Happy Holidays, ylc!
Title: The Arranged Marriage of Heaven and Hell
Recipient: ylc
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley
Warnings: Blank verse, history, and crack.
Summary: Um. Crowly has a bad few centuries, and learns the awkward way that news travels (poorly).
Author's Notes: This went weird, then weirder, with bits of history and lit refs creeping in. I hope it suits?
I
In that year, War did
Another Grand Tour
(This time by motorbike,
Stalling occasionally,
Making few but good friends)
And with her to London
Came fire
Dropping down from the sky
Burning,
Death's scythe swinging,
Taking the young and old
Taking the rich and poor
Taking humans
Taking
And after the last war,
After the Great War,
After the War to End All Wars,
The humans said
"Never again"
(Never did they mean it,
But the angel kept hoping,
And the demon threw hope away.
He was confused by it anyway,
Having slept through the prologue,
And the angel felt a bit guilty,
And carefully,
Said nothing,
Letting the demon take credit
For those treaties.
They were
Maybe
Not the best idea
After all.)
(Still.
Peace was nice.
Just, perhaps,
Ephemeral.)
The demon slipped into the city,
The Continent was not
His favorite
Ever.
(He'd dallyed there a few times.
But after Napoleon?
It was boring.
And the French Revolution
Had burned his favorite bed.
It would be many a year before
Its like was known again.
And, well,
The angel had meant the heat rock
As a joke.)
(The angel would always think that
What had offended him the most
Was how they'd killed the demon
In the name of Reason
They tortured.
The demon never did quite figure out
How to explain that while Hell was cruel
And evil
And generally against everything good
Some things Heaven and Hell agreed upon.
Bloody Thermador came and went
And with it messages from Hell
Half accolade
Half not
"New souls are always welcome,
Here in Hell"
Cried the old revolunaries,
"But did you have
To send us Saint-Just
And Robespierre?
'Tis bad enough without
Them and their friends
Stirring things up.")
Through the city he went
Feet following a path
Hesitating at spots where
The landscape had changed
Since he had left for
Manchester,
A decade back.
It was late December,
And after that night
He just wanted to drink
With somebody who understood.
The bookshop that had stood
And stood
And stood
Through the Great Fire
And through some noble
And his temper tantrum
Of a buying spree
Did not stand.
He stood, looking,
Waiting for it sink in.
He had known
Something
Would happen.
(Christmas Eve
And the bombers flew over
Manchester burned)
Aziraphale had packed
His treasures
And sent them off.
(It had taken a few nights
Even with judicious use of miracles
To dig himself out.)
The angel was not
Cautious.
It was not in Heaven's nature,
Its assurance in its victory,
Its confidence.
Its Niceness.
To be cautious.
Yet the angel
Sent his books away.
(The end of the year
And the bombers flew over
London burned
And burned)
And it did not stand
After the Second
Great Fire of LondonII
The smell of smoke
Burnt books
Burnt buildings
Burnt
(Roast)
People
(Meat)
Writhed through the air
Crowley could taste it
(Being a snake
Had its problems)
(He had tasted this before,
But this time was different.
Would a burnt incarnated angel
Be distinguishable
Even to him?)
Had the (his) angel survived?
He moved the rubble carefully,
Silver tongue persuading people
Not to their soul's peril
But to helping maybe save a life
(The difference was
Sometimes
Academic anyway,
The demon reassured himself)
He knew right now,
If he died,
Hell might not send him back.
His Father Below,
No matter how pleased with his work
Had other things to do
More important miracles to do
(Europe burned,
Asia burned,
Africa wasn't doing so well either.)
Heaven and
Their Father Above
Might be the same.
(He remembered so little
Of those days before
What was his name
What was his job?
Did he have one?
He bet it was Harpist #42
Or something else
Equally meaningless
Like
Apprentice Small Shrubbery Designer.
He only remembered
He did not Fall
He slid,
Casually,
Downwards
Or strolled
Did he have legs?
Did he gain those later?
So many things
Lost when he was
Lost)
Eventually
He moved aside a wall
Found the (his) angel
In the rubble
Breathing faintly
(So His Father Above
Was busy?
Or being ineffable
Again?)
(Sometimes,
Miracles
Didn't look like
Miracles.)
