going to Mass again, to get to know some of the other families in the neighborhood, but Anathema refused to undergo the sexist mind-numbing rituals of the centuries, and volunteered instead to baby-sit the Sunday school groups, effectively missing half the service while still allowing Newt the comforting feeling of her support. She had it all figured out, and she still came out on top - but after all, figuring things out was part of being a Device.
Plus, teaching Sunday school allowed her the opportunity to instruct the next generation in a more open-minded approach to theological practice.
“You see, God hath endowed woman with the special power to heal, protect and nurture, not to mention direct, control, and even conquer…”
Wensley looked mildly at Brian and whispered, “She’s not reading from the book anymore. I can tell because there aren’t any pictures of what she’s talking about.”
“Shhh,” replied Brian. “My dad says women who talk like Miss Device take their brassieres off and light people on fire with them. I wanna see if she does it -”
Wensleydale considered this for a while. He tried to visualize the results, and then transcribe his impressions into an intelligent expression of emotional response.
“Ew,” he said.
“She’s getting it all wrong,” said Adam.
Pepper huffed. “Oh, sure, of course you’d know, Mister I-Know-Everything-Cause-I’m-the-Son-of-the-”
“Well, if there aren’t pictures for it in the book, she’s probably making it up,” reasoned Wensley.
“I think you all might be getting it wrong, that Ms. Device knows a lot about the power of women and that might be more than Adam can tell you guys so we should just listen to her and learn,” tried Pepper once again.
“No, what I mean is she’s getting the whole story wrong. Listen, I know how it really goes.”
Even Brian turned around to look at Adam.
“Does it involve flaming bras and naked women?”
Adam nodded.
The little group on the fringe of the Sunday school class clustered a little tighter, and in childish whispers began to unravel the true story of Christmas.
~*~holy night~*~
The night began when the sun set. It was as simple as that; the night does not begin when the Virgin gives birth, nor does it begin when the angel sings. The angel was there when the night began, but he did not participate in the launching of the evening. Despite popular literary suggestions, nights tend to take care of starting themselves, without the aid of history-making events.
The sun set, and the angel stood on the hill watching it. It was a lovely show, although a little heavy on the orange, and the angel was prevented from fully enjoying it by the very earthly discomfort that his robes afforded him. He had miracled their insides as downy as they would go, but still there was little that could be done to improve a shepherd’s garb and still maintain its distinct look of rough living. The angel sighed and supposed he’d have to soldier through, at least for this one night.
It was an important night, after all, and it had just begun. Aziraphale had heard about the child, but information on the location of His birth was highly classified, and only the messenger angels were allowed to know. Aziraphale doubted Raziel’s abilities, however - he was always late to their appointments, and Aziraphale had a feeling that Raziel was supposed to be maintaining a more consistent correspondence with himself and the Powers Above. Of course, an angel could get in big trouble snooping around where he wasn’t needed, so Aziraphale lowered himself to borrowing a shepherd’s clothes and his herd for the evening to follow a few tips and track down the expecting parents.
There was a demon as well. He stood at the top of a bleak hill and looked down upon the village lit with tiny fires for warmth and safety. With one slow exhalation, he caused a black cloud to spread over the sky. As the sun dipped into the horizon, its light was reflected explosively on the new clouds, staining them orange and red. The colors were the more deeply expressed shades of the hills below, and for a moment the demon considered how pleasant it would be to walk on the clouds instead. This was before he remembered he had a job to do, and with a lazy twirl of his polished shepherd’s staff walked on.
He’d been told there was an angel - a character he was vaguely sure he was familiar with. The angel would attempt to create a signal announcing the location of the holy birth, most likely a celestial marker. Crowley’s assignment was to prevent him from doing so. It was pretty easy so far - he’d already spotted an unusually well-dressed shepherd on the opposite hill, across the village, inexpertly waving his staff. When the shepherd failed to gather his flock the traditional way, he crossed his arms and several straying sheep flew through the air to land within a few feet of the rest.
In a second and a whirl of warm air, Crowley was on the new hill, startling the angel.
“Oh, I thought your side would be sending someone along,” he said, when he’d recovered his senses.
“Good for you,” sneered Crowley. “Of course you know that means I’m going to make you leave this place.”
“Oh, quite the contrary, my boy. I’m not even sure if this is The Place. I’ve been following rumors spread by the shepherds for days now. Why, I even borrowed this flock from a young fellow on his way -”
“You borrowed a flock?” asked Crowley skeptically.
“Well, the boy was asleep, and I thought that as long as he didn’t wake up before I returned his flock and clothes intact - which he won’t - then all’s the same to him. He looked like he could use the rest.”
“And you’re on the ‘Good Side,’” muttered Crowley. “I expect you’ll be forced to move on if I compel you. You said you needed to keep your flock intact, after all, and I think you’ll be convinced that this is no safe place for it.”
“On the contrary, I’ve found this area very comfortable -” began Aziraphale. Crowley cocked an eyebrow. A sheep behind the angel burst into flames.
Aziraphale, shocked, turned and wished the flames away before the very singed sheep became too traumatized. Crowley sneezed and it ignited again. Aziraphale caused a stream of rain to put it out. Crowley wound up to hit it with the fire-wish again, but Aziraphale levitated it and Crowley’s wish harmlessly hit a rock instead. The two struggled mentally, Aziraphale attempting to dodge Crowley’s sheep-igniting willpower by ferrying the creature around the sky, making it harder for the demon to concentrate on. At last, the collision of both their conflicting wills resulted in a burning batch of wool in the sky above one of the valley barns and a very surprised and suddenly shorn sheep galloping into the distance across the hills.
