A/N: This fic goes in no chronological order. I own the square root of bugger all. PLEASE, Read and Review. I update more often when I get reviews.

Some (precise date unknown) time in the middle ages

Crowley and Aziraphale were sitting in a German tavern, Aziraphale having suggested that maybe a change in scenery would be nice, and they were watching two men negotiate animatedly and furtively. Aziraphale radiated worry and nervousness, while Crowley radiated reluctant respect for both the smooth negotiation on the part of the seller and the beer.

The sat for a while and watched as the two men, one an eminent man of knowledge, the other, head of hells marketing division renowned for his skill at selling certain earthly delights in return for a soul in packages, such as physical improvement, knowledge and the all time favourite, power, concluded their business and shook hands.

Crowley broke the silence. "Say what you like about Mephistopheles, but he is one heaven of a good negotiator." He said admiringly. "He's got that Dr. Faustus wrapped around his little finger."

Aziraphale fretted, "What am I going to do now? Your side have just gone and bagged one of the finest minds in the region!"

Crowley lowered the two pieces of connected tinted glass that he wore over his eyes and glared down his nose at his fretting opposite number and erstwhile enemy (when Aziraphale got over the burning of the library in Alexandria in about 345. Crowley had claimed his sneaking into the library moments before with a burning torch was an utter coincidence. Surprisingly enough Aziraphale failed to believe him.)

"You go and thwart it angel, like you usually do. My guess is an unmarried old academic like him, will want a pretty young thing sharpish, so there's your answer." Crowley said irritably. Much as he liked his opposite number, he could be excessively dense at times, he thought, as he saw the light of understanding dawn on his face, which in an angel, especially one so intimately acquainted with knowledge and enlightenment (in book form), is no small thing. In fact, blissfully unaware to the awed and disbelieving stares he was getting from the bars patrons, his wings extended and he began to exude an inner light. Crowley hurriedly replaced his tinted glasses.

"Thank you Crowley!" Aziraphale exclaimed. Then he looked round, then back at Crowley. "Why are you wearing that infernal contraption? And why is everyone staring at me?" He asked, bewildered.

"Lose the glow angel, it's beginning to hurt." Crowley said, slightly irritated.

One of the bars patrons who was brighter than most, saw that Crowley was shown for what he really was in the holy light, and pointed at him, screaming, "Demon!"

A very busy half an hour later

Aziraphale was sitting next to a slightly scorched and very pissed off Crowley, who had narrowly escaped being set on fire. Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, and simply spat (1)"Never. Again!"

(1) Being the serpent of Eden has its advantages. One of them is to put an incredible amount of venom (both metaphorical and not so metaphorical) in only a few words.