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Part 3 - The Storm Trooper Effect
 
 

    The smoke was enough to choke a person to death in seconds, so it was fortunate that neither of the Bentley's occupants needed to breathe. The heat of the fires contorted the metal that was strewn all around them. Shards of glass were everywhere; there was no other way of saying it. There seemed to be more glass than had even been on the car in the first place.
    Loki was on his side, completely unscathed. It took a lot to harm someone that was already dead.
    He looked across at the other figure, lying on his stomach in a pool of red liquid which was expressly not corn syrup. His eyes were closed, and the glasses on his face were snapped, their lenses cracked and shattered. There were cuts all over his skin, and any place that was not stained red with blood was ash-black. His hair and clothes were badly singed.
    Loki stared at him for some time, and finally said, "I could just leave you here. I could just leave you here to bleed and burn up. I could just walk away and not fucking care, because who the fuck would ever care about an asshole like you?"
    And then he got up and started pulling Crowley out.
    As they walked and stumbled down the road with the demon's arm slung over his shoulder, Loki heard Crowley murmur, "I thought Purgatory was indifferent."
    "Would it make you feel better if I said I was indifferently saving you?"
    "It's a small comfort, yeah."
    "We should get you to a hospital," the ghost said, watching the blood drip down from Crowley's face.
    "Demons are clinically dead, Loki."
    "Right, right."
    They kept walking.

    Pepper cracked her eyes open, and was immediately aware of the stinging cuts all over her face and arms. A few moments later she became aware that she was staring into the face of a young man with short, dark hair looking anxiously at her as he knelt by her side, and who appeared off in a way Pepper couldn't quite place.
    "Hi," said Bartleby. "Uh, are you all right?"
    Watching his mouth move, she figured it out. "You're transparent," she said in a strained croak, barely audible.
    Bartleby looked down at his hand. "Oh." He had started to feel a tingling sensation about half an hour ago, but he'd shrugged it off as nothing at the time. He looked back at the girl again, placing the hand gingerly on her shoulder and resolving not to look at it. "Can you tell me your name?"
    "You're American, too," Pepper added.
    Bartleby closed his eyes in concentration. "Pippin Galadriel Moonshine... Right?"
    "Moonchild," the woman said testily.
    The ghost fidgeted in frustration. "Almost had it. Almost had that old Watcher power back. Damn it." He looked at her. "You were riding really fast on your bike. What were you trying to get away from?"
    "No one calls me that, though. It's Pepper. And are you with the air base or what?"
    Bartleby, who was still upset at his failure, snapped irritably, "Pepper, sure, whatever. And yeah. Air base. Fine. Look, what had you so scared back there?"
    Pepper appeared more awake now. And scared. "The town. It... it's happening again. I think it is. I can't remember... Something happened when I was a kid, I don't remember what it was, but it was bad. This is just like it... But I think... I don't know, everything's screwed up, not like the last time... I think..."
    The ghost gripped her shoulder harder. "What's going on in the town?"
    "It's Adam. Adam, he's... He's doing it again. Something happened..."
    Bartleby thought hard. "And the other time something like this went on, was it about... twelve years ago?"
    "How did you...?"
    Biting back curses, Bartleby sat back. He half-turned and yelled at the fallen figure of Aziraphale down the road. "You're such an idiot!" And he didn't care if Aziraphale couldn't hear it. He'd just be sure to repeat it when the angel was awake again.
    "M'tired," said Pepper.
    "You're in pretty bad shape," Bartleby agreed. "Is there a hospital around here?"
    "It's gone. Everything's gone. The whole town it's just... sort of like... I dunno..." Pepper shook her head, strands of red hair falling over her face. "It's just not there. It's all just black. There's a couple of things round the edges that're still there, like the old cottage, but..."
    "Look, you've gotta help me here," Bartleby said desperately. "I can't heal stuff. I don't have the power. I never did. Maybe the guy back there could but he's out cold..."
    "He's a doctor?" Pepper asked, sounding hopeful.
    "Close enough. Look, look, we need to get you somewhere. Did you say there was a cottage?"
    "It's empty, though... Old witch used to live there, but... Well, 'guess she wasn't really that old... Pretty young, actually..." Pepper blinked blearily. The features of the man hovering over her were blurring. What she didn't realize was that this had nothing to do with her vision.
    "But you could get rest there, right? And maybe we could find someone, or maybe my friend could get himself together and fix you up and whatever." Bartleby got to his feet, then put his arms under the woman to lift her up.
    His arms went right through her body.
    The ghost stared at them. "Fuck," he said.
    Bartleby saw his shadow on the ground. He turned around to see what light was causing it.

    You could mark Loki and Crowley's path by following the blood on the road. This fact was distressing to Loki because he was certain cuts were supposed to stop bleeding after a while. He'd only bled once in his life and that had been shortly before his death, so he didn't know how long it was supposed to take, but he was sure it wasn't supposed to go on this long.
    Their pace was slowing now because Crowley was having difficulty keeping upright. He clung to Loki's arm, breathing heavily. His snake eyes stared into nothing.
    A thought struck Loki.
    "Man, if this was a vampire movie, you'd be biting my neck right now."
    Crowley swung his head around, looking at Loki out of the corner of one bloodshot eye.
    "Right. Shutting up," Loki said quickly.
    The demon looked away again. "I wish Aziraphale was here."
    "You care a lot about that guy, don't you?" Loki said moodily. "It's almost cute..."
    "He's an angel. He can heal people."
    "Yeah. That's really all you're on about?" He caught Crowley as the demon began losing his grip on his arm again. "Like I believe that."
    "You really do have an American mind, don't you?" Crowley said angrily, between breaths. "It's always got to be something, doesn't it? You don't even know the meaning of a platonic relationship, because in your world something like that can't possibly exist. Americans. Descendants of Puritanism and badly overcompensating for it."
    And then he had to stop talking as he started coughing up blood.
    "Gee, sorry, man," said Loki, somewhere between feeling embarrassed and taking offense.
    Then, quite suddenly, there was Light.
    A light, anyway.
    "Hello? Hello? Anyone out there?" called a voice somewhere behind the flashlight. Loki squinted towards it. "Excuse me, but my wife sent me out here. She said you might be by. Is one of you a demon who's badly injured, by any chance?"
    "Who the fuck are you?!" Loki demanded.
    The flashlight shined away to the right a bit, and Loki was able to see a thin, bespectacled face. "Well, if you must know, I'm Witchfinder Private Newton Device, and don't think I'm very proud about that last fact. She was very definite about it, the missus. Are you the one called Lo-kai?"
    "Loki. It's a long 'i'. You could almost say it deserves the two dots at the top." He peered at the face. "How'd your wife know we'd be here?"
    "Well, she's not much good what with not having her ancestor's prophecy book anymore, but she is a witch and a bit of a psychic. And anyway, she said it wasn't too hard, being as there aren't very many supernatural beings on the planet at the moment. The hard part was getting over here in time, really."
    Crowley was straining to see the man who had addressed himself as Newton Device. "I know you," he said, his throat raw. "I think..."
    "Anathema said you'd have a good memory for faces," said Newt, nodding. "Well, I was told to bring you two back to the cottage. It's sort of the general meeting place at this point. We've already got the Last Scion holed up there, getting her strength back."
    Loki's mouth dropped open. "The Last Scion?"
    "Well, formerly Last Scion, anyway." Newt shrugged. "Can we get going? Anathema won't be pleased if she gets back before us." He looked over at Crowley. "You're in bad shape."
    "What is it with humans and stating the obvious?" Crowley asked, gritting his teeth. "I'm just waiting for someone to say 'gee, it's dark.'"
    Newton, who didn't appear to have heard the comment, turned around and motioned for the two to follow. "It's not far from here. This has all been pretty lucky, actually, me finding you two so close to the town. Almost as if something led you here."
    Loki looked at the demon with a raised eyebrow.
    "Ineffable," Crowley said, and spat.

