"Crowley," the car radio buzzed. "Crowley, We know you're lizzztening..."

Crowley turned the radio off in a hurry, taking his eyes off the road. "Bloody-"

Aziraphale kept his eyes very much *on* the road, and rapidly getting bigger as the car slid blindly, disturbingly near to the cliff edge. "Crowley, I think you'd better-"

"CROWLEY," the radio growled, clearly taking no heed of the fact that it wasn't on, "thoozzze who dizzzobey Hell need their punizzhzhmment..."

"*Crowley*," Aziraphale said with an insistant panic, then leaned over to reach for the wheel himself, a moment too late as the car skidded and went over.

***

"You could have killed us," Aziraphale chided as they climbed out of the wrecked car. "I only just *got* this body, I don't need to explain that I lost *another* because some demon didn't-"

"Quiet, angel." Crowley was looking around, face growing rapidly peeved.

Aziraphale looked around too. "Ah - is something wrong?" He tilted his head. "It's sort of quaint, I suppose, the street lights, and the fog and the snow-"

"Look again," Crowley said, pulling his sunglasses off and glaring about with yellow snake eyes.

Aziraphale blinked, winced and clutched at his head as the landscape bent, twisted into a red, hot, rusting horror. "...ah, no, you're right. It is certainly *not* 'sort of quaint'."

"That's putting it lightly." Crowley scowled at the sky. "Dam- ble- ...*fuck* this."

"It's not *hell*," Aziraphale said thoughtfully, looking around, "But it sort of *feels* like it."

Crowley kicked at a pebble. "It's a subsidiary of Hell. A marketable part of hell. Normally only for satanic villiage cults or people with a great deal of internal guilt..."

Aziraphale looked at Crowley and raised an eyebrow. "I suppose 'They' were willing to make an exception, then?"

"Angel, Hell is *all* about making exceptions for the cause of making people miserable."

Sighing, Aziraphale listened to a distant nerve-wracking moaning. "All right. What should we do? You know more about this than I do..."

Crowley's expression was one of angry resignation. "First we find the bloody broken radio, knife, and handgun."

"Er. And then?"

"And then..." Crowley's expression was grim. "...And then we find a save point."