It would have been nice to have gotten a memo.

It didn't even have to be all that elaborate. A simple "Hey there Crowley, the whole planet is about to be utterly submerged so you better gather up your stuff and get to some high ground quick!" would have sufficed.

As it was, he'd found out through humans, not his infernal superiors, about the oncoming flood that currently had him flying for his life through increasingly vicious rain.

"Have you heard what that madman Noah is up to these days?" one man was asking another. Crowley kept his eyes on the drink in front of him, but he perked up his ears: Noah and his family were just about the only humans left who were still on Heaven's side. It was always wise to keep tabs on enemies' doings.

"Oh gods," the man's drinking companion grunted, slamming his tankard down, "let me guess: wasting time and resources building another one of those altars? We've told him to quit with those things, they're such an eyesore."

"It's even bigger than an altar," the first fellow responded with glee. Other drinkers were listening too now, and he raised his voice to accommodate them, clearly delighted to have an audience. "I'll give you all a hint: what's huge and hollow and absolutely useless in a desert?"

"No," one man gasped, and let out a mighty guffaw. "You don't mean to tell me…"

"Yes!" the first man bellowed, "a damned boat!"

Hoots and hollers filled the inn. "No way!" they exclaimed. "A damned boat!" they chortled. "I need to see this with my own eye!" one of them, a grisly bloke with one socket closed over, declared.

Crowley followed behind the group as they set out to behold this spectacle. Perhaps old Noah was simply mad — he was certainly ancient enough to be senile by now — but Crowley's gut told him otherwise. Back in Hell he hadn't had a gut, so while he was in a physical form he always resolved to make good use of it. And right now, it was telling him to check out this bizarre construction project.

It was a long trek, taking them far from the protection of the village limits and deep into the wilderness. A few scuffles broke out as they walked, primarily over the water pouches of the few who had thought to bring some, but Crowley made sure to keep well back from them. No need to urge the humans along towards wickedness and debauchery these days — they did it all themselves, leaving Crowley to do his best to survive the chaos and take the credit for their misdeeds. He'd received several commendations in the past couple years already.

At last they came to Noah's homestead, the semicircle of huts where he and his family — his wife and sons and their wives and children, a small village in themselves — dwelt. On a rising in the earth close by stood a stone altar. A young man was kindling the fire burning on it, and Crowley caught a whiff of smoke on the breeze. His stomach pitched and he grimaced — it had been a while since he'd been in the proximity of a burnt offering, and he'd forgotten the discomfort of being in the presence of something holy.

His companions were not paying any attention to the altar, however; they were looking farther off, where the skeleton of a mighty ship thrust its bow heavenwards. Several silhouettes dotted the framework, and the sounds of the hammering and sawing made it to their ears. The villagers murmured amongst themselves, some sounding amused and others angry, all perplexed.

"Wasting perfectly good wood…" some grumbled.

"Fool!" others laughed. "Wasting the few years left to him!"

Hearing them, the youth on the hill turned from his oblations. He watched calmly as the men jeered at him. Then, walking serenely, he made his way down the hill and into the largest of the huts.

A moment later, he reemerged, a figure following after him.

A twinge like a dagger sliced through Crowley's stomach for a moment, before he willed the pain to subside. He really had grown unaccustomed to holy essences, he mused, as the figure approached. He knew immediately who it was, of course.

Aziraphale. That angel from Eden who had proven such a nuisance ever since. Back at the Beginning, Crowley had hoped for something like an tentative peace between them, but no such luck: his heavenly counterpart never permitted Crowley to get close to him, attacking the demon off whenever he tried.

Aziraphale clearly recognized Crowley's presence now, acknowledging the demon with a curt nod before turning to the men at the front of the crowd.

"If you mean this family harm, turn back now," the angel proclaimed. "If you come only to observe, you may do so."

The villagers jeered at him just as they had at the youth, who stood several paces behind Aziraphale now. A few even barked out rude comments and threats. But none stepped forward: this person, so uncommanding in looks, held power in his sonorous voice that made them all think twice about assaulting him.

"We wish only to watch," one of the largest of the men said at last.

"Then do so in peace," the angel granted, motioning them towards the clearing where the ark was being built.

As the villagers made their way towards the ark, Crowley stayed behind, until it was only him, Aziraphale, and the youth, who made his way back to the altar.

"So…how've you been?" he asked, just to break the silence.

