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onceuponapuffin · 7 months ago

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Fanatic Intervention Part 15!!!

Okay, this is gonna be a long one, but I promise it's important. There was just a lot that I had to get in here. Also we had our first ever tie! So I chose between the two. Alright, let's do this. Enjoy!

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The bar in question is rowdy and rustic. The crowd that has already gathered is loud, probably drunk, and honestly makes you wish you had some anxiety meds with you or something because the button in your pocket is a single thread holding you together when you could really do with a rope. You look over to Aziraphale, who’s grimacing at the scene. Oh good, so you’re not the only one who isn’t a fan of this place. You notice Crowley studying the bar – no doubt trying to get a sense for their selection.

“Over there,” Anathema shouts over the noise. You follow her pointing arm to see Sardis, already at a table and waving you over. Well, at least you definitely have a space to sit. That’s something.

The four of you approach Sardis who waves you into the seats around him with an enormous smile.

“Welcome!” He says grandly, “To my favourite place this side of town.”

“Your favourite place,” You repeat with skepticism, “Is a dive bar?”

“Oh not just any dive bar Little Moth,” Sardis winks as he speaks, “The best karaoke bar this side of the bayou. Personal opinion, of course. But I am an angel after all so feel free to take that as gospel.” He laughs loudly at his own joke. You chuckle uncertainly. Aziraphale shakes his head. Anathema rolls her eyes. Crowley looks like he could vomit. Basically, Sardis is the only one amused. Once he finally stops laughing, he looks around at you. “Such sour faces, my friends. But of course you have, I’ve forgotten my manners! Let me get you some drinks before the festivities start.”

“The festivities?” asks Aziraphale, “I’m sure you don’t mean...”

“The karaoke, of course!” Sardis smiles before leaving the table with a wink. “Be back in a sec!”

“I am not singing,” Crowley states firmly.

“Nor am I,” Aziraphale frowns.

“We may need to consider it,” Anathema says after a pause, “He has information that we need, and we may have to play his game to get it.”

“I mean, I don’t exactly…dislike him...but he's weird,” You, the dimensional traveler, observe.

“Oh absolutely weird,” agrees the witch.

“A very weird one indeed, yes,” affirms the angel of the Eastern Gate.

“Weird as all fuck,” confirms the demon.

Sardis returns carrying a tray with five drinks and lays it proudly on the table in front of them.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I took my best guess,” Sardis announces as he hands around the drinks, “Sherry for the angel, whiskey for the demon, margarita for the witch, and I played it safe and got you a sangria.” He lays the alcohol in front of each of you. You take a sip and holy crow is it ever delicious. “’S that good, Little Moth?” Sardis asks you as he takes his own seat. You nod, and his smile grows. “Good, glad to hear it.”

“Thank you kindly, Sardis,” Aziraphale ventures, taking a sip of his sherry, “Now, perhaps would you mind telling us what you know?”

Sardis laughs again. He laughs a lot, you notice. Probably having the time of his life with all of this.

“What I know is that I’m not saying anything about Jesus until you sign up and sing me a song.”

Honestly, you need to take a deep breath at that. The irritation is building. First he wouldn’t say anything until you came here, and now he won’t say anything until you sing for him. He keeps changing the goal posts on you. Anathema had said you might need to play his game to get information from him, but you honestly didn’t think it would feel so...condescending.

Anathema’s phone suddenly starts ringing. She pulls it out of her pocket, and you briefly notice the What’s App logo and Newt’s face lighting up the screen. After a brief apology, she excuses herself from the table and leaves the bar. Well. Lucky her. You sigh and stand.

“Yeah okay fine, I’ll be right back.”

“Where’re you going?” Crowley asks. His question has bite, but you’re sure it isn’t anger – he just doesn’t want everyone to end up leaving him with Sardis.

“I’m going to sign up,” You say, “Sing a song. Karaoke, right?” You look at Sardis, who nods appreciatively.

“There now! Little Moth gets it!”

Crowley and Aziraphale both gawk at you, but you’re already turning and beelining for the sign-up table.