    Bartleby gazed up at the woman holding a lantern in her hand. He could barely distinguish her face.
    The lantern cast no shadow on his body by now. He was too transparent for light and shadow to effect him as it had a few seconds before. But he still had to squint to look at her.
    "Are you Bartleby?" she asked calmly.
    "Who wants to know?"
    "A witch."
    "Oh, nice and spooky." Bartleby stood up straight. "I'm too pissed off to even get into Wizard of Oz jokes at the moment. Sorry to let you down. Who the hell are you?"
    The woman lowered the lantern slightly. "My name is Anathema Device. I've spent all afternoon trying to figure out where to find you, if it helps any. You can thank my husband for that. If he'd just let me keep my ancestor's books, I could have been here in plenty of time. As it is, we're running late."
    "Late for what?"
    Anathema didn't appear happy at the question. "See, there we go again. If he'd let me keep the books, I would know. Now I can't stand here arguing the whole night, so I need your cooperation or, believe me, things will be getting difficult." She leaned close to him and looked him in the eye. "I would not like to get to that point."
    "You'd be amazed how little a threat can do to a ghost," said Bartleby, unblinking. "Anyway, I'm not worth shit to you. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a step away from smoke here."
    "I have noticed, and as far as I can see, you have two options. You can either start concentrating really hard, or I can set you to possessing the mannequin I have in the back of Newt's car. It's your choice, really."
    Bartleby looked outraged. "You can't make me do something like that!"
    "No?" Anathema smiled tartly. "Do you really want to find out?"
    He studied her face for a moment, and then gave in. He started concentrating.
    Anathema nodded in approval. "The car is over around the corner. You get the lady here, I'll go get the book thief."
    'Book thief', Bartleby thought. There's a new one.