And the rest was
Blood and ashes
And broken
He didn't protest
His enlistment
The hospital needed
Even demonic hands
(He saw a Satanic nun
Helping alongside one
Of theirs.
Were there not times,
Where other things were
More important?)
He did some good,
He did some bad,
He did not think
Aziraphale would
Blame him
The broken man,
Cursing Him,
Had a point
As much as
The broken man,
Blessing Him,
Did.
And Crowley,
And Aziraphale,
Were not saints.
When Aziraphale finally woke,
Crowley slipped off to get a nap,
Exhaused,
Thinking Hell would not notice
All he had done.III
News filters slowly,
When it must travel long distances.
After the Apocalyse-that-was-not,
Negotiations opened.
The Demons of Heaven,
The Angels of Hell,
Admitted in the awkward pause:
We have more in common
Than we thought.
(And He,
Ineffably,
Did not stop
The brokering
Of the peace.)
(And down Below:
Vive la République!)
(Perhaps,
His decision was
Not as ineffable
As it might seem.)
The talks ground on,
Sideways and back
Sometimes
Slowly
Haltingly
Forwards.
Peace was on its way,
A dazed dove,
A withered olive branch
Carried not in the beak
Or claws,
But still.
News did not reach
Their Earthly agents.
The war might still be on,
The peace not final,
Not secure,
And the bureaucracy
Kept going
Even in Hell
(Bureaucracy
Was their finest
Export.)
At the end
The suggestion floated
(Not up, not down,
Idly across
Like milkweed fluff
On the breeze)
"Why not
A political marriage?"
Neither side would admit
To owning the idea
Of political marriages:
Heaven said, 'Tis Hell's
Suggestion to Humans
Hell said, 'Tis Heaven's
Strange work
Both had encouraged it,
Both had reasons
Justifications
And
Now it was floated
Slowly,
Slowly,
It was agreed.
But who?
It would need
An angel
And
A demon
Who could
Agree
So who?IV
When the notices arrived,
Landing on a table
Strewn with empty wine bottles,
Crowley and Aziraphale were
Pleasantly drunk.
Crowley reached for his first,
Opened it,
Read it,
Miracled himself sober,
Reread it,
And eloquently summed it up.
"The fuck?"
Recipient: ylc
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley
Warnings: Blank verse, history, and crack.
Summary: Um. Crowly has a bad few centuries, and learns the awkward way that news travels (poorly).
Author's Notes: This went weird, then weirder, with bits of history and lit refs creeping in. I hope it suits?
I
In that year, War did
Another Grand Tour
(This time by motorbike,
Stalling occasionally,
Making few but good friends)
And with her to London
Came fire
Dropping down from the sky
Burning,
Death's scythe swinging,
Taking the young and old
Taking the rich and poor
Taking humans
Taking
And after the last war,
After the Great War,
After the War to End All Wars,
The humans said
"Never again"
(Never did they mean it,
But the angel kept hoping,
And the demon threw hope away.
He was confused by it anyway,
Having slept through the prologue,
And the angel felt a bit guilty,
And carefully,
Said nothing,
Letting the demon take credit
For those treaties.
They were
Maybe
Not the best idea
After all.)
(Still.
Peace was nice.
Just, perhaps,
Ephemeral.)
The demon slipped into the city,
The Continent was not
His favorite
Ever.
(He'd dallyed there a few times.
But after Napoleon?
It was boring.
And the French Revolution
Had burned his favorite bed.
It would be many a year before
Its like was known again.
And, well,
The angel had meant the heat rock
As a joke.)
(The angel would always think that
What had offended him the most
Was how they'd killed the demon
In the name of Reason
They tortured.
The demon never did quite figure out
How to explain that while Hell was cruel
And evil
And generally against everything good
Some things Heaven and Hell agreed upon.
Bloody Thermador came and went
And with it messages from Hell
Half accolade
Half not
"New souls are always welcome,
Here in Hell"
Cried the old revolunaries,
"But did you have
To send us Saint-Just
And Robespierre?
'Tis bad enough without
Them and their friends
Stirring things up.")
Through the city he went
Feet following a path
Hesitating at spots where
The landscape had changed
Since he had left for
Manchester,
A decade back.
It was late December,
And after that night
He just wanted to drink
With somebody who understood.
