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Beelzebub let their foot tap impatiently against the pub’s tiles. The last notes of Buddy Holly faded out, before the jukebox looped it again. This was the third time it had looped since Beelzebub had sat down.
Gabriel still wasn’t there.
Beelzebub let their mind flash back to their last meeting with Gabriel. They’d sat here, in the same corner of the same pub, the same order on the glossy table between the same dim candles.
“The other angels are getting pushier. They’re asking more and more about starting a second Armageddon. It’s exhausting,” Gabriel had lamented, his hand resting on the edge of the table.
Beelzebub had taken it, feeling the warmth of Gabriel’s palm against their own. “The Dark Council is the same way. I’d thought they would have given up by now, but they’re still restless.”
Gabriel had nodded, a worried line forming between his eyebrows. “I’m beginning to think—Well, I’m beginning to think Michael, Uriel, and… the other one… might do something about it.”
“You’re the supreme Archangel,” Beelzebub had shrugged. “You outrank them. They won’t do anything against your orders.”
Now, though, Beelzebub wasn’t so sure. Gabriel had never been late to a meeting, not once. He was always there, waiting by the corner table, drinks and a packet of crisps in hand.
The song looped again, and there was still no sign of Gabriel. Beelzebub tried not to worry. They had no right to. They and Gabriel hadn’t labeled their tenuous relationship, hidden behind the backs of Heaven and Hell. They weren’t friends. They certainly weren’t anything more.
Beelzebub had no right to be worried. Gabriel was busy—he was the Supreme Archangel, after all. He had better things to do than to meet with demons, in human pubs listening to human music. He had meetings to attend and Plans to carry out. Something had probably come up, and Gabriel had just forgotten to tell Beelzebub. That was all. Any second, Gabriel would come through the pub’s doors, join them, and apologize for being late.
Beelzebub had no right to be worried.
Buddy Holly looped again. The condensation on Beelzebub’s glass gathered into a wet ring on the table. The twin candles on the table burned low, the wax turned clear and hot.
Gabriel did not come through the doors, and Beelzebub became very worried indeed.
They couldn’t show their worry, of course. Beelzebub was Lord of the Flies, Prince of Hell, and a member of the Dark Council. They couldn’t go around, showing worry about some angel. Beelzebub was a demon, if word got out they were ‘worried’ or ‘soft’, they’d be smeared on the wall.
Beelzebub expressed their worry in other ways. They snapped at the shambling hordes of damned souls. They growled when Shax came back, with an irritatingly thin report. They nearly ripped out the intestines of a demon who looked at them funnily. They did rip out the intestines of a demon who bumped into them. They put some of the lesser demons on half rations, just to watch them squirm.
It didn’t help. Beelzebub’s worry still raged in the tension in their back and the tapping of their feet. They couldn’t seem to sit still. They couldn’t seem to relax. They hadn’t even known what relaxation had felt like—Hell wasn’t the place to sit back with a piña colada and cucumbers over one’s eyes—until after their first meetings with Gabriel. They picked fights. They picked at their nails. They picked on the scabs and sores on their skin.
Shax came back again, reporting that Crowley hadn’t even known anything was ‘up in the Up’. Crowley didn’t know what was ‘up’. Shax didn’t know what was ‘up’. Beelzebub themself only knew embarrassingly little, and what little they had heard was concerning.
They had heard, through the infuriating sparse grape-vine, that Gabriel had vanished. They’d snapped the neck of the lesser demon who’d told them.
Gabriel was missing, Heaven was looking for him, and no one in Hell had heard hide nor hair of him.
Gabriel was missing, Beelzebub was stressed, and everything was going to shit.
Gabriel was missing, and Beelzebub missed him. Beelzebub loved him.
The realization had come to them late one night—or as late as it ever got in Hell, where the only times were too fucking early or intolerably late—and Beelzebub had nearly gutted the damned soul shambling next to them. They knew they cared for Gabriel, how could one not? He was uptight and straightlaced, yes, but there was something so endearing about him. His ignorance was adorable, and his sincerity was disarming.
Beelzebub cared for Gabriel. That much they knew. But love?
