There were many words Aziraphale might consider using to try and describe what they were about to do, and "great" certainly wasn't one of them.
He glanced at the encircled symbols on the floor, drawn with precision and a heavy hand to prevent any possibility of a break in the lines. Professionally done, but that was only mildly comforting.
There were candles burning lowly at each vertex on the circle, and Newt was almost finished pouring a line of salt around the sigil. Not entirely as effective as humans would like to believe, but it was still an extra precaution worth taking.
He was immensely worried for the two humans in the room, never mind the fact he was the one who had asked them to do this.
"Perhaps it might be better for you to leave as soon as the summoning is complete?" he had to try, at least.
Newt actually seemed quite willing to take him up on the offer, but Anathema shook her head on behalf of them both. "We'll stay. We might be able to help."
"Damn right. Here: take this, fill it up, get it blessed," Crowley sounded near gleeful as he handed Newt one of the large water guns, and Aziraphale turned his attention to the only person in the room - in the world - he was more anxious for than the humans.
Despite the bravado that did seem to be more genuine now than it had in weeks, Crowley was looking awful - sagging shoulders, trembling hands, a slight sheen of sweat across a sickly pale face despite the fact Aziraphale knew his skin was ice cold. He couldn't see the demon's eyes hidden behind dark lenses, and desperately wished he didn't feel the need for them. It would be so much easier to know how he was really doing without them.
But, that was probably the exact reason he was wearing them, wasn't it?
Regardless, Aziraphale would have much preferred Crowley go and rest rather than prepare to summon one of his old colleagues.
And again, he had to try.
"Crowley, dear," he placed a gentle hand on Crowley's arm to stop him from crossing the small room and hand the next gun to Anathema. She, at least, seemed a little relieved at the interception. "We can handle this ourselves. You don't need to be here, if you'd prefer to -"
"Are you kidding, angel?" Crowley nearly laughed - a sound Aziraphale had been missing desperately, although he wasn't exactly thrilled with the circumstances by which it had been brought about. "This is it! We're going to do something, this is...this is all going to stop."
Newt and Anathema may have missed the slight tremor running through his voice by the end of his sentence, but to Aziraphale he might as well have been crying on the floor of his bedroom again.
"Alright, alright..." he dropped his hand back to his side, and Crowley held the gun out to Anathema expectantly.
"It's protection if nothing else, Book Girl," he added, when she gave him a stare of mild incredulity. "Get Aziraphale to bless it."
She sighed and crossed the room to take it from him. "You're probably right."
Speaking of protection...
"Do you think we should, you know..." Aziraphale first pointed to Crowley, then himself, back and forth a couple of times. "Switch again? Just in case."
Crowley opened his mouth as if he were about to reply, then paused a moment and closed it again. "No, I don't think so," he said after a moment. "We'll be fine."
There was frustration quickly welling up to join the knot of worry in the pit of Aziraphale's stomach. Crowley could pretend all he liked that he was fine, but he wasn't fooling anyone - least of all the angel. It was one thing to pretend, but did he have to be quite so blasé in regards to his own safety?
"I don't think it would hurt to -"
"That's where you're wrong, though, isn't it?" Crowley suddenly snapped, turning to face Aziraphale, although his body language in no way reflected the edge his voice had suddenly taken on. Nevertheless, the two humans quickly excused themselves to go and find a tap to fill their assigned weapons.
"I'm sorry?" Aziraphale certainly hadn't been expecting that reaction.
Crowley already looked sheepish, and he pulled his glasses off to run a hand over his face. "No, I'm sorry, angel. It's just...I'll handle this, okay?"
Aziraphale moved forwards to close the short distance between them, placed a gentle hand on each side of Crowley's face and took advantage of the opportunity for eye contact without a darkened barrier between them.
"I want to help you," he said firmly, but made every effort to ensure the worry and sincerity and care he was feeling came across in his words as well. He'd already realised why Crowley had reacted as he did, after his last comment, but it didn't change anything. "Perhaps some reprieve in another body would do you some good?"
And Crowley had maintained that sought-after eye contact, up until then. At those words he dropped his gaze, sighed heavily and his body seemed to wilt just a little more. "I wouldn't ask you to take this on, Aziraphale. I couldn't."
"You don't need to ask. I'm already offering."
Crowley placed a hand over one of the angel's still cupping his cheek, and blinked fiercely a couple of times before forcing a small, tired grin back onto his face and meeting Aziraphale's earnest gaze once again. "No, you should be at your best for this, just in case. I'm fine."
