You'll Never Get To Heaven (if you're scared of getting high)

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"So that is the demon serpent, who brought evil into the world, has tormented it for millennia, and helped thwart Armageddon?" Raphael asked, with interest, looking at the vaguely human shaped being curled into a foetal position on the couch.

Aziraphale handed her a cup of tea. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

"And he's one of yours, Michael?"

"My treacherous child, born from my tears at the beauty of the universe," she said coldly. "A disappointment."

Crowley whimpered, and Aziraphale sat beside him and patted his back soothingly. "I made you some tea, if you uncurl a bit. Why didn't you mention that Michael was your parent?" He looked as sternly as he could manage at Michael. "And that was a little unkind, my Lord."

"I always wondered how that worked," Raphael said, obviously trying to soothe things over. "Did you start crying and your tears just turned into flaming serpents and things? Must have been a shock. I would've wet myself."

Michael's serenity flickered just a little. "I did not question the Almighty's judgement. We needed more staff. We had a lot of galaxies to create just then." She sipped her tea. "Is it supposed to taste like this?"

"I can add milk and sugar, if you like," Aziraphale said, wringing his hands apologetically.

"Would that help?"

"It's delicious," Raphael said firmly, taking a brave sip and shuddering slightly.

"Aziraphale, why are you stroking a demon's back?" Michael asked coldly. "You are not a fallen angel. Yet."

Aziraphale withdrew his hand guiltily. "Compassion is a virtue?" he suggested.

"Come on now, Michael, he's not the only one with contacts Down There," Raphael said cheerfully. "We're all on the same side—well, not the same side, exactly, but we're all doing our bit in the Almighty's plan."

Aziraphale expected Michael to object. Instead she looked down for a brief second, and then up. "I know that word from above was that neither of them were to be punished, so I admit that... they might be acting in accordance with the Ineffable Plan." She sighed. "Aziraphale, beloved Principality, you should have confided in us."

"I tried." And then, not knowing where the courage had come from, "Crowley was the only one who cared. And some humans."

"I would've listened," Raphael objected.

"I'm sorry, my Lord. You were busy preparing the Last Trumpet anyway. I tried going higher."

The other two angels exchanged glances, and Raphael mouthed "Metatron, honestly, what a wanker," at Michael, who drew herself up with even more dignity and pretended not to notice.

"Anyway. Ah. Speaking of fallen angels." Aziraphale took a deep breath. "Are carnal relations in themselves considered a problem under current thinking?"

The shape on the couch next to him tensed.

Raphael's shoulders started to shake. "What—what have you two—oh dear. I mean, I figured you had to be closer friends than you should, you were holding hands at the airbase, but... You're shagging?"

Aziraphale found himself sitting next to a very embarrassedly hissing snake, which made Raphael laugh even harder. Michael, on the other hand, arched both eyebrows, the final sign of outrage and incipient smiting.

"No!" Aziraphale said hastily. "The closest we have come has been kissing each other's mouths, which you know as well as I do is a perfectly acceptable and chaste form of greeting and respect among humans." I was perfectly true, he told himself, and he couldn't expect two pure angels who resided in Heaven to know much about the difference between human degrees of kissing. Michael and Raphael popped down more than the others, perhaps, but to deliver messages and rescues rather hang around and make best friends with tight trousers and distractingly swishy gaits. He tried to ignore the quirk of Raphael's lips.