Beelzebub was unfamiliar with love. They had been, for six thousand years. No love could compare to the Almighty’s, and after Beelzebub had lost that, they’d stopped trying. They were unlovable, in the way all demons were. Falling in love—a love that was sure to be unrequited—was, simply put, an idiotic move.
Beelzebub supposed that made them an idiot.
They had fallen in love with the enemy, and now that enemy was missing.
Beelzebub’s heart ached.
“Hello traitor,” Beelzebub found themself saying, against all better judgment.
Crowley grimaced, waving frantically through the cloud of Beelzebub’s flies. “Oh, Lord Beelzebub!”
“I suppose you’re wondering why I called you here,” They said, playing the part of annoying ex-boss. Crowley couldn’t learn about Beelzebub’s feelings on the whole Gabriel matter. He wouldn’t understand. He and his angel always got on just fine, Crowley just wouldn’t get it.
“You came to me!” Crowley shouted over the buzzing in his car.
More flies began to form as Beelzebub summoned Crowley to Hell.
Crowley protested, “Oh, come on!”
When the buzzing cleared, and most of Beelzebub’s flies had flown off, they and Crowley were sitting in one of Hell’s crowded corridors. This crowded corridor was the place Beelzebub held their meetings, and they sat back in the high-backed, dirty throne.
“I thought we had a–” Crowley spat, one of Beelzebub’s flies coming out of his mouth, “I thought we had a generalized understanding.”
“We don’t,” Beelzebub sneered. “You’re still a traitor. I could put a price on your head any time I wanted to.”
Crowley eyed Beelzebub’s form, ignoring their threats. “Is that a new face?”
“This old thing? I’ve had it for ages.”
Beelzebub stood, trying to hide the tension in their body. This was a difficult game—say too much, and Crowley might guess at their true intentions behind finding Gabriel; say too little, and Crowley wouldn’t care.
Beelzebub took a breath. This was, essentially, tempting. Beelzebub was good at tempting, they’d been doing it for thousands of years.
“Such a pity Hell never truly appreciated your talents, Crowley. What if I said Hell was willing to forget everything you did, that we were willing to accept you back, no questions asked and with a hefty promotion.”
They were lying through their rotted, gnarled teeth. They hadn’t spoken to the rest of Hell about this. They hadn’t talked to Satan or the Dark Council. There was no ‘we’, Beelzebub was working strictly for their own, selfish intentions. It was risky business, lying to a demon. Especially a demon who’d outranked them before the Fall. But Beelzebub was getting desperate, and found they could take the risk.
Crowley draped himself over his chair. “It doesn’t actually sound like the kind of thing you’re likely to say.”
Beelzebub shrugged, forcing an uncomfortable nonchalance into their posture. “It might be. The archangel Gabriel has vanished. We know he isn’t in Heaven, what we don’t know is where he is.”
The words hurt, hanging with a heaviness only Beelzebub felt. They pushed back the pain crawling up their throat.
“How mysterious,” Crowley observed, ignoring the screams echoing through distant hallways.
“We think someone might be hiding him from us. If you found Gabriel, and handed him over to us, you could name your price. I’ve got all the hosts of hell hunting for him—and we will find him—but you, Crowley, you know earth better than anyone.” It was a dangerous move. Letting Crowley name his price was practically an IOU, and IOUs spelled death in Hell.
Beelzebub watched, critically, as Crowley blinked. “Well, I… it’s a big universe, lots of places that an archangel on the lam can have a wonderful time and never be seen again.”
“Well wherever he is, you find Gabriel for me, and– and you can have whatever it is your nasty little heart desires!” Beelzebub sneered, the words sharper than they’d originally intended. The worry in them was bubbling up like the blood pits of the eighth circle. They tried to stamp down their emotions, but whatever restraint they had left had snapped.
They half-pleaded, half-shouted; “You could be a duke of Hell! According to what I’m hearing, on a grapevine that obviously doesn’t exist, upstairs is seriously troubled by Gabriel’s disappearance,” Beelzebub stumbled to get their tone to be steady. “I’m hearing that everybody they find involved in this affair will be dealt with.”
Crowley leaned forward, the interest finally getting the better of him. “How?”