Now here, dear Reader, let’s take a moment to talk about the Anxiety Loophole. In ordinary circumstances, you’d be lucky to talk to a crowd and sound normal about it (not to mention the possibility of nausea and such), but the Anxiety Loophole is a magical and gracious thing. In a situation where there is something that must be done, and everyone around you is too scared or embarrassed or anxious themselves to do it, suddenly it becomes possible for you. You may never dream of asking for your food to be sent back at a restaurant, but if your friend needs more ketchup and is too nervous to ask for it, you will put the chef in a headlock if you have to in order to get it for them. Or, say, if an angel and a demon have expressly stated their discomfort with singing in public, and another angel with vital information demands a performance before telling you said information, signing up for karaoke suddenly seems like a piece of cake. Besides, you figure, most of the people in the room are drunk. So you pick something easy, something loud, something most people here probably know already. That way, they’ll do most of the work for you, and then you’re singing with them, instead of for them. Are you a genius? Yes, yes you are. Take the praise, Reader, you’re going to want that confidence in a few minutes.

You return to the table, having put your name and song on the list, and take a seat (and a very large sip of your sangria).

“There,” You declare, “Now how about we talk about Jesus while we wait for my name to be called.”

“You’re not actually serious about this,” Crowley asks. You look to Sardis.

“I am if he is.”

Sardis’ eyes widen in surprise before he smiles again. “Oh, I most definitely like you, Little Moth.” He leans his chin on his hands. “Tell me, what has Metatron had to say about you?”

Oh good. You’re actually getting somewhere.

“Nothing good,” You admit with a frown, “He tried to turn me into salt once, and then trapped me in a bathroom and tried to manipulate me.”

Sardis hums and nods in affirmation. Then he turns to Crowley and Aziraphale.

“And tell me, what have the two of you done about that?” he asks them. The both of them practically jump in surprise.

“W-well,” Aziraphale starts and stops.

“Ngggk,” says Crowley.

“Well you see, it’s a bit more complicated than…”

“So nothing then,” Sardis concludes.

“Wait,” You say, “That’s not fair.”

“Have you given Little Moth any way to defend or protect themselves?”

“They don’t need to!” You all but shout, “They’re with me basically all the time!”

But Sardis doesn’t seem to hear you. He stares at the celestials with an offended glare. Neither Aziraphale or Crowley seem to know what to make of it, but he doesn’t give them much of a chance to before he reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a card, and hands it to you. You take it from him, worried that if you don’t he might get upset with Aziraphale and Crowley and really it’s the Metatron’s fault, not theirs. Put the blame in the right place. Your hands are starting to shake a little as you look at the card.

“Oh!” You exclaim, relaxing a little. Actually it’s not all that bad. It’s a punch card of sorts. It reminds you a little bit of Furfur’s card from the 1941 minisode, but instead of being a Miracle Blocker, it’s a Miracle Enabler numbered 1 to 12. You notice that each number is perforated – meant to be torn off so that you don’t need to carry around a hole punch. Clever, actually. You show it to Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Oh my,” says Aziraphale, “That really is clever. I’m rather embarrassed to admit that the idea never came to me.”

“Huh,” Crowley adds, helpfully.

“Yeah,” says Sardis, “You probably never had to think about things like, what if they ever turn off your miracles Up There. Probably helps that your only mention in the Bible isn’t about how shit you are.”

You look at the card thoughtfully for a minute. You think about all the genie questions you’ve seen online.

“Go on, Little Moth,” Sardis coos gently, “Try it out.”

You glance at him and then back at the card. Well he’s not giving you any hints about how this thing works, so probably best to just follow your instincts. After taking a second to think, you rip off the number 1 and make a wish.

The number has disappeared from your fingers and reappeared attached to the card.

“Oop,” Sardis says, “Looks like that didn’t go through. What were you trying to do?”

“I was trying to make it so that I could do miracles without the card.”

Sardis starts to laugh. “Oh you have a clever mind! I like the way you think!” His laughter continues for a moment before he calms himself, though you notice it takes him some time. Then he shakes his head.

