#I’m afraid they’re going to wipe his memory and make him try to erase Crowley

[guardian-of-soho]

For all the foreground of s2 is a bizarre triple-pairing romcom, there’s such a shadow of looming disaster over them all. The threat of Heaven and Hell shows up with Gabriel and whatever has reduced him to this helpless, hapless creature. Bizarrely charming as Jim was to me, I never thought I would be so unnerved by the absence of his smarminess. It really appears they declawed him.

And then when we find out he did it to himself instead (barely in time), it’s hardly comforting — not with Heaven and Hell springing up around his haven, making clear they’re only ever a thought away. Even his glad escape with his demon at the end is made amid the warning that they will find him, and when they do, his fragile little happiness is over. He only has a choice for a day.

After s1 ended with the promise that “the Big One” was still to come — “all of us against all of them” — it could hardly have been otherwise. Heaven and Hell weren’t defeated, only temporarily put off. But the revelation of Metatron as the manager and apparent mastermind of The Big One has really brought the threat into focus. Aziraphale and Crowley have no time. He isn’t willing to let them stop him again. He wants this finished, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes, including speaking for God and hijacking Heaven’s entire hierarchy. Hell’s already pledged Crowley their retaliation; had Metatron not interrupted Heaven’s warning, Aziraphale would have been left with the same sort of problem. That’s as much as I expected, and it would have been bad enough.

But this is worse: now Metatron has the angel. And now that Aziraphale is well away from everyone who knows and loves him, the threat has gotten so much sharper. If they can’t unmake his loyalties, they can unmake his mind. And there will be no one left to tell him that this isn’t who he is, or was. He could be another Jim (or Muriel, if the theory that their mind was unmade too is right). He could be banished to a silent room for a 39th scrivener — or he could find his way back to Earth. All I can hope is that if he loses himself, he’ll make it to the bookshop. There’s still an angel there who loves the world, or is beginning to; and a street full of people who remember who he is, their guardian and Crowley’s angel.

[not-a-space-alien]

Earth Helps Back, Part 6:  Bullies

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Epilogue

On AO3

art by @nemeankitten

Hi, Adam.  I hope this is the right Adam.  My name is Anathema Device.  If you are who I think you are, you must remember who I am.  I had your phone number for a while, but we fell out of contact, and I tried to calling you, but I got a message saying the number was no longer active.  I couldn’t find your old house in Tadfield, and I couldn’t find your current location, even with a spell.  I guess you must have some sort of supernatural shield that protects you from occult prying.

I managed to find your dad on Facebook, and you were listed as a relative.  Neither of you responded to instant messages, so I guess you’re not active on there, but I saw your university listed on your profile and looked up your email address through the school website.  I hope this is you.

I need your help.  Two of my friends are in big trouble.  I’m guessing you remember who they are, too.  I promised that I would help them, but there’s only so much I can do by myself.  I’ve put together a temporary fix and we’re hiding out, but I’m sure we’ll be found again eventually.

I’m begging you to help me keep my promise to them.  I’ve been too scared to contact you because I was afraid you’d erase my memory again, and Aziraphale and Crowley seem convinced that you might wipe them out of existence instead of help them.  I know in my heart you aren’t like that.  I don’t even care if you erase my memory any more.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d much, much rather keep my memories.  I don’t want to forget these amazing things and my new friends.  But I just want to help them, even if it means that.  You’re probably busy, but I’m sure you could make some time to come see us.

Anathema Device

 Anathema sent this email at 9AM, and her heart pounded the entire day while she waited for a reply, which she eventually got at 8PM.  It said:

Meet me at St. James’ Park tomorrow morning at 8:30.  Bring bread. If Aziraphale and Crowley are so scared of me, you don’t have to tell them I'll be there, but make sure they come too.

-Adam Young

Anathema had been working on another circle.  She had been brainstorming ways to repurpose the inner circle of the summoning spell.  The new sigil was a protection circle, and if you worded it correctly, no being more powerful than the person who drew it could cross to enter it without explicit permission.  When she got the email, she scrambled to finish it, pulling another all-nighter.

When morning came, she packed up a knapsack full of candles, chalk, and her notes on the protection circle as well as the summoning circle.  She didn’t know how being able to summon someone would help them, but she’d be damned if she left it behind after putting so much work into it.