Beelzebub gave a half smile, showing their bloodstained and blackened teeth. Crowley was intrigued: that was good. Beelzebub sauntered over to the chair beside Crowley, their relaxed posture another lie on a sundae of falsehoods. It was a wonder Crowley hadn’t caught on yet.
They gave Crowley a conspiratorial glance. “Extreme sanctions,” they answered.
It did not have the desired effect.
“You know that isn’t actually a thing?” Crowley’s eyebrow twitches. “It’s just something we used to joke about to frighten the cherubs.”
Beelzebub frowned. “No, it exists. Extreme sanctions. Anyone involved with Gabriel’s disappearance will be erased from the book of life. They won’t just be gone; they will have never existed.”
This was one of the things that had been weighing on Beelzebub. Even if they’d had the time, and hadn’t had the paperwork and princely duties eating up their time; even if they wouldn’t have been labeled as a traitor and a failure of a demon; Beelzebub still couldn’t have looked for Gabriel.
If they had, and had been caught, Beelzebub could have faced extreme sanctions. They wouldn't have existed, none of their accomplishments would have existed, none of their dates rendezvous with Gabriel would have existed, and their relationship with Gabriel wouldn’t have existed.
Beelzebub couldn’t stomach the thought.
Crowley looked a little perturbed. “Well, that will teach them a lesson alright,” he said, his nerves poorly masked.
“So, if you hear anything, you come to me first, yeah?” Beelzebub asked, cutting straight to the point. The frustration was starting to get to them.
“I don’t know anything about this—”
Beelzebub sent Crowley away with a flick of their wrist.
They sat, alone (or as alone as one could be in the crowded hallways of Hell), feeling generally sorry for themself. Crowley, hopefully, would be looking for Gabriel on earth. He was probably somewhere with Crowley’s angel, so hopefully Crowley would find something out soon.
God, Beelzebub hoped he would.
As a demon, the hope made them feel like barfing. Or maybe that was the worry; or the general unpleasant stench of Hell; or maybe it was because last time they’d stopped by The Resurrectionist , alone and pathetic with Buddy Holly looping in the background, they’d tried a crisp and instantly spat it back out.
Beelzebub had a lot of reasons to feel nauseous, none of them any good.
The next few days were depressingly monotonous. They couldn’t drop everything in search of Gabriel, they had Hell to run. Crowley didn’t come back with any developments, so either there was no news or Beelzebub hadn’t been convincing (read: threatening) enough. The latter was far more likely.
They watched the shuffling forces of Hell with increasing agitation. There hadn’t been any new information in days, and Beelzebub was beginning to feel impatient.
They tugged harshly on the large rope, summoning their assistant to the room. Demon Josh scuttled in, his keys clinking.
“Is there any news about Gabriel yet?” They demanded when they heard the door clang open behind them.
“Eh, no. No news of the accursed enemy, my lord,” Josh muttered.
Beelzebub narrowed their eyes, feeling irritation crawl up their spine. “No?” They echoed. Still no news. Gabriel could be anywhere. He could be lost, or hurt, or confused. He could be singed with Hellfire in the obscure forests on earth, dying out slowly, with Beelzebub none the wiser. He could be gallivanting in some obscure corner of the universe, never speaking with Beelzebub again.
And wasn’t that a terrifying thought? Beelzebub had done their best to ignore it, but they couldn’t help but wonder: what if Gabriel wasn’t missing? What if he just didn’t want to be found? Maybe he’d grown tired of life in Heaven, and had run off alone in the stars. Maybe Beelzebub hadn’t been enough to make him stay. Beelzebub did their best to stamp down the thought, but with each passing day, and still no sign of Gabriel, the thoughts of their own inadequacies grew louder.
If Beelzebub had just been nicer—just a touch more pleasant—maybe they could have convinced Gabriel to stay. If they’d just been braver, they could have labeled the flighty thing they had with Gabriel, and maybe he would still be there.
If they’d just been smarter, Beelzebub wouldn’t have met with Gabriel, and they wouldn’t be here in the first place. The archangel wouldn’t have had the chance to burrow into their heart, like a maggot worming its way into a carcass. If Beelzebub had been stronger—and hadn’t given in to the urge to meet with Gabriel again, and again, and again—then maybe they wouldn’t care so much. Maybe then, they wouldn’t be so worried.
