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It was a dark and stormy night…well, not really. It was actually the middle of the day, and the sky cleared up hours ago. Though it was dark, as Aziraphale found windows and electricity to be optional in his rarely used flat. Miraculously, the singular lamp Crowley had snuck upstairs worked anyway, and was perhaps brighter than it had any business being.
The amount of rats in Aziraphale's flat should’ve been alarming, but not here, and not now. Today was the day Crowley had planned for weeks, and he wanted everything to be perfect. He was wearing his 'fuck shit up' jacket and was giving instructions to his multitude of small, furry companions.
Crowley's posture was rigid as he stood like a general. A small sea of rats circled him in the dusty old room.
"Hello, everyone."
They waited with bated breath, any previous squeaks silenced.
He scanned the room, chin tilted up. "You're probably wondering why I gathered you all here."
A singular rat squeaked.
A grin flashed into place. "That's right! Tonight’s the big day we've been preparing for. And we are going to rock ," he growled, his smile replaced with a sudden glare, "or else. Dance Squad, looking at you."
A group of rats in the back broke into a squeaking hysteria at what seemed like a threat.
The show in question was meant to be a surprise for Aziraphale, accompanied by his angel's favourite food and drinks. The highlight of it all, and what the demon was most nervous about, was a musical show with the rats. An artful (or, ratful) retelling of Aziraphale’s most beloved Shakespearian play, Hamlet.
Crowley took a peek at a clipboard in hand, and immediately aimed a black painted finger at a seemingly random rat.
"You! Julius Cheesar. You're in charge of the Cheesecake Squad. And don’t try to eat any of it, 'cause I'll know!"
It was definitely a threat, now. The pressure was too much for the rather old rodent and he instantly passed out. Crowley held his glare for a few seconds more, for good measure.
"Right," he said after a moment. The clipboard tumbled from his hand, out of existence.
He clasped his hands together tightly in front of him. Aziraphale's nervous ticks had started to rub off on him, even if subconsciously.
“Snack Squad, you’re in charge of all the other refreshments! That’s cheeses, crackers, little froufrou cocktails with umbrellas. Ratilda, Splinter, Ratt Smith, this is you! Do not forget the wine, and it better be a good vintage.” While the cheesecake was the main event for food, Aziraphale liked his nibbles and Crowley would be damned again if he didn’t provide his angel with a proper spread.
“Decorating Squad, get this place in shape. I want to see lights, glitter, red things, balloons,” Crowley instructed, listing the items off on his fingers, “and for Go- Satan’s sake, don’t forget the disco ball!” The rat army squeaked in their best attempt at a salute before breaking formation to attend to their tasks.
Meanwhile, Aziraphale was sitting at his desk, superfluous glasses perched on his nose, as he read his latest acquisition. The only noise, aside from the occasional rustle of a turned page, was the alarming amount of scratching sounds from above. He was used to ignoring them, letting Crowley do as he pleased in the spaces of the bookshop that didn't actually hold any of his precious collection. But the sound was really starting to grate.
With a heavy sigh, Aziraphale closed his book and set it aside. No use reading it now when there was such an obvious distraction taking his attention from the aged pages. The book deserved better than that. Best to get out of the shop for a bit to let Crowley manage whatever he was doing. Maybe he could get pastries on his walk, and bring some back for the little rats he knew must be working hard.
Back upstairs, Crowley was trying very hard to manage everything and set the final touches. He stood proudly in the middle of the room, arms crossed as he looked over their work. The place was coming nicely together.
There were red decorations throughout the room indicating the Lunar New Year[1]. A well-laden snack table stood to Crowley's left, and a glorious disco ball sat just in front of him. A few rats were trying to secure it on the ceiling, squeaking frantically in their attempts. It was the finishing touch on the whole event. How exactly it fit in with Hamlet could only be understood if one happened to be willing to sit through nearly two hours of Crowley's excited rambling.
"Come on guys, everyone on their positions," the demon commanded with a sharp whistle. "It's time for the final rehearsal before our big show!" The rats scattered into their various positions with an odd sort of grace that rats should not be capable of, waiting for their queues for action. The Dance Squad had positions all over the room: on the bookcases, on the dresser, and even up in the rafters. It was an exterminator's nightmare.
"ACTION!" Crowley shouted at his small companions. He felt the excitement in his stomach, stepping restlessly from one foot to the other.
The music started slowly and the rats began to dance with full commitment. It looked a bit messy, but rats aren’t the most eloquent creatures out there, and they were really trying. If he weren't a demon, Crowley would have been proud.
“Cheesus, time for your solo," the demon instructed, feeling like a proper director. “Terry Ratchett, get the fuck off that disco ball. You’re too old for this, please join Neil Wheyman over there.”
The music got louder and more intense as Cheesus danced, and when the song got to Mousely Cyrus's queue[2], the rat swung on the disco ball as if her life depended on it. Knowing Crowley, it might very well have. Split seconds after the disco ball swung across the room, the cord holding it up gave an ominous sound. Mousely Cyrus panicked, squeaked with alarm, and leapt from the ornament onto a nearby shelf just in time to save herself before the cord snapped and the ball fell.
Crowley watched the whole scenario in horror, everything moved in slow motion like a train crash. The disco ball shattered onto the ground with a crash, small fragments and splinters flying around and scattering everywhere.
There was a dead silence in the room, so intense you could hear a pin drop.
Crowley’s jaw dropped and he exchanged a look with the rat collective before what happened fully registered. Down like a lead balloon for sure, now what about the show? Cheesus was his STAR! He dropped to his knees and removed the smashed disco ball from the dead rat and shoved it off to the sides. A hush fell over the rats as they moved in to gape before the squeaking cries began.
