Chapter 3
Aziraphale sat hunched over the table in his back room, a steaming cup of coffee sitting next to his propped-up elbow.
He couldn't recall the last time he'd drank coffee, but... it was definitely a coffee kind of morning.
His mind reeled as he watched Crowley, still sleeping in a heap on the floor, the early morning light that shone through the opposite window revealing just how pale and disheveled he truly was. His wings were still showing, wrapping about him like a protective cocoon.
The Metatron's words swirled around in Aziraphale's head like the swirling of the coffee before him.
"Any battles you fight on his behalf will be fought on earth. Any wounds you take on his behalf will not be healed by our grace. No weapons will be provided by us. Your actions are hereby deemed your own, insofar as the demon is concerned, and are unsanctioned by Heaven. And if you are destroyed on his behalf... well... we will discuss with you further when you return to us."
Aziraphale groaned, rubbing his eyes and feeling a twinge of fear for the first time since the almostalypse.
What have I done? I couldn't just let them take him, but... what have I just doomed us to? Have I started my own little war?!
Crowley stirred, then bolted upright, his eyes darting about like a spooked horse. Before Aziraphale could speak, he threw the blanket off, stood abruptly, took two large steps, and swiped the gramophone from the counter viciously, sending it flying across the small room to shatter to bits against the opposite wall.
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow as Crowley turned his back on him, bracing against the countertop as his wings disappeared.
"That was uncalled for," Aziraphale tried in jest, but Crowley was clearly in no mood. Aziraphale could almost hear him grinding his teeth.
"Don't ever do that again," Crowley growled, his voice hoarse.
"What? Play Beethoven?" Aziraphale asked, standing. He placed a hand on Crowley's shoulder, which made him jump, sidestepping away from his fingers.
"Knock me out. If he'd come back, and I was... and I couldn't..."
He covered his mouth with a hand, turning away from Aziraphale again.
"You were mad, Crowley, you were more likely to hurt yourse...
"Where is it? The holy water? I wasn't kidding," he said into his palm, a shudder coursing him.
Aziraphale sighed. "Please sit down. We need to talk."
Crowley nodded 'no' violently, still refusing to face the angel. "Don't distract me. I've made my decision."
"Crowley, will you just—"
"—'s not even a sin—"
"—you need to take a breath and thi—"
"—only thing I need is this to end—"
"I will not."
"—just end it Aziraph—"
"I will not!"
"Please, angel, I'm asking you. Kill me."
"I will not!" Aziraphale cried, emotion overwhelming him and, before he knew what he was doing, he had tossed the table across the room, the coffee spilling over the hardwood.
Crowley finally faced him, silence befallen him at last. Aziraphale gathered himself, clearing his throat, straightening, and righting his lapel.
"I'm not going to kill my oldest and dearest friend," he finished forcefully.
Crowley took a deep breath, closing his eyes in a very obvious show of defeat. He stalked forward then, pulling on one of the chairs, spinning it, and sitting backwards in it, his arms propped up on the back. He did not speak, but instead waited, staring up at Aziraphale with a patient but slightly overwhelmed expression.
Aziraphale nodded, sitting in the other chair, peeking confoundedly at the downed table before speaking.
"I've spoken to my people," Aziraphale began slowly.
Crowley's jaw tightened, but he still did not speak.
"They... denied my request for sanctuary..."
"You actually thought they would—"
"Please let me finish," Aziraphale interrupted gently, and Crowley nodded, biting his lip in frustration, but motioning for him to continue.
"But..." he continued, knowing Crowley was not going to like what he had done. "They've granted me permission to... well, to... to act as I see fit, in order to..."
He paused, watching as Crowley's brows rose in questioning.
"To... protect... you," he finished worriedly.
All expression left Crowley's face, and his eyes began to widen.
"You... what?!" Crowley gasped, his eyes morphing from shock to anger. "Aziraphale, do you realize what you've done?! You've effectively put the target meant for me squarely on your back. Why would you..."
Aziraphale raised his voice, his emotion making it crack. "Because standing in the line of fire for you is better than watching without acting. Or worse... being the one firing."
Crowley slumped, burying his face in his hands. "Aziraphale, you shouldn't have..."
The angel stood, smiling solemnly and gently resting a hand on his shoulder. For the first time, Crowley did not flinch away.
"That's what friends are for. Now, come have some tea, perhaps read a book. I need to think, and that's the only way I can."