    Bethany heard the cottage door creak open. She tried to lift her head, and succeeded after the third attempt. Through a crack in the bedroom door, she was able to see the entry of several figures. First Mr. Device, then a haggard blonde man and a dark-haired man who appeared to be having possibly the worst, and last, evening of his life.
    "The bed's taken," she heard Newt say, "but there's a couch over here for you to-- Wait, yes, maybe I should put a sheet down first." He disappeared out of view, and Bethany got a better look at the other two men. She studied the face of the blonde man, who struck her as vaguely familiar.
    The frying pan of memory smacked her on the back of the head. Her eyes went wide.
    Bethany scrambled off the narrow bed, tangling her legs in the sheets in the process. She fell to the floor, bringing them with her. Wrestling these off her, she climbed to her feet and ran to the door.
    Her heart was pounding. She didn't care how he was here, she didn't care why, she only knew that it was an awful lot like inviting in Dracula.
    She reached for the door handle and jumped when it swung outward on its own, and Newton Device entered. He looked at her in surprise.
    "Oh, I didn't think you were up," he said brightly. "Are you feeling better?"
    Bethany stared past Newt at Loki, who was still patiently holding up the bleeding man, unaware of her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed frantically. "That blonde guy! Do you know who that is?!"
    Newt appeared puzzled. He wondered if all relatives of Christ acted like this. "Well, vaguely; Anathema didn't really bother with the nitpicky details--"
    "That guy tried to end Existence! He died, but he must've come back from Hell somehow! He's dangerous, you have to get him out of the house..!"
    Loki called, "Hey, found that sheet yet? This guy's not easy to lug around."
    "I've gotta try to banish him!" Bethany whispered determinedly, trying to push past Newton. He held her still. "Let me go! He's evil!"
    "Can you give me that sheet there?" Newton asked politely.
    Bethany stopped. "What?"
    "The one tied round your leg. If you're not using it for anything, that is."
    She kicked it off her foot, balled it up and pushed it into Newt's hands. "You don't understand. A couple years ago, that guy and another angel tried to unmake the world!"
    "He seems fairly reasonable, if a little strong worded." He smiled at her. "Perhaps you should get some more rest." He backed away, and started closing the door after him.
    Bethany pushed it open and stomped into the living room. "You!" she yelled, pointing at Loki.
    Loki and Crowley snapped their heads around at her, although Crowley did it in a roundabout way because it was too much to ask for him to be able to focus on anything at this point.
    "Hi," Loki said, voice higher pitched than normal. "Uh, long time no see."
    Crowley stared at her, or at least in her general direction. "Funny, I imagined something a little darker-skinned."
    Bethany Sloane, great-grandniece of Jesus Christ (to the thirteenth power), did not answer, only began making a complicated gesture in the air. Loki looked puzzled, but Crowley's eyes snapped wide in shock. He emitted something nearing a shriek and dropped to the floor.
    The banishment floated harmlessly by overhead. Loki shivered a little as it passed through his shoulder, though.
    All of the vigor in Bethany seemed to evaporate immediately. She stood frozen in place, but her muscles were limp. "Why didn't it work?"
    Loki smiled at her incredulously. "Do you think I'm a demon or something?"
    "You're not?" she asked weakly.
    "I am," said Crowley, pulling himself back up to his knees. Loki aided him the rest of the way. "And please don't try that again."
    Bethany stared at Crowley in bewilderment. "You're a..."
    The demon was taking an interest in the cottage's linoleum, freshly smeared with blood. "I seem to have made a mess of your tile. Sorry, there," he said to Newt.
    "It's all right," said Newt, over by the couch, with a sheet now laid over it. "You can lie down now, if you like."
    Bethany staggered, holding her forehead. "What is going on?"
    Loki helped Crowley to the couch, and then approached Bethany, albeit with a bit of caution. "It's like this. You know the Thirteenth Apostle?"
    "Uh-huh," said Bethany, leaning back against the wall for support.
    "I'm dead like him. Bartleby too."
    She looked at him pleadingly. "But you're still from Hell, aren't you?"
    Loki shrugged. "I know it's a huge freakin' disappointment, but no. Purgatory."
    Bethany shook her head, sighing. "Catholicism to the rescue... I'm surprised She could be that lenient with you, after all of that."
    "I think He was in a good mood that day." But Loki felt a pang of sympathy for the woman. She obviously had wanted Bartleby and him in Hell very, very much. Who could blame her? "If it makes you feel any better, we're Purgatory's janitors."
    "Almost as bad," Bethany conceded.
    The front door swung open again, banging against the wall. No one appeared, but the occupants of the cottage could hear a voice.
    "No, really, madam, I'm quite fine. I'm really certain I can walk again now. Yes, yes, see? Walking fine--" A short, pale figure collided with the door frame and clung to it desperately. "Oh dear."
    Anathema walked past him into the room, shaking her head. Following after her, a slightly transparent Bartleby emerged holding a young, red-haired woman in his arms.
    "Ms. Sloane's awake, I see, so you can just put Pepper up on the bed, past that door there," Anathema instructed. Bartleby nodded obediently.
    It won't be said that Bethany looked like she'd seen a ghost, because this would have been the fact of the matter and it quite ruins the point of a figure of speech if it happens to be truthful.
    But she did look very scared.
    Bartleby nodded to her. "'Evening." He looked over at Loki. "Oh good, you're in one piece."
    "You too. Mostly."
    "Speak for yourself. You're fading too."
    Loki looked down at himself, and frowned. "I was wondering about that..."
    Bartleby said no more, walking into the bedroom with Pepper in tow.
    Bethany, meanwhile, slid down along the wall until she slumped into a heap on the floor.
    The angel managed to pry himself away from the door frame and limp over to the couch. He had to catch his breath before saying, "You're looking well, you old serpent."
    Crowley looked up at him pathetically. "Would it be too much to ask that you could heal me before I bleed to death?" Aziraphale couldn't tell if Crowley was being sarcastic or not, but in his dazed state, this wasn't saying much.
    "I suppose I could manage," he said eventually. He knelt down beside the couch and reached forward to grab Crowley's hand, then thought better of it and rolled his sleeves up first.
    Anathema, shutting the front door, said, "Don't go too far. You're pretty weak yourself."
    Bartleby reemerged from the bedroom, adding, "And you've got to see to this girl in here, too."
    Mrs. Device shook her head. "Pepper will be fine. She's had worse. I can tend to her myself later on." She surveyed the assembled. "Well, it seems we're all here now. One Witchfinder, two professional descendants, an angel, a demon and two custodians. I'm going to stress one final time that this would all have been a lot easier if Newt had let me keep the damn books."
    The addressed husband looked uneasy. "It really was for the best, dear."
    Anathema sighed impatiently. "Of course, of course. It's just... Well. Go look after Pepper for now, won't you, Newt?"
    "Yes, dear," said Newton, henpecked.
    Aziraphale looked up at the witch after Mr. Device had left. "Your ancestor had more material?"
    "Oh yes," said Anathema, seeing a wound to put salt on, "The Further Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter. Only copies anywhere."
    The angel swallowed. "And where are they now...?"
    "A bunch of ash floating around in the atmosphere, I'd imagine."
    Aziraphale had such a look of agony on his face that not even Crowley's various injuries could compare to it. And that, Anathema thought with triumph, was a start on getting back at the angel for what he'd done with her book all those years ago.