“Listen,” he says to you, “Humans just can’t do miracles. For you to be able to do them without the card, you would have to change your entire species. And this little thing just isn’t built for that sort of miracle. Try again, something smaller this time.”

Your brow furrows in concentration as you stare back at the card. Something reasonable that wouldn’t need a big change in order to work. Oh, wait a minute. You rip off the number 1, and make a wish. Suddenly, you notice that you are holding a second Miracle Enabler, full up.

“There you go, Little Moth,” Sardis sighs approvingly, “Now that’s how you do it!” The first card goes in a place you can easily reach – your jeans pocket, perhaps. The second one you fold up and place in your sock. For emergencies.

“What did you mean about your mention in the Bible?” Aziraphale ventures, apparently sensing that he isn’t in trouble anymore. Sardis raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you read Revelation?” he asks.

“Well yes, of course,” Aziraphale replies, “But I don’t recall it saying you were...well...bad.”

“Shit, Angel,” corrects Crowley, “He said it calls him shit.”

“I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead,” Sardis quotes, “Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have not found your deeds complete in the sight of my God. Remember, therefore, what you received and heard; obey it, and repent.” He shakes his head. “Does that sound like a glowing report to you? No, see, I invited that asshat John over for brunch one time, okay? ONE. He gets the runs, blames it on the bacon. Next thing I know, I’m getting hate mail, supposedly from Jesus, with passive aggressive notes about people who haven’t soiled their clothes. Yeah, no, I know exactly whose message that was.” He huffs angrily and sips his drink.

“So….” You interject cautiously, “You stayed down here because...oh, because Heaven endorsed it?”

“Enthusiastically,” he confirms, “I’m just a minor angel – ha, barely that. More of a guardian. They don’t care about me as much as the message.”

You nod, Gabriel’s trial coming to mind. It’s all about the message.

“We know all about that,” You say gently, “They threatened to erase Aziraphale’s name from the Book of Life. Well, anyone really, who uh, helped Gabriel escape judgment.” Sardis raises an eyebrow at that.

“Oh yeah? What did that bureaucratic ass do?”

“He fell in love with Beelzebub and said ‘Nah’ to Armageddon Part 2.”

“Psh, oh yeah, that’ll do it,” Sardis says, taking another sip, “Not that any of them could erase anyone. Not really. You need to know someone’s true name for that.”

“Hold up,” says Crowley, “The Book of Life isn’t actually real?”

“Oh, it is,” says Sardis, “I know it for a fact. You see, one of the things of being an Original Angel of the Church,” he says the title mockingly, you notice, “is that you end up with a gift. Something to give the worthy when they ascend. Mine happens to be knowing everyone’s true name.”

“Wait a minute, wait,” You say, “That’s...that’s...”

“I know,” Sardis says, “Look, it’s like this. Most books that you read, the words are 2-dimensional, right? The Book of Life sort of has more than 2 dimensions to it. And it records everything. Now look,” he takes a packet of coarse sugar, “This is a soul,” he opens it and pours the chunks onto the table, “Each soul can be different people throughout its existence, and the Book, for accuracy purposes, records your name in whatever life you're living,” he picks up one crystal, “on the first dimension,” he places it on top of the paper pouch, “and your true name on the dimensions that lie underneath.” He sits up triumphantly. “So before you can actually erase anyone you need to know their true name, and before you know that, you need to know how to read the Book, and before that you need the gift to be able to perceive the different dimensions.”

“Which you have,” Crowley concludes. Sardis nods.

“Which I have, yes. Unfortunately, I also have the misfortune of never being able to be anywhere near the Book of Life. So I’m basically the angelic equivalent of a dolphin who knows all the secrets of Super Mario. I know it, but fat lot of good it does me. Or will ever, for that matter.”

You’re about to say something else, but your name gets called to the stage.

Oh. Oh right.

Oh shit.

You walk up to the stage and take the microphone uncertainly as the intro music for Taylor Swift’s Shake it Off starts to play. You chose it because you know some of the actions to it and I mean, the lyrics are so simple that you’re hoping the drunk crowd will start singing along with you.

