"Do you really think this is going to work?"

Crowley looked up from the mug of cocoa he had yet to touch sitting in front of him. Aziraphale was watching him intently from the other side of the table, and his question was tinged with the worry that hadn't left his voice since the...incident...three days prior.

Three long, long days. He didn't dare try to sleep again, had kept himself awake with caffeine and willpower - and besides, he didn't want to be caught off guard when she showed up. But that ever growing exhaustion wasn't doing much for his general wellbeing, nor was the fact that absolutely nothing had happened since then anyway.

The waiting was almost worse.

Jumping at every unexpected sound, despite the fact Aziraphale's ward was well intact and hadn't given any warning since that night. Watching every person pass by on the street below, checking for familiar, dreaded faces. Spending every moment wondering when she was going to turn up.

The waiting probably was worse.

But it had given them time to plan, sort of, and today was the day for that plan to begin rolling.

Such as it was.

"What choice do we have?" Crowley was leaning over the table, chin resting in his hands as he looked back to his untouched drink.

It had been sitting there for over an hour (exactly as long as the angel and demon had also been sitting there, as a matter of fact), and should have gone cold some time ago. But he could still see steam rising gently from the surface, and finally picked it up with only the slightest twinge of guilt.

It was the least he could do, if someone had bothered to make sure it stayed warm.

Aziraphale furrowed his brow, drumming his fingers on his mug. Crowley already knew what he wanted to say and wondered if he would actually do it again.

Turned out, he would.

"I know what you said, but Adam might -"

"Be a child. Probably not even much of a remarkable one, by now." He wasn't actually sure how long any Antichrist-related powers might stick around with the kid, but either way, he had no intention of involving anyone more than necessary in his problems. Especially children. "He's retired, angel. Leave him be."

He watched Aziraphale's face fall ever so slightly, but he wouldn't be backing down on this one. He'd already agreed to - and built upon - the angel's second plan anyway, which still included people he'd really rather not have involved.

"I know...but if he could help, then I think it couldn't hurt to ask?"

Funny choice of words. What didn't hurt these days? The dull, constant pain emanating from his wings had been amplified ever since the last nightmare, to the point of near any movement at all causing some kind of discomfort. Walking, talking, breathing - the last one was normally a choice anyway, but he thought it best to give his body and it's struggling heartbeat whatever help he could. Crowley slowly straightened up as much as he could - a bit of a hunch gave his shoulder blades a bit of relief - and gave his shoulders an experimental roll. He didn't bother to hide his wince. So much for things improving now.

"Let's just see how this goes first, alright?"

Aziraphale sighed and pursed his lips, still tapping his mug tunelessly. "Alright," he paused for a moment. "Although I'm not so sure about this one, either."

Crowley shared the sentiment, though he didn't voice as much. "What choice do we have?" he said again. "We can't learn anything, never mind summon someone if we don't even have a name."

"And you're sure he's actually going to tell us?"

Nope. "Of course. I can be very persuasive," he gave the angel a thin smile as they both heard a knock on the door of the bookshop. Maybe not something they would normally notice, being on the second floor, but they had been expecting it.

"Back in a jiffy," Aziraphale gave him one last, long look before leaving to answer the door.

And for the first time in days, Crowley was alone in the flat.

It wouldn't be for longer than a minute, but he could already feel cold sweat on the back of his neck. He glanced down at his watch - it was also the first day in weeks he'd gotten dressed - and managed to stay sitting for an entire twenty four seconds before he was on his feet and heading towards the stairs. There was nothing wrong, of course, but what if -

He nearly collided with Aziraphale rounding the corner in the hallway, and the angel grabbed his upper arms to steady them both. "Oh, Anthony! How kind of you to come greet our guests. You remember Ms. Device?"

"Book Girl! I'd never forget." He dropped his sunglasses over his eyes before reaching out to take Anathema's hand.