It was a stupid line of thinking. It was already too late. They’d already met with Gabriel, they already cared about Gabriel, and they were already worried about Gabriel. Their laravel feelings for Gabriel had already eaten through the flesh of their heart, carving out a dark and damp place to grow.
It was pathetic. It was undemonly. It was unbecoming of a prince of Hell.
Beelzebub took a deep breath, a fly catching in their nostril as they inhaled. Their eyes found Josh again. “Just… Tell me the moment we learn anything.”
“Of course, Lord Beelzebub.”
Beelzebub nodded, their eyes flicking around the room. They blinked, once, twice, a third time, before: “Do you ever think, wouldn’t it just be nice if someone told you what a good job you're doing?”
Josh looked taken aback. “In Hell?”
“Yeah,” Beelzebub shrugged. This was stupid, stupid, stupid. They shouldn’t be talking to a lesser demon about their mushy feelings. They shouldn’t be having mushy feelings in the first place.
They fixed Josh with a harsh look.
“I mean, I’m just happy when you don’t sentence me to the Dung Pits for pissing you off,” Josh said.
Beelzebub glared. It was an awfully ballsy statement for Josh to make. They could send Josh to the Dung Pits for that; they had, in the past, sent him to the Dug Pits for no reason at all. Beelzebub shook themself. It wouldn’t help them feel better. They knew that.
“I mean a day I don’t get sent to the Dung Pits is a good day. I mean as long as there's a day that nobody rips out my tongue for talking too much. A day when nobody sends you to the Dung Pits or rips out your tongue for talking too–” Josh, wisely, cut himself off. He was starting to get on Beelzebub’s already-frayed nerves. “Am I talking too much? Are you gonna rip out my tongue again?”
Beelzebub sighed. “I don’t care. Just be quiet.”
“Right,” said Josh, walking back over to the door. He paused, turning around. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Do you want to go to the Dung Pits?” Beelzebub shouted, baring their teeth at Josh’s fleeing back. They snarled, alone with their feelings once more.
Fuck.
Josh was starting to catch on. He could tell something was off with Beelzebub. This was a bad development. If any of this—any of it—got out to the other demons, Beelzebub would rip Josh’s jaw off and wear it like a necklace.
Days passed. No news came. Until—
The door to Beelzebub’s office groaned, squeaking on its hinges as it was pushed open.
“Shax, demon of the fifth house,” Josh announced as Shax stepped in. Beelzebub sat back in their throne, ignoring the flickering of the overhead light above them.
“Well? What news?” Beelzebub demanded.
Shax glanced around the office and the stacks of paper around Beelzeub’s throne. “The angel went to Edinburgh.”
“Which angel?” Beelzebub snapped.
“You know which one. Crowley’s pet.”
Beelzebub’s mind whirred. This was information. This could help. They could find Gabriel, figure out why he’d vanished, and then (maybe) they could go for a not-drink together at the pub.
“Why Edinburgh?”
“Not sure. Maybe they want us to think Gabriel is in Edinburgh.” He wasn’t. Beelzebub had sent flies all over the place, thinking maybe he’d gone to the Resurrectionist and gotten lost along the way. He hadn’t, and their flies had come back with nothing. “Maybe Crowley wants the angel to make us think Gabriel is in Edinburgh. Maybe–”
“Maybe he actually is in Edinburgh.” Beelzebub sighed, feeling frustratingly small . This wasn’t the information they wanted. It wouldn’t help. Shax was just repeating information Beelzebub already knew, and Beelzebub did not have time for that.
“Oh, he’s not in Edinburgh,” Shax said, her voice confident.
Interesting.
Beelzebub eyed Shax, noting every tick in her body language and every hitch in her voice. If she withheld information, Beelzebub would know.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s in the bookshop.”
Beelzebub had to stop the emotions that surged just beneath their skin. There was relief, and gratitude, and a whole host of other undemonlike feelings. And, underneath it all, the ever present current of inadequacy.