“I stay out too late,

Got nothing in my brain,

At least that’s what people say,

That’s what people say,”

A random drunk person in the back cheers.

“But I keep cruisin’

Can’t stop won’t stop movin’

It’s like I got this music in my mind sayin’

It’s gonna be alright”

The entire bar claps three times. Oh wow.

Basically, your plan works. They all can’t help but join in for the chorus, and you end up having a lot of fun with it. Their enthusiasm is so validating, and after a minute or two you don’t care if it’s because of the alcohol or if they actually think you’re good. You just sing the song and you have a fabulous time of it. Honestly, it's hard to have a bad time singing and dancing to that song. You forget about saving the world, you forget that Crowley and Aziraphale are watching you, everything just fades away for a few minutes except for the lyrics on the screen in front of you and the energy of the people in the bar. For a few minutes, you’re just having fun, and that’s the most important thing about this, dear Reader.

When the song is over you return to the table. Anathema is finally back, and you notice she’s finished her drink pretty quickly. Good thing you ate before coming. Sardis is clapping for you.

“That was excellent! Great job, Little Moth! Here, have another one on me.” He waves his hand and a second sangria appears IN A FISHBOWL. Oh...Aziraphale and Crowley better cover you later, a hangover while one world-saving duty would suck.

Anathema clears her throat.

“So,” she says, you notice her voice shakes a little. Probably because she downed that drink so fast. “About Jesus.”

“Ah yes,” sighs Sardis, “The prodigal son himself. Well, I will tell you that he is here, though not in this city. Came down in a plane and everything.”

“Ha!” You say, pointing triumphantly, “I told you!”

Sardis chuckles. “Yes, what a day that was. Landed in Los Angeles thirteen years ago.”

You nearly choke on your drink.

“Los Angeles,” says Aziraphale, “Well that’s awfully on the nose, isn’t it?”

“Wait a minute,” You say, “So he’s an adult then, right? Not a baby?” You’re hoping. Your fingers are crossed that maybe he arrived in the states when he was a toddler, or a small kid.

“Oh no, not a baby, but not an adult either,” confirms Sardis.

“Don’t say it,” You beg.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley looks like he’s on alert. Even Anathema looks a little unsure what to make of you.

“Okay actually just say it,” You decide, “How old is he?”

“He’s thirteen.”

“Oh shit,” says Anathema.

“Is he at least one of the nice thirteen year-olds?” You ask hopefully.

“Well,” says Sardis, “He’s definitely white this time, and his family is rich so, what do you think.”

You drop your head into your hands.

“Um, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale interrupts, “But, ah, what exactly is the problem here?”

When, dear Reader, was the last time you were around a 13-year-old boy? The age when they are all about proving how masculine they are, the age when they like to play rough in places where they really shouldn’t be playing rough, be mean for no reason other than because it makes them feel like a badass, jump and hoot and holler and laugh at anyone with sense because they get a kick out of adults getting angry with them. There is no force more annoying or enraging than a 13 year old, of any gender. But now add privileged and spoiled to that and you have a force to be reckoned with. You briefly relay this to Aziraphale.

“So,” You conclude, “The person who we need to convince to save the world, the person who needs to take this seriously or everyone dies terribly, the person who we need to care, has all the makings of the one person who is the least likely to care on the entire planet.”

“Ugh,” Anathema groans, “Why did they have to do it like that? I thought Jesus was supposed to be all about the outsiders and being kind to each other and things.”

“Well,” suggests Aziraphale, “I suppose that was probably the first time around. This time, they’re probably a bit less concerned about the, ah, morality of the whole thing, and more concerned about the messiah bit.”

“Right,” Anathema says with a disillusioned sigh, “And the fastest and easiest way for anyone to become a messiah in this world is to be rich, white, and male.”

“Cutting corners, I believe humans would say,” concludes Aziraphale.

Sardis nods, a frown upon his face. The previously cheerful angel isn’t laughing anymore as he raises his glass and says “To the world.”

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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