    Anathema resumed speaking in her authoritative voice, addressing the immortals. "I think the obvious question here is: why on Earth did it take you all day to get here?"
    "Don't look at us!" Bartleby said sharply. "Aziraphale said they didn't think the Antichrist was a threat anymore."
    Loki snapped his head around at the fellow ghost. "Antichrist?" He looked over at Aziraphale and Crowley, as did all the others in the room. "Some fucking export!"
    Crowley looked around guiltily. "Well, how were we supposed to know? We didn't think the Antichrist would try anything again."
    To many occupants in the room, this statement had the same effect as something like "we didn't think the tiger would continue trying to eat his tamers" or "we thought the politician had learned his lesson from last term."
    "To be fair," Bethany murmured, staring at the floor, "it's really my fault."
    Aziraphale peered at her. "I'll admit, a relative of Christ meeting the Antichrist does have a bit of explosive potential to it, but..."
    Bethany shook her head sharply. "It's not that. It wasn't me. I was fine with him. It was my daughter..."
    The angel froze. Well, of course, he'd heard about that. It had been the big news of the millenium in Heaven. Everyone was excited about it. But Aziraphale, after a brief period of "oh, how delightful!" shared with everyone else, had shrugged it off and gone on with business as usual. The girl was to be born in the States, after all, which simply wasn't his territory.
    Crowley was less informed. "What? Last Scion to the fourteenth power? So what?"
    "It's not that simple," Aziraphale said quietly, sinking back. "She's a Christ child."
    Frustrated, Crowley went on, "Yes, that's exactly my point, I-- Oh." He sat up slightly in order to get a better look at Bethany. "Oh."
    He glanced back at Aziraphale. "Any reason why you didn't mention this to me?"
    "I imagine you wouldn't have been too pleased to hear it," the angel said.
    "Just for the record," said Loki, "we're still confused."
    Bethany massaged her forehead. "Do the words 'immaculate conception' mean anything to you?"
    "The girl out there," Anathema said in a patient voice, "inside that shield Adam's set up around himself, is the second Christ."
    There was a standard dramatic silence, and then Bartleby turned to Bethany and said with genuine cheerfulness, "I never heard you had a kid! Congratulations!"
    She smiled weakly at a being that had twice tried to slit her throat. "Thanks."
    Crowley, his wounds mostly healed, sat completely upright on the couch. Aziraphale got up and, after removing the stained sheet, sat down beside him. He appeared very close to collapse again.
    "So the Antichrist met the second Christ. Makes perfect sense to me," said Crowley. He nudged Aziraphale. "You've finally got your genetics, angel. The Son of Satan meets the Daughter of God."
    "Oh yes," Aziraphale said, sounding weak, "he's wanting some alone time with her. It makes a lot of sense. Yes, just cut off Heaven and Hell and Limbo and wherever else, so you can have a nice, uninterrupted chat. Isn't she only a year old, though? A year and a half, at most?"
    "He'd have deeper ways to communicate," said Crowley.
    "Crowley, if he goes on much longer, you and I won't be able to hold on to our physical forms," the angel said grimly. He nodded towards Loki and Bartleby. "And those two won't be too far behind."
    Bethany looked up. "Why, though?"
    Anathema took the liberty of answering that one. "Do you remember the old-fashioned diver suits, that drew air directly from the surface through a long cable?" The American woman nodded slowly. "These four are like that. They have to draw power from their point of origin. Heaven, Hell and... What was the name of the third one?"
    "Purgatory," Loki supplied.
    "Right, thank you. And once you take the diver's air cable away, how long do you think he has to live? These four have held out pretty long, considering."
    "So it's not like we've got anything against your daughter making friends," Crowley said to Bethany, "it's just we'd like not to fade into nothingness in the process."
    Bethany spread her hands. "But how do we get the Antichrist to stop?... Wait, I think I've missed something." She looked from face to face around the room, appearing irritated. "Antichrist? Doesn't he try to bring about Armageddon and all that stuff?"
    "Oh, he did," Aziraphale said brightly. "Once."
    "I didn't hear anything about it."
    "Well, it was over here."
    "Funny, I never really thought of Armageddon starting over in Britain."
    "A lot of Americans say that," said Crowley. He looked at the group around him. "Is this discussion going to be taking a while? I'd like to get some sleep."
    Mrs. Device appeared to be debating whether to be strict or sympathetic for the demon, so she was glad when one of the others gave the necessary answer instead.
    "We kinda need you here," said Bartleby. "Sort of as Hell's spokesman, that kind of thing."
    "I can get you some coffee," Anathema suggested.
    "I don't need coffee. I just need sleep," Crowley said. He appeared very tired still, even if he was no longer on the verge of death.
    "You can sleep when this is over," Aziraphale said firmly, patting him on the shoulder.
    "And you with me?" the demon asked, sounding hopeful.
    There was a stinging, painful silence, wherein a pair of ethereal custodians were thankful that they weren't near the speaker, and both humans present felt a lot like going somewhere else, very quickly. There were some things they just weren't prepared for, and this was one of them.
    "Very funny, Crowley," the angel said coldly.
    "Thought you'd like that."
    The room relaxed. Slightly.
    "Okay, well," said Bartleby, trying to shake a handful of disturbing images from his head, "so it's pretty much knocking on the Antichrist's door and asking him if he'd like to let little Christ go back to her mom, right?"
    Anathema said, "Probably, except that, if you've noticed, Adam's door is a swirling black tornado. I can't seance through it, and that's saying something for it. You'd need a lot of manpower, or whatever you people want to call it, to get through."
    "Well, there are others on the planet right now, aren't they?" Loki spoke up. "Angels and demons and muses and all that crap."
    Aziraphale said, "Not as many as there were. If the planes have been cut off, then most of the temporaries would have snapped back to their respective homes. Only beings with very strong ties to the Earth would remain. Permanent operatives like Crowley and me, or... or, well, the banished, like you."
    "There's still gotta be hundreds," Loki insisted. "All over the world. It's just statistics, right?"
    "Of course, dear boy, of course," the angel said tiredly. "Only, imagine being in Brazil or China, trying to get over here. We were all in the country and it still took us all day to get to Tadfield."
    Crowley added, "We had no hints. No indication of where it was all coming from, or who was causing it. The best anyone out there in the world can discern is that it's somewhere in the Western Hemisphere, probably. And meanwhile the whole planet's probably messed up, and nothing's where it's meant to be, and everyone's powers are draining..."
    "And with the planes locked, no one can get in," Aziraphale went on.
    "Or out, although I'm sure brave boys like yourselves wouldn't even consider that," Bethany said sarcastically. "But what about God? I mean, you'd think that, of anyone, She'd be pretty tied in with this planet. She made it. And She could intervene just like that, couldn't She?"
    Aziraphale had never met anyone who so pointedly referred to the Creator in the female form in his presence, especially not someone of one of the old families, and especially not the mother of a Christ child. He was a bit taken aback by it.
    "Well," said Aziraphale after a while, sounding flustered, "I suppose the only reason He could have for it would be if He was..."
    "On one of Her consitutionals?" Bethany suggested brightly.
    Crowley had heard about that from Aziraphale some time previously. He looked between the angel and the Scion, and raised his eyebrows. "Skeeball has doomed us all."

