Chapter 2
Aziraphale paused his reading to peer over at Crowley.
He was still sitting up in his chair, but he'd closed his eyes, his breathing rhythmic and even. The angel grinned to himself, glad to have helped him rest. If that made him a bad angel, then so be it. But the way he saw it, taking away some suffering, no matter from whom, was a good deed.
He looked back down at his book, picking up his tea and drinking it just to the left of the pages, to avoid potential drops. Moonlight Sonata began playing over the record player, and the old grandfather clock in the front began its 11 chimes. Aziraphale looked up at his counterpart, ensuring the sound wasn't waking him; he didn't even stir.
The angel stood as quietly as he could, slipping the drooping bottle of wine from Crowley's slackened fingers, and turning to set it in the sink.
The record player skipped, making a scratching sound. Then, as Aziraphale's heart collided with his heels, a deep rumbling voice began speaking through it.
At first Aziraphale didn't understand it, but he quickly found that it was speaking backwards. He adjusted, analyzing the words and flipping them round. He still only caught a few,
"Traitor... obey... suffer... years... Crowley!"
Aziraphale spun to find Crowley's eyes wide open, his hands gripping the table so hard it creaked. He seemed... stuck. Unable to move, unable to breathe.
Aziraphale spun back to face the record player.
"With whom do I have the distinct displeasure of speaking?" he asked furiously.
"Does the name mattttter?"
"Oh yes, it does," Aziraphale replied heatedly. "I want to ensure my people are aware of your meddlings in the affairs of an agent of heaven."
"But I'm not. I'm meddling in the affairsssss of Hell."
"In my home," Aziraphale snapped. "It doesn't matter that he's here, this is my home. Get out."
The voice laughed, which prompted a terrified whimper from Crowley.
"I'm not in your property. I'm in miiiiiine."
Crowley gasped, tears beginning to fall down his petrified face.
"I swear, by all that is Holy, begone from this place, or you'll find out why the wrath of an angel is much worse than that of Hell."
There was a scratching silence for a long time. Aziraphale chanced a glance back at Crowley, who was still frozen in place, his eyes clenched tightly shut, his whole body trembling.
"We'll ssssee."
The needle jumped off the record, leaving nothing but deafening silence.
Aziraphale whipped to face Crowley, but it was too late.
He rocketed to his feet, his wings bursting into existence as he doubled over, wrapping himself in his arms and releasing an anguished scream that broke Aziraphale's heart.
Crowley stumbled back, hitting the wall— his wings flattening behind him. His eyes glowed red for a moment, and with a crash that startled even Aziraphale, every cupboard, cabinet, and drawer flew open.
Crowley rushed to them, his hands shuffling through them and tossing knickknacks everywhere.
"Crowley, what are you..." Aziraphale began as the demon switched to the cabinets over the sink, knocking dishes and china out to shatter on the countertop.
"Holy Water, you must have some," Crowley hissed, his hands flying about at almost unnatural speed.
"Of course I do, but he's already gone, what good could it d..."
"Not for him, for me," Crowley growled, finally pausing as he realized he'd checked everywhere.
"Oh, Crowley..." Aziraphale felt a pain in his heart as he realized what Crowley was suggesting. Crowley backed to the nearest wall, slamming into it and burying his face in his hands. "Rather it be you, rather it be you... mercy..."
He let out another wordless cry, collapsing to the floor with a shudder, one of his wings bent awkwardly beneath him. He rocked back and forth, gasping for air as if he were drowning.
Aziraphale hurried to him, dropping to his knees and resting a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't!" Crowley cried, shying away from him. "Too much, too much..."
"I'm so sorry," Aziraphale begged.
"I knew, I knew it..." Crowley choked, continuing his rocking. His free wing trembled with the rest of him, his black feathers creating a rustling sound like aspens in the fall. He inhaled sharply, burying his face in a terribly shaking hand.
"God help me."
Ice ran through Aziraphale's veins. Never, not in 6 thousand years, had he ever heard Crowley say those words.
"Crowley, please try not to get hysterical," he begged.
The demon's head whipped up angrily to look at him, tears flowing down his cheeks.
"Hysterical? Hysterical?!" he shrieked. "Az, he just skinned me alive with a dull knife... at least... I think he did... was I here? Did I go somewhere? Have I been here... this whole time? How long has it been?!"
