CROWLEY.

Aziraphale stared at the Bentley's radio. "Dear, does your phonograph know your name?"

"Yes," said Crowley distractedly, "and its name is Freddie Mercury." He was distracted because he was trying to remember if Down Below had ever contacted him with the angel around before. He didn't think so. It felt like letting the enemy snoop around in your secret bunker. Not that Hell had a secret bunker, at least as far as Crowley knew.

CROWLEY, said Freddie Mercury [1] again.

"Ditch!" Aziraphale cried out in alarm. The road suddenly became straight, narrow, and tree-lined. Aziraphale had to have done that; as a rule, Crowley didn't create posies.

WE KNOW THE ANGEL IS WITH YOU.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale murmured. Crowley's language was more colourful.

CROWLEY! ANSWER US.

Crowley sighed. "Ready, Freddie."

YOU WILL BOTH REPORT FOR A JOINT HEARING IN ORDER TO DISCUSS RECENT EVENTS.

Recent events. Oh, for God's s-- er, bloody hell.

"Where?" Crowley asked. This was important; his suit definitely clashed with harps and infinitely light beings.

DOWN HERE, OF COURSE.

"That can't possibly be regulation," Aziraphale said with a whimper. "I mean, I didn't Fall for a reason, and I have no interest in tainting mys--"

HEAVEN HAS AGREED TO THIS. YOU WILL HAVE A REPRESENTATIVE APPOINTED TO YOU. AND BESIDES, HASN'T EARTH TAINTED YOU ALREADY?

Crowley reached over and patted Aziraphale's knee. "Freddie has a point there, angel."

Aziraphale harrumphed and stuck his nose in the air. One would have thought Crowley had suggested regular business hours for the bookshop judging by that look.

"So, when is this thing?" Crowley asked, trying to sound nonchalant. No, wait. He actually was nonchalant [2]. 

NOW.

"Oh, sh--"

Crowley and Aziraphale popped out of existence, and the Bentley crashed into the leafiest, most verdant tree that hadn't existed an hour before.

The justice system in Hell was pretty much like the justice system anywhere else. You had your barristers, your magistrates, your mountains of paperwork and red tape. Hell even had ambulance chasers, though those were really just demons running around screaming "WOO-WOO-WOO" and "OOH-EE, OOH-EE" while other demons trailed behind them.

As Crowley could tell you, Hell was usually pretty boring.

Today was not a usual day.

"Hey, Aziraphale." The archangel Michael sauntered up, hands stuffed into his angelic flowing garb.

Aziraphale smiled, but Crowley saw it was that tight, polite smile he wore when he saw mothers letting their children paw picture books with chocolate-sticky fingers. "Did Up There appoint you as my representative?"

"Who else?"

"Who else, indeed?" Aziraphale said and rubbed his eyes. "The advocate."

"In the flesh. Well, relatively speaking," Michael replied, craning his neck and looking around. "God, Samael wanted to drag me to this dump? Good thing God loved me best and saved me from Falling. Oh, hey, Crowley. Didn't see you there."

Crowley hissed. Yes, hell was a dump, but it was his dump.

Aziraphale was barely concealing his disgust. "Why do you have an American accent?"

"Why do you have a British accent?" Michael retorted. One point to the Advocate. "Why speak English at all, in fact?"

Michael started speaking very fast, using a series of high-pitched squeals and clicks. He pointed at Aziraphale, then the clicks got angry. Aziraphale clicked and squealed back and shrugged his shoulders.

Crowley covered his ears. "Would you two stop that?"

"Why?" asked Aziraphale. "You speak angel."

"Yes, but you sound like a couple of dolphins hepped up on methamphetamine."

Aziraphale looked baffled. "Hepped up on...?"

THE HEARING WILL NOW BEGIN, said a voice that was suddenly inside Crowley's head. He shuddered. This was even worse than the time they broadcast over the loudspeakers at Marks and Spencer's. Sure, no one else had been able to hear what was being said, but Crowley probably looked like an idiot standing in the middle of men's wear, cursing and flapping his arms around.

REPRESENTING THE ANGEL AZIRAPHALE, PRINCIPALITY OF HEAVEN, IS THE ARCHANGEL MICHAEL, ADVOCATE OF ISRAEL, CAPTAIN OF THE HOST OF THE LORD, PRINCE OF LIGHT, VICEROY OF HEAVEN, ANGEL OF FORBEARANCE AND MERCY --

"Did you tell them to say all that?" Aziraphale hissed as the voice in their heads went on (and on).

Michael shrugged. "I gave them my card."

-- ESQUIRE.

Crowley raised his hand. "And who's representing me?"

NO ONE. HELL ONLY HAS PROSECUTORS.

"Of course," Crowley said dryly.

THE CHARGES BROUGHT UPON CROWLEY, DEMON OF HELL AND FORMER ANGEL, ARE AS FOLLOWS...

"This could take awhile," Crowley sighed.

DESTRUCTION OF ONE DUKE OF HELL.

"Destruction is such a violent word. It was more of a mercy killing." [3] 

THWARTING OF ONE APOCOLYPSE.