    He looked at her. She looked at him.
    "Look," he said finally. "I understand where you're coming from, but I just don't see how it works."
    They looked at each other again.
    Adam nodded. "I suppose you have a point there..."
    Ellen smiled meaningfully.

    Anathema looked Aziraphale full in the face and shouted, "But you're all we have!"
    The angel turned his head away. "We realize that, madam, but... Oh, how would you put it, Crowley?"
    "There are million to one chances, and then there's stuff like this," said Crowley, bent forward with his hands between his knees. "We've got as much chance of getting through that shield as a snowball in Hell, you can take it from me. I've seen snowballs in Hell."
    Bethany was on her feet now, her fists balled in anger. "You're just giving up and walking away?"
    "Well, limping away, at any rate," said Aziraphale.
    "But you can't do that!" she cried.
    Crowley pulled himself to his feet, swaying unsteadily for a moment. Then he helped the angel to his feet as well. "It seems to me that the only thing we really can't do right now is what you're asking us to do," he told Bethany. "Good luck in getting some beings in that've got enough energy to walk ten feet without tripping, because unless you lot have got any better ideas on how to get through that thing, Aziraphale and I are going off to get drunk." Arms over each other's shoulders, they started walking for the door.
    The two ghosts spoke up at once.
    "Wait!"
    "Hold on a second!"
    Aziraphale and Crowley looked back at them.
    "What about your jobs?" Loki demanded.
    "Or moral obligation?" Bartleby added.
    The four immortals looked at each other's faces. The room was tense.
    Crowley shrugged. "Sod 'em all." He and Aziraphale turned back towards the door.
    Frantic thoughts shot like bullets through Bartleby's mind. He recalled something Aziraphale had mentioned during their conversation about the averted Apocalypse.
    He rushed quickly to Bethany's side and whispered something in her ear.
    "Wait!" Bethany said. Gaining the demon and angel's attention, she swallowed. "How about... The one that gets there first gets influence rights on my daughter?"
    Crowley and Aziraphale stared at Bethany, and then at each other.
    All creatures have inborn instincts. Heaven and Hell's subjects are preprogrammed to think first and foremostly of their jobs. Not their specific responsibilities, per se, but their overall code. Their mission.
    They'd both tried to influence the Antichrist once, although they ended up getting the wrong boy. And now they were being given an opportunity to influence the divine equivalent of him.
    "Come on," Crowley said to the ghosts. And then, without waiting for a response, he and Aziraphale were out the door. Loki followed after a moment later.
    Bethany looked nervously at Bartleby. "Are you sure that was smart?"
    The ghost grinned. "Machiavelli. Am I right, or am I right?"
    He darted out the door.
    Newt appeared from the bedroom, and looked dazedly at the suddenly nearly empty living room. "That turned about rather fast," he said, blinking. "The young lady should be fine, by the way. It's all just cuts and scrapes."
    Anathema, her arms crossed, was looking out the door, through which nothing but black could be seen. "A low-level angel, a low-level demon, and two janitors," she said musingly.
    "'Seems the only thing we've got on our side now is the Storm Trooper effect," Bethany said.

    Physically, there wasn't much to see. There was, simply, nothing. Not even a hazy yellow nothingness. The thing before them was so much nothingness that it hurt your head to look at it, because your eyes kept trying to convince you that there was nothing to see. This was the whole point.
    Metaphysically, it was a sort of black, purplish-green. It was tall, and wide, and swirling about like, Anathema had said quite accurately, a tornado. But slower, thicker, and not full of cows.
    It encompassed the bulk of Tadfield. And the only thing the resident experts knew was that one Adam Young, Antichrist, was in there somewhere, and with him was a toddler Christ, distant relation of the last Christ. And that was it.
    Aziraphale and Crowley were starting to have their doubts. They were also beginning to lose their balance again.
    They stood --in a roundabout way-- about twenty feet away from the start of the thing. Their coats whipped in the wind. Aziraphale's more than Crowley's, which had been mostly burnt up by the fire and Crowley hadn't thought to repair yet.
    Bartleby and Loki joined them.
    "No, we can't work together," the demon said, answering his counterpart's question, "if we worked together we'd get there at the same time." He glanced back at the ghosts. "Well?"
    "You know, I've got something of a bone to pick with you guys," said Bartleby. "What the hell are we, sidekicks?"
    "I'm thinking maybe that things wouldn't have been any better if I'd got stuck with you," Crowley said to the janitor. "Loki, you're coming with me."
    "And doing what, exactly?" asked the blonde-haired ghost.
    "Grabbing a sharp stick and figuring the rest out from there. Aziraphale, you and your Grigori take the other side."
    "His Grigori?" Bartleby protested, sounding insulted. "I'm not anyone's Grigori. I'm not even my own Grigori, due to the fact that I'm not a--"
    "How do we know you won't start ahead of us?" Aziraphale demanded.
    "I'll count to a hundred. Does that work?"
    Bartleby and Loki looked at each other, and were presently wondering if the company they were keeping was entirely sane. The demon and angel were treating this like some sort of friendly game, for God's sake. What neither ghost realized was that when you didn't have a good chance for survival, it's a pretty good idea to think it's a game.
    Loki and Crowley found a stick in the grass while Aziraphale and Bartleby started running for the other end of the Thing. Crowley counted under his breath while breaking away parts of one tip to make it sharp. He counted slowly, and patiently.
    Then, when the stick was sufficiently pointy and the count was up to about 65, Crowley stopped, motioned for Loki to follow him, and approached the Thing's edge.
    "How happy do you think the Antichrist will be if we interrupt his little talk?" said the demon. "This is for Aziraphale and your friend's own good."
    "Gotcha," said Loki, looking pale. He peered at Crowley. "Aziraphale's like the sort of person you'd take a bullet for, isn't he?"
    Crowley snorted. "No. If he's stupid enough to get himself shot, he deserves to."
    Loki unhappily took this in and readjusted. "But you'd... warn him if you saw a bullet coming?"
    "Well, of course. No sense in just letting the bastard get himself disincorporated."
    The stick was nearly the length of a pike so both the demon and ghost were able to get both hands on it and shove it into the swirling purplish-green tornado's side.
    It got a bit messier from there.

    Over on the other side of the Thing, Aziraphale, who had stopped counting at fourty, helped Bartleby in hefting a length of pipe they'd found. He said, "Bullet? Well, I suppose it'd depend on whether I had a new shirt on."

    Bethany stared out of the cottage's window, for all the good it did. There were no lights outside, not even from moon or stars. Occasionally she would catch a glimpse of the faint, aquatic glow of Crowley's watch.
    She felt left out. But she'd already been killed and resurrected once already; she didn't feel like pushing her luck.

