Changing Face

[2] An Angel in a Demon's Body

"Bring in the traitor."

Aziraphale was taken down a long, dingy corridor with flickering lights, his wrists tied together in front of him. He was appalled. This was where Crowley had to go? This is all he had to 'look forward' to, if that was even possible? It was so — so depressing. The air (or lack thereof) was practically suffocating, especially when compared to Earth, and everyone seemed so angry...

He was led into a room that was even darker than the corridor, the sunglasses Crowley liked to wear making it near-impossible for him to see anything. The only thing that was easy to see was a shiny, white bathtub that was stood at the front of the room. Or the back, depending on how you looked at it. He could also just about make out someone — he thought it might be Beelzebub — sitting on a throne of sorts, with a demon standing on either side.

"Hey guys. Nice place you've got here."

"Not for you, it won't be." He was sure that the demon who had spoken was Hastur, the one Crowley would occasionally complain about.

"Could do with some house plants," Aziraphale continued, thinking of the terrified plants he'd found in Crowley's house. "Maybe a coffee table."

"Silence!" Beelzebub said, sounding a little irritated. "The prisoner shall approach."

"Love to."

He took a couple of steps forwards, trying not to pay attention to the worries that were slowly filling his head.

What if they find out? Or worse, what if something happens that only a demon could withstand? Oh, I do hope Crowley's alright...

Taking a deep breath, he attempted to use logic to get these thoughts out of his mind, like Crowley usually did for him.

There's no reason for them to realise that anything is amiss. As long as you stay calm and act the part, everything will be tickety-boo.

"So, four of us," he said, wondering why they didn't just get on with the punishment. The longer it took, the more time there was for his true identity to be discovered. "Rubber of bridge? Barbershop quartet?"

"The trial of a traitor?" Beelzebub suggested.

Aziraphale winced. He hated that last word — it reminded him too much of the war between the angels and those that became demons. Not to mention that he knew it made Crowley think about his Fall.

He quickly returned his face to a more Crowley-like expression, wondering why they would even have a trial in the first place. He was sure that Crowley-as-Aziraphale would get a trial up in Heaven — they were the good guys, after all — but had never expected to be offered the same courtesy down here in Hell.

"Lord Beelzebub, you are...?"

"I'm the judge." It seemed he was making Beelzebub increasingly annoyed, which did satisfy him somewhat.

"And I'm the prosecutor," Hastur said.

Aziraphale looked at the demon on Beelzebub's other side, trying to work out who it was. He flicked back through many different conversations with Crowley, sure that they'd spoken about the other beings they worked with (or for) at some point.

Ah, right. Dagon.

"And so Dagon here is defending me?"

"Oh, I'm afraid not," Dagon said. "No, I'm just here in case there's anything you've done that they forgot."

Aziraphale nodded a little, a comment about the injustice of such a biased trial bubbling on the tip of his tongue. But no — he had to stay calm, and not put Crowley in danger by voicing his opinions.