But all Aziraphale could see was was the tremble in an already-wavering smile, the tremors in an icy hand still covering his own. And pain, and fear, and trepidation reflected in entirely yellow eyes that seemed almost hesitant to meet his own now. All of those things, yes, but he also saw the smallest sliver of something else, and that was what hurt the most.
Hope. He saw hope in Crowley's eyes, and he wanted to weep at the thought that it had been missing for so long.
And to think he'd wanted to take that away from him, send him off and let others lead the charge in something that affected no one more than him.
"Alright, love, alright," he wouldn't have even noticed his choice of words if Crowley's eyes hadn't gone wide. Aziraphale was, suddenly, intensely aware of how close they were standing together. Just a couple inches apart, really. He was about to keep speaking, to begin rambling until some sort of explanation manifested itself from his jumbled words, but in the same moment he reconsidered.
In for a penny...
Aziraphale closed the small gap between them, until there wasn't one at all as he pressed a small kiss to Crowley's frozen lips. It was short and gentle and he pulled away almost as quickly as he'd gone in, and the demon didn't even have time to react. It had been nothing, really, a barely-there brush of lips - but it was exhilarating, and it was right, and it was everything.
"We'll do this together, yes?"
"Y-yes," Crowley finally seemed to find his voice again, hoarse though it was.
Aziraphale gave him a warm smile, and finally withdrew his hands. "Oh look, sweetheart. At last, a little colour in your cheeks."
Fifteen minutes later - after a quick blessing of a couple water guns (somehow not the strangest thing he'd ever blessed, but still up there), and a few extra minutes for Crowley to compose himself in the other room, four of them were once again standing beside a circle of chalk and lowly flickering candles.
"Right, make the call, and then maybe just step back a little," Crowley instructed, sounding not unlike a commander directing his troops.
If the commander were one to wear Valentino shades and his troops were only armed with supermarket Holy Water guns, anyway.
"'Step back a little', as if I'd need the reminder," Newt mumbled, holding his gun close to him like some sort of lifeline.
But, Aziraphale supposed, if worst came to worst it might be exactly that.
Anathema was far more composed, her own gun leaning against the couch, and she simply nodded and approached the circle. She held an old, weather-beaten book in her hands, and began to read from it in a low voice. Newt kept glancing between her and the circle nervously.
"Would you like to take the lead on this, or shall I?" Aziraphale asked, from where he and Crowley were standing several feet behind Anathema.
"I've got it," Crowley did sound confident, and as always Aziraphale was impressed with the way he always seemed ready and willing to stand up to his fellow kind.
Anathema finished the final line in the passage of the book and smoke began to rise from the chalk ring. She backed up, just in time for the ring to burst into a high pillar of flame. To his credit, Newt only jumped a little, and he held his gun firmly when Anathema placed a comforting hand on his arm as she took her place beside him. Aziraphale had only witnessed this sort of demon summoning a few times throughout the centuries, but Crowley looked near positively bored and so he assumed everything was happening correctly.
"Good luck," he whispered, hands clasped together tightly as the fire began to die down. Somehow, it hadn't singed the roof at all. Crowley gave him a thumbs up as he stepped forward, before straightening his back as much as he could and sliding his hands into his pockets.
The fire went out completely, although it took a few more moments for the smoke to clear. It went straight up, as though in some sort of funnel, before disappearing as it touched the roof as though it were going right through it.
And once it did clear, Aziraphale was somewhat surprised to see a demon he recognized - he didn't know many, after all. But this one was dreadful, with filthy blond hair and a face covered in sores, wearing a dirty trench-coat and an expression so filled with hatred it might just discorporate a lesser demon on the spot.
So he was proud that Crowley was nothing of the sort.
"Hey, Hastur, hello. So glad you could make it," Crowley said easily, very much in the tone of someone who was greeting a casual friend.
"Crowley," the other demon spit out by way of greeting, frown deepening even further as he glanced around the room to see Aziraphale and the two humans. "What the devil are you playing at?"
"We've just got a few questions, that's all. A few questions and then you'll be on your unmerry way, pinky promise," Crowley held up a hand to imitate the gesture. "Like, figuratively, of course. Because you're in an inescapable sigil, and I'm not, so I won't be sticking my hand in there. You understand."
"Why would I tell you anything?" Hastur turned black eyes back to Crowley.