"Well, that wasn't really us, that was the little kid. We just wanted front row seats for the main event, didn't we?" Crowley nudged Aziraphale's side; Aziraphale shot him a look, but nodded.

INTERFERING WITH THE EXPECTED UPBRINGING OF THE ANTICHRIST.

"We didn't interfere! We didn't interfere at all!" Crowley shouted. He felt like waving his arms around like a crazy department store shopper. "That was the problem!"

CONSORTING WITH THE ENEMY IN A PREMEDITATED ARRANGEMENT.

"Uh. Well. About that..."

KNOWINGLY MAKING AN EFFORT TO HARBOUR LUSTFUL THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ENEMY.

Crowley's jaw dangled and he banged on the side of his head. Maybe doing that enough times meant he would unhear the thought, that everyone would unhear it. How could he forget they could rifle around in head whenever they wanted? Maybe that's what he deserved for thinking he had free will. He hit his head again.

Aziraphale caught his hand and tugged it down. He didn't look angry -- maybe surprised, but not angry -- and he kept watching Crowley. It was unnerving.

"Really, my dear," Aziraphale murmured finally.

Crowley wished he could drop through the floor, even knowing that that would only take him to Sixth Level: Accounting.

THOUGH UPON CONSIDERATION, THE DENIZENS OF HELL HAVE DECIDED THAT DESERVES NOT A CONDEMNATION BUT A COMMENDATION BECAUSE LUST IS A SIN AND A SIN DIRECTED TOWARD A HEAVENLY BEING IS IN LINE WITH HELL'S MISSION STATEMENT.

"So why even mention it?" Crowley moaned.

TO EMBARRASS YOU, NATURALLY.

"Naturally!" He hid his face in his hands.

AZIRAPHALE, ANGEL OF HEAVEN, YOU ARE ACCUSED OF THE FOLLOWING CRIMES. THWARTING OF ONE APOCOLYPSE. INTERFERING WITH THE EXPECTED UPBRINGING OF THE ANTICHRIST. CONSORTING WITH THE ENEMY IN A PREMEDITATED ARRANGEMENT.

"This sounds familiar," Crowley muttered to his palms.

KNOWINGLY MAKING AN EFFORT TO HARBOUR LUSTFUL THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ENEMY. AND SINCE YOU'RE A HEAVENLY BEING, THIS ONE COUNTS.

Crowley raised his head and looked at Aziraphale. Aziraphale looked at his representative. "I thought you were supposed to be defending me!" Aziraphale said.

"You mean you didn't do all those things?" replied Michael.

Aziraphale bit his lip. "Well..." Two points to the Advocate.

THIS HEARING IS NOT TO DETERMINE YOUR GUILT OR INNOCENCE, AS WE HAVE ENOUGH EVIDENCE TO KNOW HOW VERY GUILTY YOU BOTH ARE. WE ARE HERE TO DETERMINE YOUR PUNISHMENT.

"Er," said Crowley, "would it help if we apologized?"

NO.

"Didn't think so." He shrugged at Aziraphale, who shrugged back. This was it; they were screwed.

One second passed.

HEAVEN AND HELL HAVE COME TO A DECISION: SINCE YOU ARE BOTH SO ENAMOURED OF HUMAN LIFE ON EARTH, YOU WILL BOTH LIVE OUT A NORMAL HUMAN LIFESPAN. ANOTHER HEARING WILL BE HELD UPON CONCLUSION OF THIS NEW TASK.

Aziraphale looked, for lack of a better word, gobsmacked. Crowley was feeling pretty gobsmacked himself.

Human. No wishing things away. No messing with computer manuals or reality programming. Actual, real, humanity, with all the messiness that involved. But at least he wasn't a demon puddle like Ligur.

CROWLEY, YOU'RE LUCKY THE ANGEL HAD A REPRESENTATIVE.

"Oh?" Crowley said weakly, glancing at Michael who shot him a winning grin.

YES. WE WANTED TO SLOWLY PULL OUT ALL OF YOUR TOENAILS--

That wasn't too bad, all things considered.

-- AND BANISH YOU TO WISCONSIN FOR ALL ETERNITY.

Crowley shuddered. Praise be Heaven's legal counsel.

They popped back into existence and found themselves in Crowley's flat, the Bentley parked out front. The archangel's doing, no doubt.

Crowley pulled off his sunglasses and squinted. He could feel his heart pounding inside his chest, and the whole breathing thing was going to take some getting used to. But things could have been worse.

Should have been, really. And there were certain new revelations [4] that deserved consideration.

Crowley stalked over to Aziraphale's side and looped an arm around his waist. "Hey, angel, if we're human, you know we don't need to make an effort to harbour thoughts about the enemy anymore."

"Oh my," Aziraphale breathed. Crowley smirked. "...I had a lot of tea this morning. Where's your restroom?"

As Aziraphale pigeon-toed his way down the hallway, Crowley wondered how bad Wisconsin could be.

[1] - Not actually Freddie Mercury *

[2] - No, he wasn't. *

[3] - A mercy for Crowley, of course. Melting into a puddle isn't exactly what one would call the height of comfort. *

[4] - Not the Biblical kind, unless your mind is in the gutter. Which Crowley's most definitely was. *

END.