    Adam was on the verge of tears. "But I... I don't get it. Why didn't it work?"
    He looked down at the figure curled up in a fetal position on the floor. He'd wrapped her coat around her, because the clothes she had worn before didn't fit her. Long, uncombed locks of black hair draped across her face.
    And the answer came to him. She was good at that. It was a power he had never possessed, at least not in such a refined state. She was very eloquent for a toddler.
    Except she currently wasn't a toddler.
    He knelt down beside her and put a hand on her quivering shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."
    Through the strands of hair over her pale face, she looked at him with large, worried eyes. But not scared. She had no concept of being scared.
    Adam Young nodded, his head feeling heavy. "I see..."
    He started turning her back. It took effort, which was not something he was accustomed to. When he finished, she sat before him on the ground as her old self, in the Mickey Mouse shirt and matching overalls, with small curls of black hair surrounding her plump face. Her eyes looked nearly the same, but they were not concerned anymore. She smiled at him, but not in a brilliant, unthinking happiness. A sort of mournful, unwilling happiness that said 'this is how it has to be.'
    The swirling black vortex around them shredded and split in two placed on opposite sides. From the tears in the metaphysical fabric, one angel and one demon poked their heads in.
    "Excuse me--"
    "Don't mean to interrupt--"
    Crowley and Aziraphale glared at each other.
    "I was here first!" Crowley shouted.
    "I beg to differ," the angel retorted.
    They looked at Adam, and then at the small creature he held in his arms.
    And they realized it wasn't so much a race as a game of capture the flag.
    "Listen," Aziraphale said quickly, "I'm here on behalf of the girl's mother--"
    "So am I--"
    "--and the girl's Father--"
    "Although if you take the mother's opinion, her Mother--"
    "Well, anyway, both her mothers--"
    The two looked at each other again.
    "That sounds kind of dodgy," Aziraphale said reflectively.
    "Don't take it up with me. It's the lady's fault." Crowley returned to looking at Adam. "Anyway, we were wondering--"
    "--what with the world all messed up--"
    "--and the supernaturals dropping like flies--"
    "--and her mum all out of sorts--"
    "--if maybe you could, you know--"
    "--if you don't mind--"
    They stopped, as they became aware that Adam was smiling at them.
    It wasn't an evil smile. It wasn't a condescending "you poor fools" kind of smile. It was just the smile of a young, good-natured man who patiently waited for people babbling absolutely nothing consequential to quiet of their own accord.
    Crowley and Aziraphale shut their mouths.
    "We were just finishing up, actually," Adam said. "We've reached an agreement we think works out best for everyone."
    The immortals stared dumbly at him. Behind them, ghosts were saying quite testily that they'd like a chance to see.
    "Oh," Crowley said.
    "That's... good," said Aziraphale awkwardly.
    Adam kept smiling.

    Bethany frantically called Newton and Anathema to the window as the Thing began to dissipate. As it thinned and shrank, the town began to reappear.
    There was the first hint of a gray sunrise in the east. Anathema was able to verify it.

    God felt happy. She didn't even care that it was too late in New York for skeeball. She'd waited all day to be able to play some, and a little thing like nighttime wasn't going to stop Her.