"What part of 'inescapable sigil' do you not understand?" Crowley shrugged, then continued when Hastur didn't reply. "We just need a name, maybe a few, and then you can go."
And there was the part that still unsettled Aziraphale. While Crowley had insisted it would cause more problems to kill a high-ranking demon than to just make a deal and let them go, the angel still wasn't entirely convinced. Especially now that he saw who they were dealing with - although he had backed down quickly enough when told to do so, Hastur had still been the only one at the trial who was still willing to try and destroy Crowley.
"...and in that case..." Crowley was still talking, and Aziraphale turned his thoughts back to the matter at hand. "My friends here would douse you with so much Holy Water you wouldn't even have time to scream," he gestured behind him, towards Newt who raised the gun dutifully, and Anathema who seemed more intrigued by the entire interaction than anything else, but she still nodded and picked up her own weapon. "Or maybe you would. Ligur certainly did. Sounds a little humiliating either way though, doesn't it?" Crowley whistled lowly. "Not a great way to go."
Hastur regarded the other demon silently for a long moment, noticeably unnerved now despite the fact his glower didn't fade in the least. "Ask your questions."
"We're looking for another demon. Masquerades around as a human woman. Red eyes, an awful lot of teeth, a penchant for knives," Crowley may as well have been discussing the weather for all the nonchalance in his voice, and once again Aziraphale felt a swell of pride in his chest. Crowley was doing well, very well, he'd had no need to worry about -
The dark chuckle from the demon in the circle stops his thoughts in their tracks. "Are you serious, Crowley?"
"Yes?" Crowley's voice had lost the slightest trace of confidence, as that hadn't been the reaction any of them were expecting. Newt hefted his gun a little higher, and Anathema raised hers in both hands for the first time since the summoning had started.
Hastur glanced at the four of them again, one at a time, with renewed interest. "Who'd she get this time?"
"Hey - I'm the one asking questions, here. So -"
"It was you, wasn't it?" Hastur smiled, seemed genuinely delighted as he considered the idea. "The angel looks fine, and the humans would be dead already. So what is it? You think you're going to stop her? Save yourself?"
"Name, Hastur," Crowley hissed, any appearance of goodwill evaporated like the smoke through the ceiling.
Hastur met his gaze evenly, and stayed quiet. Aziraphale was about to step forward with a few choice words, but someone else beat him to it.
"Listen, you, uh, sir," Newt moved up next to Crowley, aimed his gun level with Hastur's chest. "You'd best answer him, because I will shoot you."
"Now, now," Aziraphale stepped between the two of them in what he hoped only looked like a show of solidarity, rather than making a little more space and a barrier between Crowley and the potentially leaky gun full of Holy Water. He didn't trust the structural integrity of supermarket toys at all. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. He can't help us if he's completely obliterated from existence, now can he? However..." he turned to Hastur, schooled his face into a mix of well-meaning intent and unconcerned apathy and glanced down at the sigil pointedly. "You aren't going anywhere until you do. And we can wait for an awfully long time."
"You can, maybe," Hastur was still grinning as he turned back to Crowley. "But he can't."
"You might be surprised," Crowley's glare was now on par with what the other demon's had been on his arrival.
"No need to get worked up," Hastur suddenly raised his hands in a gesture of lazy surrender, although the frightening gleeful smile didn't disappear. "I'll tell you. Not that it will help, but she's a bit of a...rogue agent. Killing other demons...it's fine that it's you this time, but you aren't the first."
"Just like that?" Aziraphale didn't trust the sudden change of heart for an instant, and judging from the expressions of his companions they all felt quite the same.
Hastur shrugged and lowered his hands. "It doesn't matter. You manage to kill her somehow, or she kills you. Either way, Hell wins."
"Let's hear it then," Crowley crossed his arms, perhaps to try and hide the fact he was beginning to sway the slightest amount. Aziraphale placed a hand on his elbow to steady him, but didn't look away from the other demon.
"I believe she goes by Amabilis, these days."
There was no suggestion of a lie in his voice, but Aziraphale still scoffed. "Is that some kind of joke?"
"I don't like jokes."
"And the others? Her friends?" Crowley asked impatiently.
Hastur supplied four more names without fuss or fanfare. Aziraphale committed them all to memory even though he could hear Anathema scribbling quickly in a notebook behind them.
"Right. If we find out you're lying, you'll end up right back here. And next time, Aziraphale won't stop our gung-ho little human, here," Crowley said, and Newt raised the gun a little higher in response.