Ratt Smith rushed to Cheesus’ side and collapsed, possibly crying the loudest.
“He was a good rat…” Crowley got to his feet and turned to leave the room allowing the rats to mourn. He needed a drink. Preferably something with high alcohol content.
–
Hours later, Crowley had left the rats to their mourning, and had made his way down into the bookshop proper. He was reclining in his usual space on the couch, a cocktail glass grasped loosely in one hand.
"You were a good rat, and you died too soon," he warbled into his third daiquiri[3].
By the time Aziraphale walked through the door, Crowley was thoroughly sloshed.
“Crowley! What is going on here? Why in Heaven’s name are you drunk?” The angel almost sounded hurt by the notion. They always drank together in the bookshop, after all, and the demon's exclusion was not appreciated.
“Angel!” Crowley slurred, taking a worryingly large gulp his fifth daiquiri[4].
“Everything ha-ha-happened so fast!” He started sniffing again. “AND THE DISCO BALL CRASHIN’ DOWN!” He mimicked a crash with wild hand gestures and made a sound like an explosion for good measure.
Aziraphale watched Crowley with a confused look in his eyes. “Crowley, darling, what are you trying to tell me?”
Glassy yellow eyes peeked out from behind sunglasses that slid down his nose. He tried to formulate words but it wasn’t quite working out: “Dunno what they put in bananas these days, so I invented the Ba-bana bananba… Banan-nan Daiquiri.” He belched briefly and continued his drunken rambling oblivious as Aziraphale, understanding he would get nothing of importance out of Crowley for the moment, slipped up the stairs to investigate.
He found his flat in complete chaos. Not the curated kind of chaos he kept his bookshop in, but the kind of chaos only demons[5] could create. There, in a circle of dark, furry creatures, he found a small, crudely-made coffin with a dead rat inside. The smashed disco ball on the floor helped him piece together the story. He stepped gingerly between the grieving rodents and gently picked the rat up.
“Well we can't have this, now can we,” the angel remarked almost sternly, placing his other hand over the tiny body. A small miracle brought it back to life.
The rat made a loud squeak as he returned to the land of the living. The excited creature slipped from Aziraphale's hand and jumped down to join his brethren.
"I know it's called a mischief of rats, but I must insist you take better care of each other. Now, I don't want you all heading downstairs and getting into my bookshop. I'll just go and fetch Crowley. Wait here, everyone."
When Aziraphale returned downstairs Crowley was fast asleep. Snoring loudly, the demon had draped himself over the sofa like a slack cloth (or a limp snake). The angel tried to wake him up gently.
"Crowley? Crowley... CROWLEY!" Aziraphale grabbed his shoulder and gave him a little shake. When Crowley still didn’t stir, Aziraphale shook him a little more forcefully.
Crowley only let out an unsatisfied grumble and some incomprehensible snippets of words and curses. “Ngk, five more minutes please,” he mumbled. “In Satan’s name, stop doing that angel!” He opened his eyes blearily, his glasses were hanging only halfway on his face.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear, but you didn’t want to wake up.”
“Really? No, yeah. Ngh. That probably had a reason,” he groaned and dragged his hands over his face, knocking his sunglasses askew, and glanced at the angel.
Aziraphale quietly cleared his throat. He knew just how to play his demon without ruining Crowley’s imagined image. Time to put on his own show. "Crowley, there are rats upstairs. In my bookshop. Proper, hairy rats! With... teeth.” He tried saying all of this with a straight face, and somehow he managed.
Crowley, in his muddled state, took a moment to process Aziraphale’s words. “Rats in the bookshop?” Oh, shit! Suddenly Crowley jumped up, cutting Aziraphale off from any more he could potentially say. He forced himself to sober up as he stumbled to the stairs and almost collided with several piles of books along the way. “Don’t worry! Got it all under control!”
“How reassuring.” Aziraphale shook his head in amusement, going unnoticed as Crowley continued to charge up to the flat.
When he finally arrived upstairs, it was to the uproar of celebratory rats. “What on earth is going on here?” Crowley’s earlier concern over Aziraphale was lost as he realized the rats were dancing around a very much alive Cheesus.
Crowley looked incredulously at the whole scene. When his eyes met Cheesus, his mouth dropped open. "Cheesus? I thought we’d lost you forever…You’re not a zombie rat or something, are you?" The rat ran towards Crowley in excitement, very much alive and not a zombie rat whatsoever. The other rats cheered louder as Crowley picked up the living Cheesus and held him above the rest.
“Well, I suppose this calls for a little change in plans, right, men?” A lady rat squeaked irritably. “Er. And women, of course.” While the party might have been intended for Aziraphale, he couldn’t rightly surprise his angel with it now. Might as well let the rats have at it. “Hit the music, Mouse-stro!”
Mouse-stro pushed a button on his soundboard, and all of a sudden, the song “Dancing Queen” was blasting loudly from the speakers. Crowley let out a loud “WAHOOO!” and threw his head back wildly, and all the rats joined him with full-throated squeaks as they began to dance. Though, it wasn't what we would call good dancing.
Back in the bookshop, Aziraphale could hear all the noise of partying from the comfort of his reading chair. “Silly old serpent,” he muttered, shaking his head affectionately at Crowley’s silliness before taking a bite from a plate of nibbles he miracled from upstairs. No sense letting the rats have all the snacks.
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1 A nod to the holiday he was using as an excuse to throw Aziraphale a party in the first place.[return to text]
2 The line "I CAME IN WITH MY DISCO BALL!"[return to text]
3 Or was it the fourth?[return to text]
4 Actually, he was probably at number nine by this point, but really who's counting?[return to text]
5 And rats, apparently,[return to text]