The angel and the demon slumped to the ground, panting, their staffs cast aside.
“There, you’ve gone and spoiled a perfectly innocent shepherd’s flock,” Crowley said.
“You started it,” retorted the angel.
“You were the one who stole it in the first place.”
“And I would have returned it in good condition if it weren’t for you. What do you call that in the sky, eh?”
Crowley smirked. “Roast Lamb of God.”
Aziraphale sighed and turned his head away from the demon.
“Oh, come on,” said Crowley, suddenly needing to keep the angel’s attention. “Let’s say we call it even this one night. Go for a drink?”
Aziraphale smiled as he realized how much he really wanted to. In an instant the sheep were returned to their master, and Aziraphale’s usual clothes were restored. He rose, and they walked into the village, and if they noticed large groups of shepherds on the hills with upraised faces pointing to the burning sign in the sky, they tried not to think about it too much. After all, if the shepherds followed it, they would only find themselves in an old beaten barn, with none but the animals to keep them company, and mangers full of hay for a bed.
~*~all is calm~*~
Aziraphale couldn’t remember what they were arguing about. All he knew is that he’d had no company for tea in the shop for two weeks, and he was growing increasingly uncomfortable in the lack of company.
Christmas commerce forced him to sell a book or two, but there was a numbness spreading through his heart that somehow kept him from being too disappointed. He was far more disappointed with something else. Something that was warm and peaceful, like that night in Bethlehem when they’d shared a drink over their combined failure -
Aziraphale didn’t really like to drink alone.
Aziraphale didn’t own a car; if he went anywhere far, it was as a passenger in the Bentley, and for the shorter distances he walked - he disliked taxis and their dirty seats. This arrangement, unfortunately, left few solutions for traveling distances too far for walking when his demon friend wasn’t available or willing to be available. That’s why, on Christmas Eve, Aziraphale consulted a map of London. It was a new one he’d bought that day from the corner store. He had the card of one A. J. Crowley, and now he had an idea of the general shape of London, from above.
Carefully, Aziraphale wrapped himself in his tartan scarf. He wore his least favorite tweed coat, but he still prepared the back with scissors to contain the damage. To compensate for the unattractiveness of the outfit, he pinned a gaudy red carnation to his lapel. He thought it looked quite dashing enough.
He slipped on his woolen gloves and adjusted his brown cap. Then, he climbed to the top of the fire escape, and onto the roof, stretched his arms and his back, did a few tentative jumping-jacks before giving up completely, and unfolded his wings with a wince. The crisp winter wind swirled around them and urged him to take off. With a gentle swoop he was in the air; he knew exactly which direction to go.
He’d always thought they were both wrong all along. He never believed that coincidence could be so startlingly real. But when they were spent, when they had finished their struggle and left the hill as friends - such a peaceful grace had filled them both. It was hard to believe - it was hard to imagine the angel and the demon finding each other again and again - but eventually one came to find that Bethlehem was an idea in their hearts of how they were meant to be.
When Aziraphale alighted on Crowley’s window balcony, the first thing the angel said was, “You were right. We were in Bethlehem that night.”
“Of course I was right,” grumbled Crowley as he took the angel’s arm and led him inside. “I don’t know why you argued the point so long. I was starting to get bored around here by myself.”
Perhaps Bethlehem was that peace and warmth they found the first time an angel held a demon’s hand with love. If an angel loves a demon, who becomes good and who becomes evil? Let’s just call it even and have a drink.
~*~all is bright~*~
“Have you seen the papers? All the evening editions have headlines about mysterious sightings of an angel in the city skies.” Newt thought it was pleasant conversation, which is why he was surprised when Anathema burst out.
“I am sick of hearing childish stories about angels and demons!”
Newt stopped with a dollop of cream suspended on its spoon, waiting to be dropped on a mug of hot cider.
“They didn’t mention a demon,” he said. “I’d have to clip it if they did.”
“No, I’m sorry,” said Anathema, rising and putting a new record on the gramophone. “It’s just that these Sunday school children have been straining my patience. This morning, that Adam child held up the whole class telling what he called the true story of Christmas, when I’d been trying to explain the properties of incense and its protective uses - I suspect that Adam is a very psychically gifted boy, and I only wish he would pay more attention in class…”
“Anathema, you don’t have to put yourself through that. I told you, I don’t mind if you don’t come to church -”
“But how am I ever going to learn how to teach our own children? I can’t even control them!” Anathema slumped down in the sofa in front of the fire, and wouldn’t even touch the cider Newt put in front of her. He put a comforting arm around her.
“Darling, we don’t have to worry about children of our own until you feel you’re ready. And I’m sure you’d be a fine mother, whenever you choose to become one.”
“Next August.”
“What?”
“I’m becoming a mother next August,” Anathema said, carefully.
“You mean, I - you - and - we’re - oh,” articulated Newt as his arm over her shoulder seemed to work on its own initiative to bring Anathema into a full embrace.
“Don’t worry, dear,” he said into her hair. “It’s hard to be worse than that little devil, Adam. You’re going to have a little angel.”
Anathema’s head was crushed slightly into Newt’s chest, but she didn’t mind. She could hear his heart beating, and every pulse was happiness. She closed her eyes and breathed in his familiar scent, and for that one instant their joy was so perfectly matched to that of another pair’s that, in the minds of all four - the angel, the demon, the witch and the witch-hunter - the same exact thought was shared:
You feel just like Bethlehem.