She then emptied their breadbox and woke Newt up, insisting they didn’t have enough time for him to make coffee before leaving.  Aziraphale and Crowley acted like Anathema was making them go out at three AM instead of eight, with the way they yawned and complained about not being allowed to sleep in.  They didn’t even bother to ask where they were going.

Newt offered to drive them, which Anathema gratefully accepted.  Anathema took shotgun, then plopped the knapsack between Aziraphale and Crowley in the backseat.  Aziraphale sat with his hands between his thighs, warming them. Crowley hadn’t changed out of his borrowed pajama pants and looked ready to go back to sleep as soon as Anathema turned back around, hair ruffled up and eyes half-closed.

“Don’t you two worry about a thing,” she said.

They set off.  When they were almost there, Aziraphale looked roused.  “Are we…going to the park?”

“Yup,” said Anathema.

Aziraphale dared look like he was going to enjoy it.

They reached the park.  Anathema found that, yes, Crowley had fallen back asleep exactly as predicted, head lolling on Aziraphale’s shoulder.  He seemed to resent being woken up again, but he perked up when he heard the ducks quacking. Anathema suddenly knew what the bread must be for.

“Come on, you two,” she said, taking the knapsack and handing them the bread. “There’s almost a whole loaf here. Head on over to the pond.  I’m right behind you.”

Aziraphale and Crowley held each others’ hands as they walked up the path to the duck pond.  The ducks looked at them quizzically, then quacked as though in recognition and began to clamber up out of the water toward them.

Anathema watched as the two sat down on the bench and started tossing bread to the ducks, who gobbled it up, oblivious to how fat it would make them.

Anathema lingered behind them with Newt, stopping on the walking path.  Newt put his hands in his pockets. “So…What’re we doing here?”

“We’re meeting the antichrist.”

“All right.”

“They don’t know, so don’t tell them.  They’re terrified of him.”

“And you brought them out here to meet him.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you wanted to be their friend.”

Anathema grimaced.  “Right… I’m trying my best.”  She lowered the knapsack.  “Help me draw this, won’t you?”

Aziraphale and Crowley watched as Anathema began chalking things on the walking path a good bit off.

“Good thing we got here so early,” said Aziraphale.  “Otherwise there’d be more people around to gawk at the circle and step on it.”

Crowley tore off another piece and tossed it to a duck.  “Wonder what she’s drawing.”

“Crowley, look!” Aziraphale gasped, derailing his train of thought entirely.  “That one has ducklings.”

Crowley and Aziraphale both dropped their bread and got onto the ground to examine the yellow, peeping creatures more closely.  “So she does,” Crowley breathed.

She wouldn’t let them get close enough to touch the ducklings, but they swarmed on the bread all the same.  Aziraphale and Crowley both felt inexplicably delighted by the animals.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand.  “Crowley, I…I’m glad I escaped with enough memories of you to remember how I feel about you.”

Crowley smiled.  “Me too.”

Aziraphale laughed a little, then leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “And I’m glad you escaped with enough of you left to love.”

When Aziraphale pulled back, Crowley was blushing profusely.

“Had I not made it clear?” said Aziraphale.  “Exactly how fond of you I am?”

Crowley looked down at his lap.  “I…I-I…”

“I don’t remember if I’ve ever said it.  But I figured I should probably tell you now.”

Crowley nodded.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

Aziraphale rubbed his hand.  “You don’t have to say it, if you don’t want to.  I’d imagine you might have trouble with it.”

Crowley said nothing.  Then, he leaned over and returned the kiss on the cheek.

“I’m glad we’re here,” said Aziraphale.  “Specifically here, feeding the ducks.”

“Me too,” said Crowley, scarcely above a whisper.

They sat in silence among the ducks for a few minutes.  They both felt much more full than they had in the past few years, in a way they hadn’t since the attempt at Armageddon.

They had dropped all their bread, and the ducks were demanding more, so Crowley held his hand out and miracled a small loaf into it, which he broke in half and shared with Aziraphale.

“Have we done this before?” said Aziraphale.  “I mean, is it something we did together before all this?”

“Yes.”

“Regularly?”

“Quite.”

“Whose idea was it, usually?”