She gave him a puzzled look, only shaking his hand once before simply holding on, and he wasn't sure if he was supposed to let go or not. "Anthony?" she said finally, the curiosity shifting ever so slightly to suspicion.

"Er...yes?"

"We've done our research since the airbase," a new voice chimed in, and Crowley glanced over her shoulder to see the young man who had spoken. "You don't need to put on a front for us. I've gotta hand it to you, though, an antique book dealer interested in the occult is a pretty good one."

"Ah, yes, well, we weren't actually sure how much you all remembered about that day," Aziraphale had the good graces to look a bit embarrassed. Crowley couldn't be bothered.

"Not as much as I would like, but enough," Anathema finally dropped her intense stare and Crowley's hand both, and he would never know he had just passed an aura-based test of character. Her expression changed to one of deep sympathy. "You're very sick."

Crowley opened his mouth to stutter out some reply, but Aziraphale beat him to it. "Why don't we all go sit down?" he gave them all a bright, forced smile before gesturing them down the hall.

"I don't actually know your name," Crowley said instead to the back of the man's head as he followed them towards the living room. "Book Girl's Boyfriend?"

"Oh, right, it's Newton Pulsifer," Apparently-Newton-Pulsifer replied, and he probably would have turned around to shake Crowley's hand if not for the large cardboard box he was carrying. "I was working with Sergeant Shadwell, for a couple days."

"Ah. Still witch-finding, then?"

"Quite the opposite." He gave the box a little jostle to emphasize his point. "More like a witch-in-training, really."

"You've got the right teacher for it."

"Come in, come in, would anyone like refreshments? Tea, cocoa? I've got some macarons, made fresh this morning!" Aziraphale ushered them into the living room before rattling off a few more baked treats for their guests to choose from, wringing his hands all the while.

Crowley placed a hand over his in an attempt to still them.

"The tea can wait," Anathema said kindly, already knelt on the floor and opening the box Newt had set beside her. "Why don't you explain what's going on again?"

Aziraphale rambled on, and Crowley didn't bother trying to rein him in at any point, since he mostly stayed on track. To be truthful he was only half-listening anyway, instead watching with subdued interest as Anathema carefully unpacked the contents of the box. Candles, chalk, salt...the usual. And a large, bulky shopping bag from Tesco.

"You got my shopping requests?" he asked once there was a lull in Aziraphale's chatter.

"Sure," Newt opened the bag and peered inside. "Your...weapons of choice? And the energy drinks," he reached into the bag and pulled out a can before passing it into Crowley's outstretched hand. "Heard that stuff gives you wings."

"If only it were that easy."

"Can I see your back?" Anathema asked him, Aziraphale's briefing apparently finished.

Crowley gave her a tired stare before shrugging slightly and pulling his shirt over his head. He couldn't stop the hiss of pain brought on by the fabric dragging over his back, but no one said a thing.

"Charming, isn't it?" he said with mock cheer as he turned away from her.

He'd seen it already, that morning. He still wasn't willing to look at his wings, frankly his back was worse enough. The bloody wounds in his shoulder blades brought on by the last nightmare weren't exactly healed, but instead covered by shiny new skin that looked as if it had been burned. There were dark tendrils snaking out from them under his skin, spiderwebbing and creating an almost frostlike pattern creeping down his back and up over his shoulders. They were achey, and burned in a freezing sort of way , and he was glad it seemed to be spreading slowly. He was in no rush to find out what might happen when they reached something a human body generally considered essential for survival.

Anathema was staring at the patterns closely, but she didn't touch them - a fact for which Crowley was infinitely grateful. "And...your wings?"

He glanced at Aziraphale for confirmation, and the angel only shook his head slightly. "Not much different. I'd rather not bring them out."

"Sure, of course," Anathema was already back to her spot on the floor, pulling a few more things out of the box.

Crowley took that as his cue to gingerly pull his shirt back over his head. He sat down on the sofa and took up his usual post of leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. His usual lounging wasn't really an option at this point. Aziraphale took a seat beside him, reaching over to grasp one of his hands tightly. His hand was warm, very warm, but maybe that was only because Crowley's always felt frozen.

