Chapter Text
When you die, you go to Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory, for the most part. At least that’s what many people think. It’s not actually true.
When you die, you go wherever your particular religion has convinced you that you should go. Many religions don’t have concepts like Heaven or Hell, some have reincarnation, many people with no particular belief, simply stop existing altogether. They don’t believe they have a soul, and so when things come to an end, they know no more. So Heaven and Hell aren’t quite as busy as one might initially think.
They are, however, busy enough. There are plenty of religions who do share a similar enough concept of Heaven and Hell for large numbers of the human population to end up down below when they shuffle off this mortal coil. Upon arrival, a rather rapid-fire judgement is made on an appropriate eternal torture to fit their sins on Earth, which is based mostly on whatever their religion decrees should happen to them, mixed with what punishment seems best to fit their alleged crimes.
Of course what is a sin in one religion, is entirely permissible in another. What was a sin at one time, may not be a decade, or a hundred years later in the same religion, or in a different part of the world, which leads to many ostensibly good people ending up in eternal damnation for the most minor of infringements. But if that’s where their culture believes that they belong, then that’s the luck of the draw for them, having grown up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
* * *
Aziraphale, given the name of an angel by her very religious mother, was 38, blond, buxom, with pretty blue eyes and an embarrasingly expansive bosom. She’d been born into an isolated and hard-line religious sect, who occupied a small village, not accessible by paved roads, unserved by mains electricity or water, in a remote part of South West England. While there are no Amish in England, their way of life was about as close as one could get this side of the USA.
She knew she was going to Hell when she died, so it hadn’t been much of a surprise really to find herself here. She’d sinned, she’d been defiant, she’d refused to repent adequately for what she’d done, as she didn’t understand how it could be so wrong. But in the eyes of her community, it was. Her family had been so ashamed of her they’d turned their back on her entirely, she was cursed and shunned by the community, and things had only got worse from there.
Aziraphale was in a crowd of other recently deceased souls. They’d each been given what the demons around them called a “corporation” to wear. It was explained to her that souls, being intangible, are unable to feel pain, or any other sensations, as they lacked the nerve endings required. Torturing a deceased soul would be like punching mist. So, as her old body was now moldering in a grave somewhere on Earth, her soul was shoved into a replica of it, so that she could be tortured for the rest of eternity. She was afraid, but resigned to her fate. It wasn’t as if she could do anything to escape it. Death was inevitable, as was damnation. Had her sins been worth it? Probably not, but if she’d spent her life being unquestioning and obedient, she might as well have been in Hell anyway. Everyone sinned to a greater or lesser degree, it was virtually impossible to avoid every single transgression. So she supposed almost everyone ended up damned regardless. At least she’d had a little fun before she died.
The bit about the pitchforks at least had been wrong. Not that it was much consolation, as whatever the pain-stick the demons were poking them with to shuffle the group forwards was just as unpleasant. Another damned soul told her it was called a cattle prod, and used electricity to cause the pain. She’d heard of electricity, they just didn’t use it, and she had no idea it could be used in such a way. She shuffled towards the center of the group to try to avoid getting poked any more, her heavy breasts swinging uncomfortably without the support of a bra. They may have been given bodies, but no clothes, in order to humiliate them further, so there was nothing to shield them from the pain of the cattle prod on their bare flesh either.
Their group came through a huge stone archway to a cavern that was filled with demons at tables, scribbling on bits of paperwork, and others carrying papers to and from the tables, and up to a grotesque and important-looking demon who sat behind an enormous desk on a raised dais at the end of the room, from whence he looked down upon the assembled souls with a face like a vulture - literally, not figuratively. Most of the demons seemed to have animalistic traits and features.
The vulture-demon called a name, and a man in her group shuffled forwards nervously.
“That’s me,” he affirmed.
“Your sin was theft, I see on Earth your community already punished you by cutting off your right hand. Well for simplicity, that shall also be your punishment down here in Hell…”
The man looked slightly relieved, probably thinking, as Aziraphale did, that this meant that the new hand on his new corporation would simply be removed, and that would be an end of it, but they were wrong.