    Loki thought the Antichrist looked very unimpressive. He'd at least expected horns.
    Adam looked at the four of them, embarrassed. "I guess I sort of got carried away. I mean how many chances like this do you get? I'm sorry."
    He handed the baby to Aziraphale, who looked positively giddy at the opportunity. How often were you allowed to hold a condensed form of God in your arms? The angel babbled stuff about not even Gabriel getting an honor like this, wouldn't you know, I'll bet he's positively sick with envy right now...
    Adam fixed his gaze on Crowley, who squirmed a little at being targetted.
    "Did I mess things up badly?"
    Crowley explained about the Eiffel Tower and the Russian roadsigns. And the American drivers.
    The young man sighed unhappily. "Sorry. I just really wasn't paying attention at that point. I suppose I should start getting everything back together how it ought to be." He looked at the assembled. "Does anyone have a book of atlases on them?"
    Bethany appeared between a row of houses, running towards them. Mr. and Mrs. Device were close behind. Adam waved to them, which may have been an odd greeting, in the circumstances
    Pepper ran up to them too, pulling bandages from her face and saying she'd give a right ding around the ear to whoever thought she needed to be fixed up, because everyone knew scrapes were better when they healed on their own. Once she sighted Bartleby she made a hastily-assembled conclusion and punched him in the shoulder, and looked very surprised when her fist went right through.
    He smiled nervously at her.
    Bethany staggered to a halt in their ill-formed circle, and gasped, "My daughter...!"
    Aziraphale held the girl out for her. Bethany reached forward, but Crowley snatched the girl up himself, holding her at arm's length and grinning.
    "I got to her first," he said, in a triumphant voice. "I claim this girl in the name of Satan!"
    "I got to her first," Aziraphale argued, trying to grab the girl back.
    Bartleby spoke up, "It doesn't really matter, you know. It's not the same like with the Antichrist. Satan was an angel. God's just... God. The girl's like holy by default."
    Crowley watched the smoke rising from his fingers. He arched an eyebrow. Then he yelped and pushed the baby into Bethany's arms, and blew frantically at the sizzling flesh of his hands.
    He looked up and scowled at Bartleby. "You tricked me."
    "No," Loki said with a flat expression, "he tricked both of you. Didn't it occur to you guys that even if she was open to influence, she lives over in America? It'd be hell to commute every day, just to go influence one human."
    Aziraphale and Crowley stared at him.
    "What?" he said, wondering if he should start running.
    Adam turned and spoke directly to Bethany. "I would like it if you'd come back to visit now and then. We'd like to keep in touch."
    "If I deliberately tried to go to Tadfield, I'd probably end up in London," said Bethany. She knelt down and eased the toddler on to the grass. The baby crawled forward over to the slumbering figure of Dog, and started stroking him. "So you guys talked, huh?"
    "We had a discussion. We're not sure how they will feel about it, but we both agree that we don't really care. I know it sounds selfish, but we really do think it's for the best."
    "'They'?" Bethany asked.
    Adam waved a hand vaguely upwards, and then vaguely downwards. "You know. Parents."
    The American woman nodded ever so slowly. "I... see..."
    Adam hung his head. "I thought perhaps I could just speed her up and make her my age, but it doesn't really work like that. Making a person older doesn't automatically teach them things. She said maybe I should just stop aging myself while she went on as normal. It'll take a bit of work, but she said it was probably what would work best."
    Bethany studied the man's face, wide-eyed. Her lips started framing the start of sentences she hardly dared think. Finally, she decided on one, saying fiercely, "That's my daughter, dammit!"
    Others, who had not been in near proximity of the two and had not heard the details of the conversation, looked up in startlement.
    "It was just as much her decision as mine," Adam said pleadingly.
    "She's seventeen months old! She can't go and make decisions like that!"
    "It's still about twenty years off--"
    "I don't care! This is insane!"
    "I'll treat her very well--"
    "No!"
    Crowley looked over at Aziraphale, vaguely hoping for some sort of clue. However, the angel appeared just as perplexed as he was.
    For the custodians, it clicked. "Ah," said Bartleby, nodding slowly.
    "Holy shit," Loki squeaked.
    "Don't swear in front of the baby," Bartleby said. He led his companion away from the group, walking across Adam's yard. They sat down on the porch.
    "The Son of Satan and the Daughter of God," Bartleby said musingly.
    "Now there's a political marriage if there ever was one," Loki agreed.
    "It can't work out, of course," the dark-haired ghost said. "I mean, it's sorta... going over the line, right?"
    "I dunno."
    They watched the sun taking its time with rising.
    Adam and Bethany were still in argument.
    "But Metatron said she's got a lot of work ahead of her," the woman said.
    "Yes," Adam insisted, nodding, "she said this was part of it."
    "I don't believe you."
    "There's very little I can do to convince you," Adam said mourningly, "it's not like she can talk to you directly. You're not in tune with her like I am. Listen, you have to take my word for it. Ellen said--"
    Adam said more after that, but Crowley didn't hear it. He did a full-body jerk, and fixed his eyes on the girl tugging at Dog's ears.
    Crowley looked down at the Bringer of Light, Daughter of Heaven, Queen of Queens, Shining Beacon of Hope, One True Path, Last Scion and Lady Our Savior.
    He said, "Ellen Christ. Doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?"
    Aziraphale touched him gingerly on the shoulder and led him over to the porch. They joined the ghosts, sitting down heavily beside them.
    "Well," said Aziraphale, pressing against his temples. "This was all certainly interesting."
    "I got there first, angel," said Crowley. "You really owe me now."
    Loki leaned forward to look at them. The white-washed posts of the porch could be seen through him. "He cheated, you know. He stopped counting early."
    Aziraphale snapped his head around at Crowley. "Demon of your word, are you?" he said.
    Crowley's eyes were aflame, and they were fixed on Loki. "I'm going to kill you."
    "You can't," Loki said cheerfully, clearly enjoying this fact.
    The angel continued, glaring at his counterpart, "I say that puts the favor count back at zero, right enough. I'm not going to do anything with you once we get back in the city."
    "That one little thing nixed all of those favors?" the demon cried helplessly.
    "Yes!"
    Bartleby turned to Loki and said in a loud, clear voice, "Maybe we should leave. You want to stay out of a lovers' tiff."
    The angel and demon snapped their heads around at him. Even Aziraphale, instinctive pacifist that he was, looked ready to hurt Bartleby very badly. It seemed to the two ghosts that their insubstantial state would mean absolutely nothing to Crowley and Aziraphale, as they would find a way, somehow, to inflict a pain worse than death.
    So when Adam ran up to them at that moment, Bartleby and Loki were reconsidering the notion that the Antichrist could be a savior.
    "I think it's all sorted out now," he told them brightly, ignoring the glowering looks that were being exchanged among the immortals. "Ms. Sloane was a bit difficult, but I think I swayed her in the end when Pepper agreed to be Ellen's and my chaperone when Ellen comes to visit." He beamed at them. "And Mr. Device says he can get in his car and get an atlas book down at the station right quick. So everything will be all back to normal soon. Just thought you'd four be interested to know."
    Crowley looked up at him nervously. "Er..."
    "Yes?"
    The quick response made Crowley appear even less at ease. "Only, I forgot to mention earlier that, er, one of the casualties of, you know, the Russian road signs and so on... Well, more a cause of the messing about with the roads in general... Er..." He looked helplessly at the Antichrist.
    Adam looked at him disapprovingly. "I can't just keep making new ones for you, you know. You have to be more careful."
    Crowley nodded fervently. "Of course, of course."
    Adam surveyed the others assembled. "Are there any other requests? I'd like to get everything done at once, to make it all tidy."
    "Will you be going back to your old self afterwards?" Aziraphale asked tentatively. "Er, low-profile, that is?"
    "I'll stop aging, but otherwise, yes."
    "Pardon?"
    "Only for twenty years," Adam said quickly. "Just waiting for Ellen to catch up, you see. I wouldn't dream of living forever. It's more trouble than it's worth, I'd imagine."
    Aziraphale smiled sweetly at him. As an immortal, you had to appreciate anyone who, at twenty-some years of age, could already see drawbacks to eternal life.
    "My companion and I have a request," said Bartleby, speaking up. "Can you send us back to the bar--"
    "--pub--," Loki corrected.
    "--we were at in London? We never got to finish our drinks."
    "Just the two of you?" Adam asked.
    Bartleby hesitated. He and Loki peered over at the other two. "D'you guys want to come too?"
    "Funny thing," said Crowley, standing up. "We were going to ask the kid here the same thing anyway."
    "May I say goodbye to Ellen first?" Aziraphale requested, with just a hint of pleading in his voice.
    The five men --or at least the one man and the four men-shaped creatures-- walked as a group across the grass to where the others stood or sat around the toddler, who was now pulling up the lips of Dog's mouth and laughing at his pearly, but not particularly demonic-looking, canines.
    "Can I ask a favor?" they heard Anathema say to Bethany as they approached.
    Bethany gave a little sigh. "You know, you have no idea how many people have asked me that. I've already promised an Apostle I'd get a couple paintings redone with darker colors, and a muse is expecting me to put extra Ss into things. But yeah?"
    This all went right by the witch, but she pressed on, "Do you suppose that when she's older, she could do something about, oh, say, Exodus 22:18? I mean, it's not like some of the stuff in that Book doesn't already contradict itself anyway."
    Bethany considered this. "I guess we owe it to you," she admitted.
    Aziraphale crouched down beside Ellen, and the toddler looked up at him. He cooed. "It's not every day you meet a Christ child, is it?"
    "It's not all it's cracked up to be," Bethany said wearily.
    "No?" said Aziraphale, letting little Ellen grasp one of his extended fingers and shake it excitedly.
    "It's a complete nightmare, trying to wash her," the woman explained. "She keeps crawling on top of the water. Or turning it into grape juice."