The bookshop that had stood
And stood
And stood
Through the Great Fire
And through some noble
And his temper tantrum
Of a buying spree
Did not stand.
He stood, looking,
Waiting for it sink in.
He had known
Something
Would happen.
(Christmas Eve
And the bombers flew over
Manchester burned)
Aziraphale had packed
His treasures
And sent them off.
(It had taken a few nights
Even with judicious use of miracles
To dig himself out.)
The angel was not
Cautious.
It was not in Heaven's nature,
Its assurance in its victory,
Its confidence.
Its Niceness.
To be cautious.
Yet the angel
Sent his books away.
(The end of the year
And the bombers flew over
London burned
And burned)
And it did not stand
After the Second
Great Fire of LondonII
The smell of smoke
Burnt books
Burnt buildings
Burnt
(Roast)
People
(Meat)
Writhed through the air
Crowley could taste it
(Being a snake
Had its problems)
(He had tasted this before,
But this time was different.
Would a burnt incarnated angel
Be distinguishable
Even to him?)
Had the (his) angel survived?
He moved the rubble carefully,
Silver tongue persuading people
Not to their soul's peril
But to helping maybe save a life
(The difference was
Sometimes
Academic anyway,
The demon reassured himself)
He knew right now,
If he died,
Hell might not send him back.
His Father Below,
No matter how pleased with his work
Had other things to do
More important miracles to do
(Europe burned,
Asia burned,
Africa wasn't doing so well either.)
Heaven and
Their Father Above
Might be the same.
(He remembered so little
Of those days before
What was his name
What was his job?
Did he have one?
He bet it was Harpist #42
Or something else
Equally meaningless
Like
Apprentice Small Shrubbery Designer.
He only remembered
He did not Fall
He slid,
Casually,
Downwards
Or strolled
Did he have legs?
Did he gain those later?
So many things
Lost when he was
Lost)
Eventually
He moved aside a wall
Found the (his) angel
In the rubble
Breathing faintly
(So His Father Above
Was busy?
Or being ineffable
Again?)
(Sometimes,
Miracles
Didn't look like
Miracles.)
And the rest was
Blood and ashes
And broken
He didn't protest
His enlistment
The hospital needed
Even demonic hands
(He saw a Satanic nun
Helping alongside one
Of theirs.
Were there not times,
Where other things were
More important?)
He did some good,
He did some bad,
He did not think
Aziraphale would
Blame him
The broken man,
Cursing Him,
Had a point
As much as
The broken man,
Blessing Him,
Did.
And Crowley,
And Aziraphale,
Were not saints.
When Aziraphale finally woke,
Crowley slipped off to get a nap,
Exhaused,
Thinking Hell would not notice
All he had done.III
News filters slowly,
When it must travel long distances.
After the Apocalyse-that-was-not,
Negotiations opened.
The Demons of Heaven,
The Angels of Hell,
Admitted in the awkward pause:
We have more in common
Than we thought.
(And He,
Ineffably,
Did not stop
The brokering
Of the peace.)
(And down Below:
Vive la République!)
(Perhaps,
His decision was
Not as ineffable
As it might seem.)
The talks ground on,
Sideways and back
Sometimes
Slowly
Haltingly
Forwards.
Peace was on its way,
A dazed dove,
A withered olive branch
Carried not in the beak
Or claws,
But still.
News did not reach
Their Earthly agents.
The war might still be on,
The peace not final,
Not secure,
And the bureaucracy
Kept going
Even in Hell
(Bureaucracy
Was their finest
Export.)
At the end
The suggestion floated
(Not up, not down,
Idly across
Like milkweed fluff
On the breeze)
"Why not
A political marriage?"
Neither side would admit
To owning the idea
Of political marriages:
Heaven said, 'Tis Hell's
Suggestion to Humans
Hell said, 'Tis Heaven's
Strange work
Both had encouraged it,
Both had reasons
Justifications
And
Now it was floated
Slowly,
Slowly,
It was agreed.
But who?
It would need
An angel
And
A demon
Who could
Agree
So who?IV
When the notices arrived,
Landing on a table
Strewn with empty wine bottles,
Crowley and Aziraphale were
Pleasantly drunk.
Crowley reached for his first,
Opened it,
Read it,
Miracled himself sober,
Reread it,
And eloquently summed it up.
"The fuck?"