"There isn't a lot I can do outright, I'm afraid," she said after another minute, pulling out an old medallion on a thin chain. "Like this: repels demons when it's being worn, so it probably won't be great for a demon to wear it."

"Not really my style anyway," Crowley offered nonchalantly, and Aziraphale gave the softest of scoffs.

"Blessings would also usually be helpful, but again, maybe not for you."

"Probably not," Crowley agreed easily, not at all conveying his disappointment in the direction this conversation was heading, despite the fact he had been quite sure this was exactly how it would play out.

"You could destroy the one who did this to you," Newt supplied, seemingly eager to share any knowledge he'd attained in the last weeks. "That's the best way to remove curses and the like."

Anathema gave him the slightest of exasperated looks, and he shrugged sheepishly. "He's right," she said after a moment. "It's the best way to get results, but certainly not the safest. I was only going to suggest it as a last resort."

"We figured as much," Aziraphale sighed deeply, not nearly as good as Crowley at hiding his disappointment. "I had just hoped that maybe..."

"I know. I'm sorry." And the thing was, Anathema did sound sorry, an emotion Crowley wasn't sure was entirely warranted. "I think she's drawing energy from you, which is the reason for your symptoms. There are probably others as well, that's what would help make her so powerful."

Crowley frowned in thought, considering the entourage that always seemed to accompany her. "Could be. They seem a lot more willing than me, though."

"Just another variable that makes her stronger. Your resistance is likely what's making it worse for you."

"So...if we eliminate some of her subordinates first, she'll become weaker as well?" Aziraphale asked, and Crowley was slightly shocked at the determination in his tone.

"If my theory is correct, yes."

"Right, right..." Aziraphale seemed lost in thought for a moment before abruptly changing topics. "I hope it's not too much to ask that you could do us that other favour?"

"Of course," Anathema was already gesturing to Newt to help her roll up the throw carpet, so she could begin marking the floor with chalk.

"Thank you," he gave Crowley's hand a small squeeze before standing up. "I'll go and get the Water."

Newt waited for him to leave before glancing at Crowley. "He seems a touch more worked up about all this than you are."

"Heart on his sleeve, that one." Usually.

"So why can't you do this yourselves?" Newt asked instead, watching Anathema draw her symbols onto the floor with no small amount of unease clear on his face. "Seems weird angels and demons wouldn't be able to summon one another."

"We can." Crowley was in no mood to be having this conversation with a human he barely knew, but he also felt he owed it to them, considering the favour they were doing - and the amount of potential danger they were putting themselves in for near-strangers. Witnessing the almost-Apocalypse in the same place had a way of bringing people together, apparently. "But we can usually tell when one of us is the one doing the summoning ahead of time. We want this one to be a surprise, and humans always make it a surprise."

"Huh...interesting," Newt said eventually, seemingly unsure whether that was something he actually found interesting or not. "I've never done this before."

"Really? Couldn't tell."

"And we're contacting this other guy because...?"

"Can't summon anyone without a name. Who better to ask than another high-ranking demon?"

Aziraphale returned with a small, clear bottle, and left it on the table on the opposite side of the room before taking his place beside Crowley again.

"You seem remarkably at ease with all of this, considering..." he said after awhile, watching Anathema finish with the chalk and Newt start to place out candles at her word.

"Like I said, we remember some things," she stood up and brushed off her skirt. "And this isn't my first summoning."

"Might be your most unpleasant one, though. He's a real prick." Crowley pulled himself to his feet - relying a little more heavily on both Aziraphale and the arm of the couch than he might have liked - before grabbing the shopping bag and pulling out the large water guns he'd requested. "We definitely need these, though." He aimed a gun at each of them in turn, ignoring the pain that the movement sent radiating across his back and down his arms. And for the first time in days, he felt the slightest trace of a genuine grin on his face.

"This is going to be great."