(He went to the bookshop—why? Why didn’t he come to the pub? Or to Beelzebub? Perhaps he’d grown bored of Beelzebub’s presence. Perhaps he didn’t care , not in the same way Beelzebub did.)
“Gabriel’s in the bookshop?” Beelzebub echoed, their thoughts racing as Shax confirmed. “You’re certain of it?”
Shax gave an infinitesimal nod. “Yes.”
“Thank you Shax.” Finally, information. Finally, something to do with the nervous tension that had been crawling its way up their shoulders. Finally, Beelzebub could act. “Good work.”
They waved Shax away, but the other demon didn’t move. She stood there, her lips pursed.
“Yes?” Beelzebub asked, any gratitude they had for Shax starting to fade.
“Now that we’ve located Gabriel, what do we do?”
Beelzebub glanced around. They were thinking the same thing, but they’d rather be caught praying than admit that. “Well, we formulate a plan.”
“I formulated a plan,” Shax said eagerly. “I take a legion of demons and we storm the bookshop, killing anyone and anything that stands in our way. We capture Gabriel and we drag him as tribute before the throne of Satan, our master.”
The thought of Gabriel, bound and kneeling, did something funny to Beelzebub’s stomach. They pushed the thought aside.
“Can you enter the bookshop, without permission?” They asked. They already knew the answer, of course. There was a reason they’d had to wait till Crowley was in his car to talk with him.
“Not technically, no. But give me a legion of Hell’s finest troops and see what I can do. It’s a chance I’ve been waiting for, Lord Beelzebub.”
Beelzebub chuckled with a faint nod.
“To be clear,” Shax stated, “You are hereby authorizing me to storm the angel’s bookshop, sending wave after wave of demons, to besiege it until it falls, and capture the Archangel, destroying anything and everything that stands in our way?”
Shax would fail. Of course she would. But they were closer to finding Gabriel than they’d been in days, and Beelzebub was damned if they were going to give that up (Beelzebub was damned anyway, but that’s besides the point). If Shax destroyed as much as she could, on her way to get Gabriel, then it would be far easier for Beelzebub to get Gabriel afterwards.
“No. I’m not authorizing you to do that. I’m commanding you to do that. I want you there, Shax, on the ground. Bravely leading the attack on the bookshop, leading the army of the damned.”
Shax grinned. “I can do that.”
Beelzebub grinned back.
Beelzebub groaned, pushing past the hordes of pissed off demons.
“He blew up his fuckin’ halo!” One of them swore. “Aren’t you going to do something?”
Behind them, Dagon and Furfur exchanged glances.
“You know, you could start the war. They’ve given you the grounds for it,” Dagon observed.
Beelzebub waved them off. “We’ll visit the bookshop,” They said. They could feel that the wards had lifted, and if Gabriel really was there…
Beelzebub gestured for the other two demons to go on ahead of them. Dagon and Furfur left in twin puffs of smoke, Beelzebub following shortly after.
Beelzebub had never been inside the bookshop before. They’d heard of it, of course, but they’d never actually entered.
It was cluttered, though not in the way Hell was cluttered. Old leather bound books lined the walls, ornate aged carpets rested over hardwood floors. The whole place felt disgustingly loved.
Two angels stood across from Beelzebub, another sat in their wheelchair, and a fourth angel peered distractedly out the shop window. Beelzebub recognized Uriel, Michael, and Saraquel, but the fourth angel was unfamiliar.
Shax was unconscious on the couch. Beside Shax stood the traitor and his angel, two humans a little further behind them.
A man stood between Beelzebub and the rest. He looked familiar and important, but Beelzebub couldn’t quite place him. Details of the man seemed to vanish unless Beelzebub was looking straight at him, sliding off their brain like water off a duck. It was strange.
Dagon cackled. “Finally! We are at war.”
Beelzebub had to fight to keep their expression neutral. Shax had royally fucked things up. Shax was supposed to come through and shake Aziraphale, just a little, just enough to give Gabriel up. They hadn’t anticipated that Shax would start a war. They hadn’t anticipated that everything they’d worked on with Gabriel would come crashing down, the shaky peace they’d created crumbling like the Tower of Babel.
