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Crowley was acting strangely. And Aziraphale had to admit two things: a) this time he really didn't understand what was happening, and b) he had absolutely no idea how to react.
Only yesterday Crowley was cursing the archangels and the voice of God at the drop of the hat, and his description of where he saw the Second Coming project would have been printed neither in the Celestial Observer nor in the News from Hell. He looked at Aziraphale as if he wanted to say: "You trampled on my feelings, angel, however we have the same goal, so I will talk to you". And then Crowley asked (asked! politely! with a calm smile!) to arrange a meeting with Metatron.
“My dear, have you gone mad?!” Aziraphale didn't want to argue with him and upset the delicate balance. He was confused, that’s all.
However, Crowley didn’t lose his calmness or his smile. “All right, I'll get him myself. Gabriel and Beelz, too”, he said. “We should invite Shax. The bookshop would be a great neutral ground, I think”.
“Metatron is dangerous and his rage is dreadful”. Aziraphale didn't know how to convey to Crowley how crazy his scheme was. Metatron, of course, could come to the bookshop, but not for talking. He would be more than happy to grind the demon to powder as punishment for him and for the edification of others.
“That’s what Metatron thinks”. Crowley was irritatingly undisturbed by Metatron’s possible ire. “Nothing's going to happen to me”.
Aziraphale couldn't take it anymore. “Crowley, what's the matter with you?” He snapped. “It looks like you have been replaced by someone else!”
“No, it’s the other way round. I found my real self, finally”. Crowley took his glasses off and stepped closer. “Look and you’ll see”.
Aziraphale stared. His best friend, a demon who loved to ask questions, was indeed standing in front of him. The only new thing was the aura of power surrounding him, but it felt familiar.
Warm.
“Tomorrow morning, angel”, Crowley said.
And Aziraphale thought he heard the sound of thunder.
* * *
The conversation when the parties actually listened to each other and tried to find the common solution did not work out. Metatron and Shax were constantly interrupting each other, and their shouts of rage made the walls shake. Gabriel was frankly bored. Beelzebub, judging by the way she rolled her eyes, was waiting for this circus to end.
“Does it mean," Crowley didn't raise his voice, but Metatron and Shax suddenly fell silent, "you don't want to swallow your pride and get back on the right path?”
“What do you think you're doing?” Metatron gasped. “The Day of Judgement will come, and it is not for you, you wretched worm, to try to change what has been ordained!”
“Is this your last word?” Crowley asked.
“Aziraphale, keep your demon on a leash, do me a favour, will you?” Metatron ordered.
Crowley didn't even flinch at the insult and raised his right hand.
“Tatasthu”, he said. So be it.
The door closed behind him quietly.
“I don't know what got into him”, Aziraphale mumbled.
Metatron turned to him.
“I forgive your weakness this time. However, in the future, I expect more dedication from you, Aziraphale. We'll deal with the demon Crowley later. Go and do what I told you to do. Time and tide wait for no angel”.
Oh yes, I’m already running, stumbling and falling. The thought was very Crowley-esque, and somehow it pleased Aziraphale rather than distressed him. Out loud, he said something completely different: “Of course”.
Crowley, Crowley. What were you thinking? We need a plan right now.
Aziraphale fled into the street. But there was no sign of Crowley or the Bentley.
...The bench in St. James's Park was empty. The ducks were still splashing carelessly in the pond. And Aziraphale didn’t get any good news at Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death Café.
“No, I haven't seen your friend, Mr. Fell”. Nina seemed genuinely upset. “He hadn't been here in a long time”.
With almost no hope at all, Aziraphale set off for Mayfair. The door of the flat yielded easily under his hand.
“Crowley!”
Nobody answered. The wind blew in through the open windows and moved the star charts on the table in the living room. But it was the bracelet of dried rudraksha fruit lying on top that caught Aziraphale's attention. As soon as he touched it, he felt an electric shock.
Aziraphael shook his head (too many images and memories) and then he heard a rustle coming from the room where Crowley kept his plants. They weren't shaking. Their leaves were moving in different directions, clearly trying to convey some kind of message.
“Oh, if you could be a little bit clearer...”
Green Bilva slowly dropped into Aziraphale's palm. It was an invitation.
Aziraphale clutched the three-lobed leaf in his fist, closed his eyes, and concentrated on the flickering vision of the red flame.
* * *
His senses led him to a deserted house on the outskirts of London that had been scheduled for demolition ten years ago, but the administration still didn't get round to it. The Bentley was parked near the porch with the fallen steps. There was a huge hole where once the door had been.
Aziraphale sighed and looked up at the sky covered with storm clouds. It smelled of ozone. Aziraphale thought he heard thunder again.
When he stepped inside, he froze for a moment: ash covered the floor in even thick layers. Where had it come from in a room where there was nothing but shards of brick and broken glass?
Crowley was sitting in the centre of the hall, meditating. He has stripped to the waist; his forehead, shoulders, ribs and wrists were decorated with horizontal lines drawn in ash. Tripundra, Aziraphale remembered. All that was missing was a carmine red dot on his forehead.
“Crowley? What are you doing here?”
Aziraphale thought Crowley didn’t hear him, but Crowley's eyelids fluttered: “Vasuki, say hello to the old friend”.
The tattoo on his temple moved, and a moment later, a small black snake with a red belly coiled around Crowley's neck and hissed in greeting. Crowley opened his eyes. Small smile appeared in the corner of his mouth.
“You, meditating?” Aziraphale whispered in amazement. In his current incarnation, Crowley was not known for his love of stillness.
“The time for my tandawa has come. It won’t be perfect without meditation. As you remember, the art of dance requires the utmost concentration”.
Aziraphale swallowed. Crowley definitely meant rudra-tandawa, the Dance of Destruction.
“No, no. This world is so young. Doesn’t it deserve one more chance?”
“It had all the chances” Crowley’s tone was abrupt and harsh. “How many Apocalypses have we already prevented, Aziraphale? And instead of returning to their duties, angels and demons persist in their efforts to destroy life on Earth, and humans... They have stuffed it with so much hot metal that it groans day and night, begging for deliverance. Widows and orphans cry to Heaven in vain. Morality and virtue have become a mockery. The cup of sins is overflowing. The time of tandawa has come”.
“Still I’m asking you…”
“You know, it's funny: they used to call me a Cosmic Dancer, but in this incarnation you were the one who loved to dance. What changed?”
“I am the guardian of the universe in my every incarnation. It is my duty to protect it, even if I have to protect it from you," Aziraphale whispered.
Crowley bowed his head, acknowledging his right but disagreeing with him: “I have a duty, too. So I will dance. You can’t stop me, Narayana”.
Aziraphale flinched at the sound of a name he hadn't heard over six thousand years. Crowley stood up, smoothly, with the same grace as the serpent that coiled around his neck, and came closer.
“Creation, protection, destruction. The cycle is eternal, it always repeats itself. What lives must die in order to be born again. This is Time’s fundamental law. You know that better than anyone, oh the one that lives in the past, present and future simultaneously. People argue whether Vishnu or Shiva created the universe, and they don't realize both sides are right. The worlds are innumerable and they give birth to themselves without end. In any case, the universe ends with my dance and begins with it, too. Maybe this time we could dance together?”
Crowley reached out. There was only one possible answer.
“Yes, machadev”, Aziraphale said.