“Mine.”

Aziraphale leaned onto Crowley's shoulder, feeling at peace.  “I can see why you liked it so much.”

Crowley suddenly went rigid, fingers digging into the bread in his hand.

“What’s wrong?”

Crowley looked over at the angel, absolutely panic-stricken.  “I know how Metatron found us in the shop.”

Newt was helping Anathema finish up the outer layer of the protection circle on the walking path when he saw Aziraphale and Crowley abruptly rise from the bench and start sprinting over to them.  “Hm?”

“That should be big enough for four people to stand in, right?” Anathema was saying.

“Anathema, they’re…”

Aziraphale and Crowley arrived at Anathema, winded.  Crowley looked on the verge of tears.

“The miracle Aziraphale used to unlock the door,” said Crowley.  “Metatron was monitoring how he was using his angelic powers, and as soon as he did something he shouldn’t have, came down.”

“And Crowley just used another miracle,” said Aziraphale.

“I did it without thinking.  I’m so sorry.”

She looked wildly from one to the other.  “So you’re saying…”

“They’re coming.”

Anathema’s resolve hardened.  “Get in the circle.”

Aziraphale and Crowley followed her instructions immediately.  Anathema hurriedly finished the outer rim, then dragged the knapsack over and quickly scribbled out the missing inscriptions on the inner ring.

Newt took a step so that he was standing inside the circle as well.  “There,” said Anathema.

“You’re…ah…sure that this’ll work?” said Newt, with obvious nervousness.

Anathema felt occult energy start flowing through the complex sigil and sensed a wall of something push out, as solid and real as the ground under her.  “Yes.”

The four of them stood there, breathing anxiously.  They would have looked funny to passersby.

A cloud of insects appeared in the distance.

“Here we go,” said Anathema.

The insects resolved into the shape of Beelzebub a good ways off, and he walked calmly down the path towards them when it became obvious that they were going to make no attempt to run away.

Beelzebub came to the very edge of the circle’s protective field, armor jingling, hand on his sword hilt.  Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s hand so tightly his nails left marks, and he averted his eyes, keeping his gaze on Aziraphale’s shoes.

“Hmmm,” buzzed Beelzebub.

“She must be a witch,” said a Voice, and with a flap of wings, the Metatron appeared on the opposite side of the circle.  The Metatron folded his wings, clasped his hands into a simulacrum of prayer, and calmly walked around the edge of the circle.  “A regular human would never be able to put together something this complex.”

Aziraphale’s eyes tracked Metatron's movements, and he trembled, absolutely beyond terrified, mind filled with images of a painful white ceiling.

The Metatron came around and stood beside Beelzebub.  He bent over, a plastic smile on his face, and withdrew a citrus fruit from his sleeve.  “I’ll admit, that trick was clever.”  He dropped the orange, which rolled slightly into the circle, then the smile dropped from his face.  “But I've had quite enough of Florida.  We were not finished, Aziraphale.  We still have business together.”

“And Crowley,” Beelzebub said, with a wicked grin.  “Everyone waz having zzo much fun.  Zurely you couldn’t have meant to leave the party early?”

Aziraphale and Crowley clung to each other.

“This is the problem, isn’t it?” said the Metatron.  “That you gain more comfort from the presence of a demon than your own superior.  Rest assured I’ll be able to pull that out.”  He narrowed his eyes.  “As well as any sort of empathy you may have for him.  No mistakes this time.”

“Obviouzzly we were not thorough enough, either,” said Beelzebub.  “We zzhall keep him down for azz long azz it takez this time.”

“Leave us alone,” said Aziraphale, without much bravado.

Metatron laughed like a wind chime.  “Well, it appears as though this wall is pretty solid, but you can’t stay in there forever.  If it comes down to a waiting game, I’m positive we—the supernatural beings who do not need to eat or sleep—can outlast a group that includes two humans.”

The mention of Anathema made her snap back into reality.  And from the headspace she had just been in, she pulled back with her an incredible, indescribable amount of utter rage.  

Aziraphale and Crowley had tried, they had done everything in their power, they were trying, and they were being utterly squashed down in return.  Nothing made Anathema angrier than that.  And now the ones responsible for it were right here in front of her.

