Ineffable

Purgatory

Aziraphale had spent weeks in a stupor in the golden cage. At least it felt like weeks. There was no sunrise of sunset in Heaven, only an endless infusion of heavenly light. The heavenly choir sang endlessly on. He was bored to a point of near insanity.

One of Aziraphale's guilty little secrets was that he hated heaven. There was none of the grit, none of the hint of evil that gave ordinary events on earth their texture and flavor. In heaven there was no sensuality. No food except ambrosia. No sex. All was bland goodness and Aziraphale found it completely stifling.

When Crowley and Death had appeared at the Pearly Gates Aziraphale had been so dazed from the boredom of his long imprisonment he barely registered their presence. It was only at the end, when he had felt Crowley's eyes boring into him, that he had realized what was going on. He woke up enough to meet Crowley's eyes, to see him mouth the words. "I'm coming back for you." Then the demon got on the train and disappeared.

Hope and love blazed in Aziraphale's heart. He was able to pay attention to what was going on around him. He watched as Saint Peter conferred with the security angels. He watched them approach with their fiery swords flaming.

"We're moving you," said one, as he drew a golden key from under his robes.

"Too high a security risk here," said the other.

"Nooooo!" screamed Aziraphale. Something broke in him. He had practiced obedience for millenia, but the thought of being taken away, right after Crowley had found him, was too much. He fought like a caged animal, fought until he was bloody and bruised and one of his wings hung limp and broken. But the guardian angels were too powerful for him. They tied his arms around his back, one of the fiery swords came down on top of his head with a great ringing clap and he knew nothing more.

********

Aziraphale awoke in a land of clouds. Underfoot the ground was spongy and soft. Around him was endless, chilly mist. His head hurt and his ears rang. His broken wing flapped uselessly against his back.

He sensed other beings nearby, lost souls wandering. But the mist separated them from each other. Shadowy figures approached and receded through the fog, but did not come close enough for Aziraphale to see them clearly. No one spoke. It was a silent world.

Aziraphale knew where he must be. This was Purgatory.

Time faded into the background. There was no time here. There was nothing to do. No landmarks in the chilly mist. More than anything, Aziraphale yearned for clothes. And Crowley of course. Always, always he yearned for Crowley with a hollow ache that never left him. He wandered in the fog, hoping against hope for an escape, a reprieve. But there was none. Just the endless swirling mist, the shadowy figures that wandered at a distance, untouchable, unreachable.

At last Aziraphale sat down on the damp, spongy ground. He said a prayer. He did not think that God would hear him, but he thought that Crowley might. "Please, please, come find me," he whispered into the mist. "I love you. I miss you so."

********

Crowley stared at the empty cage where Aziraphale had been. He was having trouble catching his breath, as if he had been punched in the stomach. Where had they taken him?

"He's gone," he whispered to Adam.

Adam pulled Crowley behind a column, hiding them from view.

"Look at that," Adam said, peering out.

Beezlebub stood at the podium at the head of the line, talking to Saint Peter. He looked as he usually did, in his red devil costume, complete with horns and tail. He gestured wildly with his pitchfork as they argued.