Crowley scoffed. “Nobody’s at war. You idiots sent an idiot to lead a gang of idiots to attack a bookshop.” Crowley gestured to the angels. “Those idiots there want their archangel back so they can fire him.”
Beelzebub eyed Shax’s unconscious form. She was hardly any good (or any bad, rather) while conscious, but she certainly wasn’t helping (or rather harming) while asleep on the couch. Beelzebub sent a shock of lightning at her, more powerful than strictly necessary. The scent of burning hair filled the bookshop, and Beelzebub found themself smiling.
“Beautifully done,” They said, the insincerity dripping from their voice like blood from a cut. “Remind me to put in for your commendation.”
Shax glanced at Crowley. “Sarcasm, yes?”
“Unfortunately so,” Beelzebub gave a tight-lipped smile.
“If it is to be war—” One of the stick-up-their-ass angels started.
Crowley cut them off. “No, no, no war. Aziraphale, let's sort this out. Where’s the cardboard box?”
A moment later, the contents of said box had fluttered onto the floor.
“ I am in the fly,” Aziraphale read. “What fly?”
“Lord Beelzebub. I believe flies are your department,” Crowley noted.
Hope squirmed like a freshly laid maggot in Beelzebub’s chest. They hummed, briefly letting their senses expand beyond their mortal body. They were in a city, feces and flies everywhere, but there was only one fly within the bookshop propper.
Beelzebub smiled, the larva of hope in their chest growing into a pupa. “There’s only one fly here, and it’s familiar.” They whistled sharply in its general direction. “Come here. Come on.”
The fly buzzed through the bookshop.
“Good boy,” Beelzebub encouraged.
The fly landed on their outstretched finger.
Relief coursed through Beelzebub’s veins. “No wonder nobody could find you. This is where you were keeping all your memories… all your… you. Look at you. You’re perfect.” Beelzebub would normally be embarrassed about being so openly sentimental, but right then, they didn’t care about such things. Gabriel was back—or his memories were—and Beelzebub would slaughter every angel in heaven before losing him again.
Beelzebub turned to the figure beside them, letting the fly flap from their finger to his.
“Go on,” They encouraged, “Open it.”
The man raised his finger to his face, and the fly flew into his eye.
The man blinked, once, twice, and then Gabriel was there. The protective magic around him must have fallen, but Beelzebub wasn’t thinking about the logistics of miracles.
Gabriel was there. The pupa of hope and mushy feelings grew wings. Gabriel was there. He hadn’t left Beelzebub, he hadn’t abandoned them. Beelzebub wanted to curse the other archangels who’d forced him into this position, but Gabriel was back. Everything else faded into unimportant obscurity.
“Aziraphale,” Gabriel greeted. “Michael, Uriel, and… don’t tell me… Saraquel?”
He laughed, turning around the bookshop. His eyes fell on Beelzebub.
“You,” He breathed, stepping closer. “Thank you.”
“Silly, silly angel,” Beelzebub said as a way of greeting. There were no words to describe the pure mixture of joy and relief in them; they didn’t even bother to try. They stepped closer, reaching to take Gabriel’s palm in their hands. His skin was warm beneath their fingers, comforting in a way nothing in Hell ever was. Their gaze flicked over his form. His clothes were ill fitting, and his sweater was vile, but it was still him. It was still Gabriel, the supreme archangel. Gabriel, their angel. Beelzebub smiled. There was so much they wanted to know—( What happened while I was gone? How much did you remember? Did the traitor and his angel treat you well? Because if not, I’ll…) —but there was only one thing they could think to ask. “Why?”
Gabriel took their other hand. His eyes carefully traced every detail and bump of Beelzebub’s skin. “I was coming to you, but… I forgot.” He laughed at the incredulity of the statement.
“Well I think that Aziraphale probably took much better care of you than I could have done.” It was painful to admit, though it was true. They weren’t sure how they would have reacted if Gabriel had come knocking on their office door; nude as Adam or Eve, with no memories of who he was or who they were to him. They imagined it wouldn’t have gone well.
Beelzebub could feel the gazes of everyone else, glued to the interaction. There was confusion (Crowley), surprise (Aziraphale), and outrage (Shax).