"Of course, Crowley," Hastur smiled and nodded placatingly - or perhaps it would have been, if it were anyone else. "Now, the circle?"
"As far as any of us are concerned, this never happened," Crowley added as an apparent afterthought. "Mutually beneficial to us both, wouldn't you say?"
"And we won't be seeing you again, I hope?" Aziraphale knew the threat behind his words wasn't very well concealed, but then again, he certainly hadn't been trying to do so. He stepped forward to break the line with the tip of his shoe, moving slowly enough that Newt and Anathema had plenty of time to aim their weapons.
Hastur nodded slowly, and Aziraphale, grudgingly, smudged away a small section of the circle. He stepped away again, back beside Crowley, but nothing in the room changed and Hastur didn't move.
"You? Unlikely. Him? Definitely not," he directed his gaze towards Crowley one last time. "I can't wait to tell everyone you'll finally be dead within the month."
Crowley just raised an eyebrow before opening his mouth to retort - Heaven forbid he didn't get the last word - but he never got the chance. Hastur raised a hand in what Aziraphale thought was a rather mocking farewell, and Crowley collapsed like a puppet with cut strings even as the other demon dissolved into a pile of writhing maggots, disappearing into the floorboards and another plane both. Aziraphale barely had time to catch Crowley, lowering him to the floor as both the temperature and the light sources in the room started to drop.
"What the - what the fucking fuck was that?!" Newt all but shrieked, water gun now held loosely by his side and eyes locked on the now vacant sigil. Anathema hurriedly tossed her own gun back towards the couch in favour of placing an amulet over his head.
"Should've killed him, should've killed him, should've destroyed him..." Aziraphale muttered frantically, lightly slapping Crowley's cheek in an attempt he knew was likely useless. He paused for half a moment, gave Crowley one last glance before turning towards the two humans. Beside them, the candles around the circle were slowly going out, one by one. The day outside was bright with midday light, though none of it seemed to be penetrating the windows, and the room was already almost completely dark. "You both need to leave, now."
"But -"
"No, you've already done more than enough," he was already on his feet, all but pushing them through the doorway and down the hall, which was also quickly being drained of light. He snapped his fingers, and a glowing orb appeared to hover over their heads. "Get outside, get away from here, and don't take those medallions off."
"We might be able to help -"
"You can't, because I don't know what's happening! Now, please, leave. It will be easier without you to worry about too."
Anathema, thankfully, only nodded and pushed a piece of torn notebook paper into his hand. "Good luck."
Aziraphale shoved the paper into his pocket, watched them both disappear down the hallway for only a moment before turning back towards the living room.
It was completely dark. He snapped his fingers again and another orb appeared in the centre of the room, light already beginning to fade as it faintly lit up the room.
To reveal no one.
"Crowley?" Aziraphale rushed back to the spot where he'd left the demon, now vacant. The room was freezing, he would have been able to see his breath if he hadn't forgotten to actually breathe when he'd found the room empty. "Crowley?!"
He spun back around when a dull thud shook the framed photos back near the entrance of the room, and a third ball of light illuminated the red hair of a figure crumpled against the wall. Aziraphale was at his side in an instant, dropping to his knees and moving to touch him carefully.
But his panic only increased tenfold when his hands went straight through the demon.
"Crowley?" Aziraphale tried again, voice desperate and hands frantic, as they passed through his shoulder, his chest, his face. "Crowley, love, can you hear me?!"
It seemed that no, he could not, as he didn't react to the angel at all, but it was with some tiny amount of relief that Aziraphale noticed he was at least conscious now. He coughed, slightly, and didn't bother to raise a hand and wipe away the small trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. The dark, weblike patterns under his skin were beginning to creep up his neck from under the collar of his shirt.
"Crowley, listen, please try to listen, I don't know what happened but we -" he stopped when Crowley's head suddenly snapped up, hope flooding through him as he switched sentences. "Can you hear me?"
But that hope drained away again just as quickly when he realised Crowley wasn't looking at him at all. Rather, he was looking through him, towards something behind him, fear the likes of which Aziraphale hadn't seen in six thousand years reflected in shining yellow eyes.
He turned to see a figure, lowly illuminated by the orb that hadn't quite yet gone out. Someone he'd never met before, but felt he knew all the same.
Red eyes, an awful lot of teeth, a penchant for knives, probably, given the wicked looking blade held loosely in her hand.
Crowley shrank further back against the wall beside him, and she grinned darkly.
"It's been awhile, hasn't it?"