She had gotten it wrong.  Aziraphale and Crowley’s weren’t more powerful than her.  It was the other way around.  Humanity was the winning side.

She stomped to the edge of the circle, pushing Aziraphale and Crowley out of the way, and pointed one outraged finger at the two outside the circle.  “How dare you?” she shouted.

Metatron and Beelzebub looked at each other quizzically, then back at her.

“Who do you think you are?” Anathema yelled.

“The Voice of God,” said the Metatron, and Beelzebub started, “Beelzebub, Lord of the Fliez, zecond in command of H—”

Anathema cut him off with, “You’re bullies is what you are!  You’re petty and mean—and—just very unpleasant!  I don't know who thought it was a good idea to give you power, but I'd have some strong words for them.”

Metatron’s eyes widened.  Beelzebub stared at her slack-jawed.

“Command?  Hah!  I wouldn’t put either of you in charge of a Burger Lord, let alone a supernatural domain.”

Metatron side-eyed Beelzebub.  “Can she say that?”

Beelzebub looked absolutely flabbergasted.  “You dare talk to uz thiz way?  Who do you zz…think you are?”

“My name is Anathema Device!” she bellowed.  “And I can do whatever the Hell I want.” She pointed at Aziraphale and Crowley. “And you see these two?  They’re my friends.  They belong to Earth, not to you two, and I won’t let you hurt them.  I won’t let you even talk to them like that anymore. They deserve so much better than the likes of you two.  Celestial and infernal authorities?  You’re lower than the lowest worm in the lowest dirt of the—”

Beelzebub’s face grew increasingly astonished with each word that left Anathema’s mouth.  The truth was that no mortal had ever had the gumption to talk to him that way, and it had caught him completely off-guard.  The Metatron had it worse, because he had been under the impression that mortals were incapable of talking to him that way, and the contradiction had short-circuited his brain, and now he had no idea what to do and was watching Beelzebub, of all people, for cues as to the proper reaction.

“Now you zee here,” said Beelzebub.  “It’z highly improper for—”

“I wasn’t done talking,” Anathema snarled.  “You’ve both clearly abused your positions to get petty revenge on someone put under your command because you don’t like them.  That’s the most cowardly, skeevy thing you could do to someone.  These two are two of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met, and you wanted to utterly destroy them to make yourselves feel better.  Who does that?  It's pathetic.  You're pathetic.”  

Beelzebub’s face contorted into stormy anger, and he started to stalk around the outside of the circle.  “You can chatter all you want.  You are zztill trapped, and I doubt your wordzz will be zzo bold with a zzword through your chezt.”

“And I doubt you’ll be zzo bold when you get your azz beat,” Anathema muttered, and an idea flew from across the duck pond and cannonballed into her head.

“What?” said Beelzebub stormily.

“I was just saying,” said Anathema.  “How ugly you are.”

Beelzebub looked offended.

“Compared to Crowley, especially,” said Anathema.  “I mean, just look at the two of you.  What happened?”

“Anathema,” said Crowley, voice trembling, “what are you doing?”

She waved him back and continued on, “I’m thinking especially about your wings.”  She stepped forward, being careful not to smudge the chalk lines, and put her hands behind her back nonchalantly.  She stopped when Beelzebub was close enough to reach out and touch through the invisible wall.

She had to look up now to meet his eyes, but she did so.  “Crowley’s wings were so beautiful.  You must have done that to his wings in the last round of torture because you were jealous. Your wings must be the ugliest thing in the universe.  Are you rotting?”

Beelzebub hunched over to look directly into her face haughtily.  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I bet they are,” said Anathema.  “I bet they’re full of maggots.  Disgusting.”

His wings were, in fact, the one part of Beelzebub that never had maggots in it, and he was quite proud of them.  So, he spread them and turned around.  “You foolizzh—owzch!”

Beelzebub gave an undignified squawk as Anathema thrust her hand into his wing and pulled out a handful of feathers.  He turned back around as Anathema booked it to the center of the circle.

“You horrible creature!” Metatron said.  

Anathema kicked the knapsack over and retrieved her chalk, shooing Newt to the side and scribbling on the sidewalk.  “Aziraphale, do you know how to write the Metatron’s name in Enochian?”

Aziraphale nodded vigorously.