"Fine," the angel answered tersely. "Now I suggest you leave, unless you wish to entangle with an Agent of the Holy One today."

"Oh, come on!" Crowley objected. "Tell me this, Angel of the Burning Sword, why can't we just…get along?"

Aziraphale eyed him coldly. No one would accuse this angel of bearing the light of Heaven's compassion in his gaze, Crowley noted, but Heaven's wrath? Certainly.

"I think we both know why, serpent," Aziraphale answered, emphasizing the last word. The angel continued to stand still, arms folded in his robes, impassive as stone, but Crowley heard the warning in his counterpart's tone.

"Ah, right, eternal enemies and all that," Crowley said, throwing up his hands. "Fighting for different sides, aiming for opposite outcomes, no use in getting together now and then to exchange gossip. I hear you loud and clear."

"Be off, Crawly."

"It's Crowley now," the demon said crossly as he turned on his heel and sauntered away. Every time.

A year passed and nothing came of Noah's boat. The old man and his family didn't stop working on it, but after a whole year it was only half completed, and the villagers grew bored of ogling its construction and mocking Noah. Crowley, meanwhile, grew bored of the village. Watching humans beat each other up and stab one another in the back wasn't very enjoyable when he wasn't the one instigating it. Time to move on, he figured. Surely somewhere there were humans still in need of corrupting.

He'd considered trying to sway Noah's family to wickedness — that would have been quite a notch in his belt — but there was simply no hope of it: Aziraphale watched over them constantly, and besides, they truly seemed incorruptible. And so he'd moved on, shrugging off the boat project as some act of divine symbolism: Upstairs was very into symbolism (as he was all too aware from personal experience — as soon as he'd pulled off the whole stunt with the fruit while in a serpentine form, they'd made sure snakes would be a symbol of cunning and deceit for all time).

And so he'd moved on, and another year passed by in a blur of general chaos — either he had done a superb job in moving all humankind towards vice, or they were simply naturals at it on their own, because everywhere he traveled he met only violence and depravity.

He more or less forgot about Noah and his ark, soon enough.

Until the first raindrops slammed into the earth.

He'd camped out in a tall tree in a forest the night before, deciding he needed a break from humans. The thick canopy above him concealed the gathering storm-clouds until he awoke to rain drumming against the leaves around him — not a soothing tapping but heavy, vicious strokes powerful enough to cleave past the foliage to the forest floor below.

His gut told him what it was before he had finished climbing to the top of his tree: a storm unlike any the world had ever seen.

He ripped the dregs of sleepiness from his mind, connecting the storm with an image: the ark. This was what Heaven was up to.

Damn them. Them above for doing this and Hell below for not bothering to fill him in.

Unfurling his wings, he launched himself from his branch and into the storm. Raindrops pelted his feathers, his spine, his exposed head like nails, merciless as Heaven, trying to drag him down to earth. Pumping fiercely, every muscle in this sometimes-too-human form straining, he pulled himself forward through space that was more water than air.

If this was the end of the world, he was going to fight it like hell.

Three hours he flew, far past the point when a mortal body would have given out. He could not see in front of him, so thickly fell the rain, but his destination tugged at him like a lifeline: he would make it to the ark if it killed him — or this body he was in, rather.

The downbeats of his wings came more and more spread apart as the rain fell harder and harder, but a sudden twist in his stomach renewed his hopes. The ark, the sole point of holiness remaining anywhere on Earth, was near.

He let out a pained shout as he touched down upon the ark's roof, but the cry was swallowed by the pounding of the rain. His bare feet burned where they touched the wood—Noah must have consecrated the whole blessed boat.

But temporary discomfort or even flat-out pain was better than a discorporation that might prove irreversible — if the world really were ending, he doubted Hell would issue him a new one.

He placed his palm flat on the roof's surface, grunting as his hand glowed red-hot, steaming in the chilly rainfall.

Focusing all his will on the slippery wood beneath his hand, he nearly slipped off the slick slanted roof, but managed to grab onto the whole he'd opened up just in time. Pulling himself into the opening, he slipped into the arc. The hole closed up as soon as he dropped through.

Crowley shook out his exhausted wings and willed himself dry. The room he had dropped into was dim, but as he stood straight and peered around, his heart froze.

A pair of deep brown eyes stared back at him from a roughly hewn chair.

"A-Aziraphale!" Crowley said nervously as the angel began to rise. "Fancy meeting you here…How's it going?"