Aziraphale sighed in pity, reaching out again.
"No, don't!" Crowley yelped like a wounded dog, slapping Aziraphale's hands away and shying away from him again. This time, though, the angel didn't give up.
He launched forward, grasping both of Crowley's upper arms hard, despite his desperate protestations.
He poured a debilitating amount of grace into his friend, surprised at how long it actually took for him to succumb. His breaths slowed, his eyes getting heavy as if he'd been drugged. He kept muttering, "no, no, no," until his lips failed him. He slumped back, collapsing to the hardwood.
"There you go," Aziraphale whispered, removing his hands and placing one palm on Crowley's cold forehead. "Just sleep. I'll... I'll think of something."
He rose, afraid to move him for fear of waking him again. After a bit of frustrated searching, he found an old blanket in a closet, tossing it gently over him.
He stepped away, rubbing his forehead. Where to even start? He supposed he could ask heaven for asylum for him, after all, he had helped thwart the advance of Hell, even permanently destroying one of his own.
And yet... Aziraphale himself hadn't even contacted them since... the great blunder. They seemed content to ignore the whole snafu, at least where Aziraphale was concerned. At the very least, they didn't fault him for protecting the world of humans. But Crowley... he wasn't going to be so lucky. And Aziraphale couldn't stand idly by.
He grumbled to himself, collecting the candles and hurrying to the front room, closing the door behind him to avoid disturbing Crowley.
He closed all the blinds in the front windows with a hurried swish of his hand, before turning to toss the carpet up and place the candles around the old circle.
"Here goes nothing," he muttered, stepping into the circle.
The light illuminated his musty little shop immediately, but there was silence. It went on for so long, Aziraphale began to wonder if he'd done something wrong in his hurry, perhaps misplaced a candle or...
"Well you've got some nerve, Aziraphale," the Metatron said flatly.
Aziraphale nodded, sighing deeply. "Yes, I know. And I wouldn't be talking to you if it wasn't terribly important..."
"We know."
"Yes, of course. Wait, you know what?" he asked, wondering if they'd been watching everything. They didn't make a habit of it; leaving the humans unsupervised was like leaving a toddler alone in a cutlery shop.
The Metatron did not respond.
"Right. Well. I know that I am in no place, but I must ask a favor..."
"We do not grant favors."
"Yes, I know. Manner of speaking. I would like to... well... you see... a friend of mine..."
"The demon."
"...yes," Aziraphale said with a wince.
"You have the audacity to call him 'friend'?"
"Well, I... he's been... look, the point is... well I suppose I shall just come out with it. Could you find it in you to grant him asylum?"
The Metatron was indignantly silent. Aziraphale could practically hear the disbelief.
"You wish us... to give asylum... to a demon."
Aziraphale thought long and hard about his words.
"He betrayed them. He completely thwarted their greater plans toward the war..."
"You mean like you did. To us."
Aziraphale pursed his lips. "No. Not like I did. Much, much worse. He destroyed one of his own. He actively helped our cause."
"So... he did more for us... than you did... is what you're saying?"
"Look!" Aziraphale began, but realized his tone. He cleared his throat, rubbing his temple and calming himself. "With respect, might we discuss my transgressions at a later time? Will you or will you not grant what I ask?"
The Metatron was silent, and Aziraphale could feel his heartbeat slamming in his ears.
"No, Aziraphale. We are not in a habit of helping our enemy. If he is afraid, it's as it should be. If he is in pain, it's as it should be. If he perishes..."
"Let me guess..." Aziraphale mumbled, his heart colliding with his heels for the second time today.
"Such is the price he pays for choosing Hell over Heaven."
Aziraphale deflated, having exhausted his one and only option.
"Then..." he began, wringing his hands together. "In that case, I... I request that you permit me to protect him."
"It would seem we've not the power to stop you."
"Of course you have," Aziraphale replied indignantly. "I am still your loyal servant, despite recent... events. And if you tell me no, then I will... obey."*
He paused, wringing his fingers tighter.
"But I... I pity him. I wish to stop the advance of Hell, to stop the advance of their wicked suffering. And I wish to do it in all earthbound creatures. The humans, the animals, and this one particular demon. Please. Allow me to do this."
The Metatron was silent for a painfully long time. So long that Aziraphale heard the grandfather clock chime midnight.
"Granted."
* This had about a 21% chance of being true.
