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The first thing Crowley noticed was the cold. His eyes weren’t good as a snake, but he could easily detect the temperature difference between Rome and wherever they were.

The second thing he noticed was Aziraphale tensing up beneath him. His body stiffened; power rose beneath his skin.

“We figured you’d come here eventually,” the Devil said. “You never go someplace cold if you can help it. But you’re a wiley thing, Crowley. You like to do the unexpected. I won’t allow you to run away again. I figured you’d come to the South Pole eventually.”

He needed eyes, needed hands and legs. Crowley pushed off of Aziraphale’s shoulders, transforming as he did. Before he hit the ground, he read the situation – a dozen demons, hellfire weapons wielded by each.  

But even as he moved to stand back-to-back with Aziraphale, none of them moved to attack.  

“What do you want, Satan?” Aziraphale spat.  

Crowley couldn’t see the Devil’s response, he stood facing Aziraphale, but the demon across from Crowley looked bored. Interestingly enough, they weren’t surrounded by dukes and princes. These weren’t the heavy hitters. They were mid class, third-tier. What was the Devil playing at?

“As I told Crowley before, I have a job for him.”

“I’m not going back to Hell!” Crowley screeched. He reached back for Aziraphale’s hand, ready to curse them away. To run.