“Your hand shall be removed in a variety of different ways, not just by cutting, but by crushing, burning, freezing, being chewed off by wild beasts, being trapped in machinery and ripped off, being dipped in acid and melted, and anything else your assigned demon cares to think up. After each removal, your hand shall be re-grown, and removed again, and again, never-ending, every day, for all eternity.”
The man’s face fell, and the assembled damned souls gasped in horror, recoiling as it dawned on them that their own punishments were likely to be similarly harsh. They began crying out and begging, but it was all too late, there was no repentance allowed down here, all they received were more jabs from the cattle prod to silence them.
“Which demon will take this case on?” The vulture-faced demon cast his gaze along the side wall where a group of demons were standing, waiting to be assigned a task. A few raised their hands, he regarded them, then pointed at one. “Shazaroth, he is yours. Take him away. NEXT!”
He scribbled some notes, then rubber-stamped the paperwork and handed it to a minor demon at his side, who hurried away with it to file it somewhere, as another approached from the other side to hand him another piece of paper.
“Aziraphale Fell!” He called out.
Trembling, Aziraphale stepped forwards, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks. The Vulture-headed demon read down the sheet of paper, then looked up.
“Your sins, according to your priests, include use of contraceptive herbs to avoid pregnancy, and sex out of wedlock…”
“Neither of us were married!” Aziraphale cried out, “It wasn’t even an affair!”
The vulture-faced demon glared at her, and a cattle prod zapped her sharply from behind, making her cry out.
“This is not a court of law, not a trial, tribunal, or appeal. You have already been found guilty of the sins, it matters not what you think or say, you were sent to us because your religion considers your action to be sinful. We are here to allocate the punishment. Your priest said you were fit for nothing better than to marry the devil and give suck to his imps. Your grandmother made comment about you defying God’s will by avoiding the pregnancy and the subsequent pain of childbirth which would have been apt punishment for your misdeeds.”
He scanned down the rest of her paperwork, pondering.
“Your punishment shall be that you will be given to a demon who shall breed you daily for the rest of eternity, you shall bear his demonic spawn, and feed him from your own breast. There are no secret herbs here for you to use to avoid it this time.” He turned to the assembled demons at the side of the room “Which demon will take this case on?”
A scuffle had broken out amongst the assembled demons as they fought to raise their hands to be noticed, and begun fighting each other. There was a lot of growling, hissing, and blood was beginning to spatter the floor, when one demon standing to the side quickly morphed into a giant serpent, wrapped his body around the tussling horde, squeezing them all tight into an immobile bunch, unable to move, and told the vulture-demon:
“I shall take her. You’ve told me often that I’m shirking my duties by not taking on a damned soul to torture, so I’ll take this one.”
“Very well, Demon Crowley, she is yours. Take her away, NEXT!”
“Sir? A quick word first, if I may, before you stamp that judgment? I may need a minor corporeal adjustment making in order to carry out my duties effectively. May I approach the bench?”
“Approach.”
The serpent released the struggling demons from his coils, and re-took the shape of a tall, slender, redheaded man, in a black suit and dark glasses. His boots and belt were snakeskin, and he walked with a loose, hip-swinging gait. The other demons hissed and swore at him as they picked themselves up off the floor. He ignored them and sauntered over to talk to the vulture-headed demon in charge.
There was a short, whispered conversation. Crowley waved in Aziraphale’s direction and gesticulated something or other, explaining something. The vulture-headed demon nodded in understanding, and beckoned another minor demon over, who Aziraphale recognised as one who had been issuing the corporations. There was more huddled, whispered conversation between the three of them, before the vulture demon scribbled some kind of amendment on Aziraphale’s paperwork, then stamped it. He showed it to the corporation demon, who nodded, and approached Aziraphale. He considered her carefully for a moment, and then snapped his fingers.
Aziraphale’s abdomen immediately twisted in knots like the worst period pain she’d ever had, and she gasped out in agony, trying not to fall to the floor. But as soon as it had come, it was gone, with no lingering after-effects.
“Don’t forget the other part of the judgment,” the vulture-demon reminded him. Another snap, and her breasts began to feel swollen and slightly sore. “You may take her away now. NEXT!”
The red headed demon came over and took her by the arm to lead her away, and she followed, terrified of what was going to happen next.