“Beelzebub, you traitor!” Shax spat, her miserable intelect for once able to put the pieces together. “Collaborating with heaven?”
A protective sort of fury welled up in Beelzebub. They had not collaborated with Heaven, nor would they ever. Heaven was filled with a bunch of stuck up, snooty assholes, who hid their asshole-ry behind a thin veneer of ‘kindness’ and ‘good intentions’. They had certainly not collaborated with Heaven.
They had collaborated with Gabriel—Gabriel, who was also a stuck up asshole, but in an endearing way that made Beelzebub sigh and kick their feet like a teenager on the phone with their crush.
“I didn’t collaborate with Heaven any more than Gabriel collaborated with Hell,” Beelzebub said. They glanced down, feeling a deplorable bout of vulnerability well up inside of them. They hadn’t seen Gabriel in so long, they had missed him so much, they loved him so much.
Beelzebub’s eyes met Gabriel’s. “I just found something that mattered more to me than picking sides,” they continued, their voice a soft whisper.
There was some general chatter, then, but Beelzebub couldn’t care less. They were vaguely aware of Crowley leaving, followed by two mortals, but Gabriel’s hand was in theirs, and Gabriel’s lips were pulled into a soft smile, and Gabriel’s eyes were gazing into theirs.
The chatter around them turned hostile, overlapping voices as Shax, Dagon, and Furfur shouted at the angels and the angels shouted back. The sharp ringing of Aziraphale’s bell finally pulled Beelzebub out of whatever soft-bellied, emotional moment they’d had, and they watched disinterestedly as Hell and Heaven made claims on their fate.
“We should serve them up before Satan, our master!” Shax argued.
“I demand you hand them over to us, so that they may face Celestial Punishment,” one of the angels contered.
Aziraphale sighed. “Why don’t we ask them where they’d like to go?”
The attention of the room shifted back to Beelzebub and Gabriel.
“What do you want?” Aziraphale asked, his voice as polite and uptight as ever. Beelzebub wasn’t sure how Crowley could tolerate it.
Gabriel looked Beelzebub up and down, before turning back to the assemblage. “I would like better clothes, for one,” Gabriel said. Beelzebub couldn’t help but agree; the hodgepodge of patterns was scorching their eyes. Gabriel looked wonderful in everything, because he was Gabriel, but that sweater vest really wasn’t doing anything for him.
“And,” Gabriel continued, “I would like to be with Beelzebub. Wherever Beelzebub is, is my Heaven.”
The worlds were syrupy sweet, and a year ago Beelzebub would have recoiled at them. Now, though, those words just made something warm and soft—something totally undemonic—flutter in Beelzebub’s chest. They found that they didn’t care if it was cliche, or soft-bellied, or pathetic.
“And where you are, my sweet, is forever my Hell,” Beelzebub replied.
The various representatives of Heaven and Hell groaned with distaste.
“You know, Alpha Centauri is nice. Always wanted to go there,” Crowley suggested, with a vague look at his angel.
“If you leave, you can never come back,” one of the angels warned.
“That would be the point,” Gabriel shot back. Fuck, Beelzebub loved him.
There were other protests, and Shax’s poor attempts at threats, but Beelzebub let it all bleed away.
“ Every day, it’s a-getting closer, ” Gabriel sang, their hands still entwined with his.
They continued the lines they’d memorized by heart. “ Going faster than a rollercoaster.”
“Love like yours will surely come my way, a-hey, a-hey-hey,” they sang together, the both of them, as love swelled in Beelzebub’s chest and miraculous energy ebbed around them.
With Gabriel beside them, Beelzebub was calm; the agitation resting on their shoulders was a distant memory. With Gabriel beside them, Beelzebub was happy —something they’d desperately missed, although without realizing it, for the past 6000 years.
Gabriel’s eyes met theirs, and the bookshop vanished around them.
“Love like yours will surely come my way,” Gabriel and Beelzebub finished, the song coming to a close.
The lands of Alpha Centauri spread out before them, lush and green and uninhabited.
Beelzebub leaned up and kissed Gabriel softly. His lips, when they met theirs, were a little dry, and Beelzebub grinned into the kiss.
Finally, they were free.