“Help me draw this.”

Aziraphale got down on his hands and knees and took a piece of chalk, copying Anathema.

“Newt,” said Anathema, “you read the incantation for summoning Metatron. I think Enochian is easier to pronounce than Infernal.  I’ll read the one for Beelzebub.”

“You’re trying to…summon us?” said the Metatron, astonished.

“We are already right here,” said Beelzebub, sounding equally lost.

Anathema drew at lightning speed, and a reproduction of the circles she had drawn on her living room floor to summon Crowley and Aziraphale were appearing under her hands at an incredible rate.  She had less room, of course, since she was confined to the inner ring of the protection circle, and she had to fit two of them, so they were much smaller.

“Newt, get the candles.  Crowley, Aziraphale, back out to the edge to give me more room to draw.  Be careful not to smudge the lines.”

Newt rummaged in the knapsack and started getting out red and black candles while Anathema started chalking a second circle.  Aziraphale and Crowley tiptoed out and away, unhappily standing near Beelzebub and Metatron.

“Crowley, Aziraphale, when the black candles go out, smudge the outer rim of the protection circle,” said Anathema, finishing the inscriptions on the second circle.  “The second they go out.”

“Won’t that destroy the effect?” said Crowley with some alarm.

“Trust me.”

Beelzebub bent down to sneer in Crowley’s face wordlessly.  Crowley leaned back.  “Uh, Anathema…”

Anathema took the remaining candles from Newt and arranged them tediously around the two circles.  Then, she gave Newt the notes to read off of and stood at the head of her circle, clutching Beelzebub’s handful of feathers.

“You know,” said Beelzebub, “if you wanted uzz to come into your zircle, you could zimply let uz in.”

“Yes,” said the Metatron.  “I don’t see what you hope to accomplish.”

“Now, Newt,” said Anathema.  “Don’t let them distract you.”

Newt started reading his.  Anathema waited a few seconds, then altered her pacing to ensure they would both finish at the same time.

Metatron and Beelzebub watched in an amused way, like watching a toddler build a house out of plastic bricks:  thinking it was interesting, and perhaps important to the one carrying it out, but not accomplishing much.

Anathema and Newt finished at the same time, and then said, in unison:

“I command you to come to me, over whatever distance, regardless of circumstance.”

The black candles flickered out.

Aziraphale and Crowley stomped on the chalk lines, smearing them, while simultaneously covering their eyes out of sheer terror.

Beelzebub reached out to grab Crowley as soon as the supernatural wall between them fell, but then the red candles flickered on.  Beelzebub and Metatron jumped the few meters of space to appear in the two small circles.  Anathema and Newt backed away, out of grabbing distance.

Beelzebub still had a hand reached out, and he stumbled, hitting the edge of the restricting inner circle of the summoning charm and stumbling back. “Wh—”

The two circles only had two or three feet of diameter in which to stand. Metatron tried to spread his wings, but couldn’t spread them past the inner circle either.  “What is the meaning of this?”

Panting, Anathema walked over to where Aziraphale and Crowley were standing, dragging the knapsack out of reach.  “The summoning circle has a binding feature,” Anathema explained breathlessly.  “Whatever is summoned, no matter how powerful, can’t leave until someone outside the circle destroys it.”

Beelzebub’s face contorted into anger, and he started turning around in place, as though looking for an exit.  “That is abzzurd.”

“This is highly improper,” said the Metatron.  “I demand you release us at once.”

Crowley exploded into laughter, collapsing doubled over, howling.  Aziraphale’s face turned red as he suppressed an outburst.

Newt threw his arms around Anathema nuzzling her.  “Didn’t I tell you?  Didn’t I say you were the smartest?”

Beelzebub was still agitatedly moving the full length the circle allowed, smacking the invisible barrier that kept him in.  “Thiz iz foolizzh,” he fumed.

“Surely you must realise that this is not a permanent solution?” said the Metatron.  “We can’t be trapped in here forever.  Our subordinates will come looking for us and free us, or the rain will wash the chalk away.  We’ll get free eventually.  We’ll just find you again.”

Anathema planted her feet and put her fists on her hips.  “No, you won’t.  You’re going to leave all four of us alone.”

