Everything is Tickety-Boo (Mostly)

Ye must choofe your faces wisely

As Crowley and Aziraphale boarded the empty bus, Agnes Nutter's final prophecy echoed in Aziraphale's head.

When alle is fayed and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre.

"So," Intoned Crowley as he filed into a seat next to the angel, "They intend to kill us."

Aziraphale clenched his teeth. He didn't want to believe it. Heaven were supposed to be the good guys. It wasn't right, but he couldn't deny what the prophecy was telling them. Slowly, he nodded.

"Y-yes," He stammered, "It-it seems they do."

Crowley leaned back in his seat and rested his legs on the one in front of him.

"'Choofe your faces wisely'," He quoted, rubbing his chin, "I suppose we're meant to do something with that?" He asked, already having an inkling of an idea, but not sure if it was correct.

"I believe she wants us to, well, swap," Aziraphale replied, squirming uncomfortably at the idea of it, "That's well within our abilities. It's barely a miracle, really," He reasoned, more for his benefit than for Crowley's, "Just us switching corporeal forms, right?"

Crowley shrugged and took off his round sunglasses to look Aziraphale in the eye. He could sense the angel's discomfort, and he couldn't help but silently agree that the idea was a little less than welcome. He didn't want to do that any more than he imagined Aziraphale did. However, it was the only way that they could prevent each other's deaths, as both of them had figured out already that Agnes meant to be telling them that holy water and Hellfire would be part of their parlay with the bosses.

"Right," He grunted, dropping his legs to the floor of the bus with a thump as snakeskin boots hit rubber-coated plywood. He stuck out his right hand as if offering the angel a handshake, "Suppose we should hop to it then, we don't know when they'll be coming to 'collect' us."

Aziraphale gulped, held out his hand, and then hesitated. The demon beside him raised an eyebrow at the pause.

"I don't know... I mean, can't we do it in the morning? I'm sure there will be enough time for us to-"

"Angel, if it makes you feel any better, I'm less-than-excited to be you than you are to be me. No offense, but, given a choice, I would never wear any of the things you have in your closet," Crowley offered, subtly trying to quell Aziraphale's nerves, "Think about it like this, sooner we get this over with the less we have to worry about being hogtied and thrown into holy water- or in your case, Hellfire."

Aziraphale's Adam's apple bobbed, but he took on a half smile at the demon's words. True, Crowley could be a right grumpy fellow most of the time, but he, deep down, was a good friend, and as Aziraphale grasped the demon's hand, he did so with affection, even though the slightest brush of fingertips would be enough for the swap to commence.

It was a weird feeling, swapping bodies. One moment, Aziraphale was seated comfortably and at home in his own skin, and the next, he was in an uncomfortably loose position and looking directly at himself while he clutched rounded sunglasses in his other hand. It was equally as odd for Crowley, who instantly became aware of the fact that everything was now slightly fuzzy around the edges. Those reading glasses, apparently, were not just for playing the part of older bookseller.

Aziraphale shivered. Whereas he normally ran hot, Crowley maintained a semblance of being snake-like, right down to being nearly cold-blooded. He wondered how the demon managed it, but then reasoned that, having lived over 6,000 years in this corporeal form, he'd probably gotten used to it.