    The four immortals looked up at the pub's sign. Behind them, parked beside the sidewalk, was Crowley's Bentley, just as it had been before, except there were fewer Queen CDs in its glove compartment.
    "You know, I was lying, really," said Crowley, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He'd wished his clothes back like new, and there was a new pair of glasses on his face. "Would you really want to take drinks here? How about we skip off to the Ritz instead?"
    "Sounds boring," Loki said dismissively.
    "Loki," Bartleby hissed at him. "Do you know what the Ritz is?"
    "I don't mind where we go, myself," said Aziraphale. "Although I must say, this place is a little... pedestrian, if you don't mind me saying."
    "How come you guys were here before, then?"
    "Solitude," Crowley said simply. "Lots of dark corners where people won't bother you when you're busy."
    "Busy with what?" Loki asked, annoyed.
    Crowley expressly did not answer. He looked over at the two ghosts. "Well, if you two are so insistent on this place, fine. But you can't wish your drinks into anything better like we can, can you?"
    A thought struck the demon. What was it people said about American beer? Something to do with canoes...
    "Nevermind."
    They entered. A table of four was already set aside for them. They sat down, and after a few rounds, a small piece of paper floated down out of thin air and landed beside Bartleby's glass.
    He picked it up and read it. Then, his brow furrowing, he read it again aloud. "'Custodians one Loki and one Bartleby are due back for duty promptly at 3 PM, October 4th...'" He exchanged looks with the others around the table. "That was yesterday."
    Another slip landed. He picked it up and read it as well. "'Custodians one Loki and one Bartleby, having neglected previous summons, are hereby forbidden to take any further lunch breaks for the next fifty years--' This is bullshit," he said, looking over at Loki. "We couldn't have done anything."
    "That's Purgatory for you," said Crowley, taking a sip of his drink. "They don't really have the patience for words like 'mitigating circumstances.'" He leaned forward across the table and grinned at them. "If you're in for a long haul once you get back anyway, there's nothing wrong with staying out a bit longer."
    "You've got a point there," said Loki, toasting his glass.
    They drank some more. A lot more. They told old jokes that no one else in the pub would ever have gotten, so they laughed even harder for this fact. They exchanged anecdotes that would have taken whole hours to explain to anyone not several millenia old.
    A knowledgable observer might have remarked that all four of the beings present at the table were of angel breed, but of those, only one retained the actual title. And Aziraphale was really only holy out of habit.
    No pun intended.
    At one point, far into their drinking session, the worm in Crowley's tequila was apparently objectionable on its way down, and Aziraphale led Crowley off to the bathrooms to see about it. This left the two ghosts alone at the table, a trifle more inebriated than either of them had been in a long, long time.
    "You know," said Bartleby, leaning forward with his arms crossed on the table, "it just comes from workin' close t'gether fer so long, I think. Those two. An' they've been on this planet twice as'long as we have."
    "Yeh, but he's a demon," Loki said. "'Riginal sin demon, at that."
    "She din't have ta take the apple, y'know."
    "Yeah, I guess." Loki stared muzzily in the direction of the bathrooms. "Ya know, Bartleby..?"
    "Uh?"
    "I put up with a lotta shit fer you."
    "Yeah, I know."
    "Like, gettin' banished. And gettin' killed."
    Bartleby groaned. "I know." Like he could ever forget. He was only glad that the ghost appeared to be too drunk to remember that his murderer was sitting at the table with him.
    "An' all cuz you had to be a stupid Grigori, with your stupid bipolar disorder..."
    "We're not bipolar."
    "Fuckin' half of ya fell cuz you fell in love with humans, Bar. And then others went and joined Satan. Yer all like Heaven's fuckin' black sheep, man. It's amazing they keep any of you still around. And I was yer friend anyway."
    Bartleby looked mournful. "I know."
    "I just kinda wish I'd gotten somethin' back fer it all."
    "I looked after ya. You know that."
    "More'n that."
    They looked at each other.
    Bartleby frowned, eyes squinted. "S'hypocritical, Loki," he said tiredly. "I mean..."
    "Fuck that," said Loki, leaning closer. "Who cares what those two think?"
    "Yeah..."
    Loki smiled. Bartleby's expression, however, worsened.
    "I gotta piss."
    Loki's smile fell immediately. "Yeah, all right."
    Bartleby climbed up from his chair and stumbled. Loki got up and helped him to the bathroom. The pub's lavatory was small, containing one stall and urinal. The stall being taken, Loki helped Bartleby over to the urinal and then respectfully looked away. Aside from the occupant of the stall, the bathroom was empty, but was nevertheless noisy because of the counter's sink that had been left running.
    Loki sauntered over to it and turned the faucet off. In the near silence that followed, he heard sounds coming the stall that made him arch an eyebrow, and reaffirm his suspicions that there was something wrong with England.
    He pounded on the stall door as Bartleby was zipping up. "Go get a fucking room. Jesus Christ."
    "Sorry," came a voice from within.
    And he, in his drunken state, would have left it at that, were it not for the fact that Bartleby thought the voice sounded familiar.
    Bartleby kicked the stall door until it swung inward. Beyond it, Aziraphale was being held against the wall by Crowley, who had stopped midlick and stared at him in horror.
    They were fully clothed and all four hands were visible, but you couldn't say much else for them.
    Loki's reaction was simply to freeze. He would probably have fallen to the floor if someone pushed him ever so slightly.
    Bartleby took several deep breaths, then yelled, "What the hell are you doing?!"
    Aziraphale looked around nervously, his thin fingers drumming anxiously on Crowley's arm. "Would you believe... we're fighting?"
    The ghost gave them a long, appraising look. "No."
    "Ah. Thought not."

    Back over at the bar, a slightly tipsy Seraph with a penchant for sarcasm, appearing in the form he quite favored as of late, was downing another glass when the shouting started coming from of the lavatories. The shouting occasionally slipped into a language that had been dead for several thousand years, when modern terms and phrases failed the speakers.
    Metatron thought, perhaps, that he ought to go in and mediate before things got too messy, but then decided that this was entirely their business.
 
 

THE END

Part 2 - Vladivostok, 12 Kilometers

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first draft finished 11:43 PM, 20 January, 2003.

final draft finished 9:24 PM, 6 February, 2003.

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