“And who are you, that you intend to give us commands?” snapped the Metatron. “You have a rather high opinion of yourself, don’t you?  Why can’t you just be cowed like a normal mortal?”

A dog could be heard barking elsewhere in the park, getting closer.

Anathema spread her hands to point at Aziraphale and Crowley.  “These two aren’t yours.  They belong to Earth now.”

“On whozze authority?” Beelzebub demanded.

“On mine,” said a voice from behind them.

Anathema turned around to see a twenty-something with flowing blond hair pull up on a bike, the tires screeching in the dirt, a mutt wagging its tail and bouncing about at his heels.  Three other young adults, likewise on bikes, appeared a moment later behind him.

“Adam Young?” said Metatron.

“Young mazter,” said Beelzebub, now sounding considerably less sure of himself.

Adam dismounted his bike, letting it fall over into the dirt.  Dog dashed forwards and crouched, growling at Metatron and Beelzebub very bravely.*  Adam strode forward and positioned himself between the two figures in the circles and Anathema.

*but safely out of their reach

Adam put his hands in his pockets. Metatron and Beelzebub didn’t say anything, and appeared to be sweating.

“You’ll leave them alone now,” Adam said to break the silence.  There was no threat attached to it.  It was a simple statement.

Agitated, Beelzebub played with the hilt of his sword despite having no way to use it.  “I really do not know what your father will zzzay about thiz.”

Adam scoffed.  “Don’t you remember what happened the last time we were together like this?  Do you still think I’m afraid of my father?  You can’t manipulate me by running off to tell Daddy.”

“Our Lord Zzatan is your Daddy, not mine.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. Beelzebub flushed furiously.

“You can’t just do whatever you want,” Metatron raged.  “This is going too far!”

“I can do whatever I like until someone stops me.  Which Satan hasn’t been able to, and God seemingly hasn’t seem fit to intervene, hm? So who’s going to stop me?  You?”

Metatron’s mouth worked to try and form a coherent protest, but ended up just expressing his anger wordlessly.

“Now let me ask you a question,” said Adam.  “Do your superiors—or coworkers—or what have you—know that the two of you are working together?”

Beelzebub squirmed.  “I fail to zee how that iz rele—”

“Do you think they’d be happy if they found out about it?”

Metatron gasped indignantly. “Don’t you dare.”

Adam shrugged.  “I’m just saying.  I’m telling you off right now, and Satan and God might be pissed at you if they found out about you two.  Do you really want all three of the most powerful beings in the universe pissed off at you?”

“No, I zuppose not,” muttered Beelzebub.  “But I really do not know what your father will zzay about thiz.”

“But he’s not going to find out, is he?  Because nobody told either of you to punish these two.  You just decided to because they embarrassed you.  And if either of you say anything to anyone, someone will come looking to investigate, probably.  And when they do, they’ll probably get an earful about how close Beelzebub and Metatron seem to be these days.  One could even call it conspiring with the enemy.”

They both flared with anger, waving their arms and talking over each other, but none of the objections they threw at the wall stuck.

Adam cut them off with a wave. “You two are real pieces of work, aren’t you?”  He looked at Beelzebub.  “You’re just rotten to the core.  And you.” He turned to Metatron.  “Looking to take it out on someone?  Misery loves company, is that it, Enoch?”

“D-do not call me that!” said Metatron, trying flare his wings to appear larger, but they caught on the side of the binding sigil.

Adam stood there contemplating them both with his hands in his pockets.  Then, he said, “I’m going to let you out of these circles, and when I do, the two of you are going to turn around and go straight back to Heaven and Hell, and not mention this to anyone, and you’ll leave Aziraphale and Crowley alone forever, and you won’t bother Newt and Anathema.  Got it?”

Beelzebub and Metatron both nodded miserably.

Adam stepped forwards and smeared the chalk lines.  Metatron disappeared instantly.  Beelzebub hung around for a second longer to say, “You’ll pay for this.”

“Yeah, well, you can bill me,” said Adam.

Then Beelzebub was gone.

Adam turned back to the others with a broad smile.  “Sorry I’m a bit late.  Originally I was going to get here even later, but I teleported a little so I could jump in and say that line with perfect timing.   Pretty dramatic, right?”

“Er, yeah, I suppose,” said Anathema.  “Thanks for coming.”

Aziraphale and Crowley had scooted a little further behind Anathema.  “You aren’t—er—mad at us?” said Crowley.  “It sounded like you thought Earth was better off without us last time we spoke.”

Adam sighed in exasperation. “I also told you two not to worry, didn’t I?  I guess that part didn’t stick?”

Aziraphale and Crowley inched back out.

“I’m sorry,” said Adam.  “I should have kept a closer eye on things. I thought it would be better if we all just went our separate ways and forgot, but I can see now what kind of grief that’s caused.  I…didn't realise anything was wrong.”  He motioned Aziraphale and Crowley forwards, and they stepped up hesitantly.  “I did say I thought Earth would be better without Heaven and Hell meddling in things, but you two aren’t really Heaven and Hell, now, are you?”

They both flushed.

“Here,” said Adam, and he motioned to one of the young adults behind him.  “Brian’s made something for you.”

“I’m taking a graphic design class,” said Brian, stepping forward and brandishing two designs of something on small badges.

“He’s taking a graphic design class,” said Adam.

Brian stepped forwards and pinned them on Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s shoulders.  They both looked down to see a small handmade pin that said Honourary Human!

“Er,” said Crowley.

“There you go!” said Adam, beaming, as though he had just bestowed a great honour upon them.  

“Thanks?” said Aziraphale.

“You have to be honourary humans because only humans can join the Them,” said Adam.  “Except for Dog, of course.  But that doesn’t count.  Humans and dogs, I suppose.”

Dog barked.

“Join the Them?” echoed Crowley.

“Yeah!” said Adam, spreading his hands out to the Them behind him.  “You two and Anathema and Newt!”

“You’re inducting us into your gang?” Newt exclaimed.

Adam shrugged.  “Don’t know if I’d call it a gang.  S’not really a gang anymore.  Now it’s more of a club.”

“Brian does the graphic design,” said Pepper.

“I’m taking a class.”

“He’s taking a class,” said Adam.

“I’m still working on the membership pins,” said Brian.  “The honourary human pins seemed more important, on account of you needed them to join in the first place.”

“Right,” said Adam, as though it all made perfect sense.

They all just stood there for a moment.  Crowley’s face gradually split into a huge smile, and he started laughing.  Aziraphale shot Crowley a dirty look and stepped forwards.  “Thank you, Adam.”

“Oh, of course,” said Adam, shaking his hand.  “Seems the least I could do.  Sorry I didn’t step in earlier.  Er…” He rubbed the back of his head. “Haven’t checked in with you guys in a while.  I got caught up in schoolwork, and I was so busy, what with my double major and all, and I’m the treasurer for the GSA, and every Saturday’s booked up with volunteer work, and the internship, and that all rubbish…”

Anathema smiled.  “We understand, Adam.”

“Great!” said Adam, perking up. “Well, I wanted to give you invitations to my birthday party tomorrow!”

“Oh!” said Anathema as Adam pulled out a pair of blue envelopes.

He handed one to Aziraphale and one to Anathema.  “Hope to see you there!  I’m here on break until Tuesday, so if you can’t make it, we should make some other plans before then!”

“Oh, you’re leaving?” said Anathema as Adam clambered back onto his bike.

“Yup, got lots of things to do,” said Adam.  “Just wanted to stop by to fend off the forces of evil before meeting my folks for brunch.”

“Okay,” said Anathema, then raising her voice after him as he moved off:  “Thanks again!”

Wensleydale’s voice could be faintly heard exclaiming, “Cor, look, that duck’s got babies!” in the distance as they retreated.  And the squadron of heroic kids on bikes disappeared just as suddenly as they had appeared, peddling over the hill and out of sight.

Anathema turned back to Aziraphale and Crowley.  “There, see? Nothing to worry about.”

She was knocked over by the force of both of them rushing over to hug her at once.

AN:  by the way......you all should go ask nemeankitten what Beelzebub looks like with his mask off.  Nemeankitten has Headcanons about Beelzebub and Metatron and if you ask nicely maybe she’ll tell you about them.  You should go ask http://nemeankitten.tumblr.com/ask  You should especially ask her to show you what Beelzebub looks like with his mask off.  But only if you’re not squicked by body horror.