Summary: The prophecies of Agnes Nutter were indeed nice and accurate, however the first volume was always meant to deal with the events up to and including averting Armageddon and no further. There never was a prophecy about choosing their faces wisely so the switch didn't happen. Can Aziraphale and Crowley survive their trials without it? A story featuring powerful Aziraphale and Crowley surviving holy water injuries.
Trial By Water
The prophecies of Agnes Nutter were indeed nice and accurate, however the first volume was always meant to deal with the events up to and including averting Armageddon and no further. Not to mention, the gift of prophecy only extended to the events happening on Earth, so, like any reasonable witch would, she assumed that the events tied to the Apocalypse ended when it was averted. And besides, if an angel and a demon were looking after themselves for six millennia, they could be expected to continue to do so.
As it happens, that was the only time in her life when Agnes Nutter was actually wrong. Which was too bad, really, because they would have appreciated some warning.
III
Unforgivable. Right there in the job description.
Aziraphale's heart was breaking at having to deny Crowley's desperate plea but he couldn't simply turn his back on Heaven and everything it stood for. He could still make this right. But for now he could do nothing to help the hurt emanating from the demon. Except, perhaps, for one thing. He poured all his love into what he was about to say.
"I forgive you."
A demon was granted angelic forgiveness. The universe shifted just a little bit.
III
Crowley was terrified. Don't get him wrong. He knew from the start this whole thing could very well end with his own execution. Hell wasn't exactly known for playing nice, so coming to terms with the possible consequences was a sad necessity. What terrified him right now was Hell's apparent cooperation with Heaven.
That wasn't supposed to happen. Heaven was supposed to be all cool politeness and strongly worded notes and expressing extreme disappointment. That was the reason he dared to urge Aziraphale to cooperate on this. It was supposed to pose a risk only to himself.
Still, there was a good chance Heaven was simply humouring Hell by providing them with means to kill demons, which, he imagined, wasn't something they were strongly opposed to under any circumstances anyway.
He stepped closer to the bathtub, knowing there was no escaping this and seeing no need to prolong the execution. Then again, nobody said he couldn't go out with a - well splash as the case may be, doing something as un-demonic as possible.
Which was why, for the first time since his Fall, he focussed his mind on Her.
Oh Lord, I know we aren't exactly on speaking terms, but Aziraphale is still yours. Don't let him suffer for wanting to protect your creation.
With that he threw himself into the bathtub, making sure to make as big a splash as possible. It burned.
The universe shifted just a little bit more.
III
"Shut your stupid mouth and die already."
For some reason Aziraphale couldn't help but be stuck on the thought that it was really extremely impolite of Gabriel and that this was not an example an archangel should be setting. Oh, there was the matter of his impending demise, of course, but he had to concede that it was a risk he knew he was taking when they concocted this plan with Crowley. But surely there was no reason to abandon good form?
Even if his existence might be foredoomed at this point, he refused to abide by such an ill-mannered request.
"I don't believe I can comply at present. Wouldn't you say that this entire situation is rather unbecoming?" he said firmly, quite shocked by his own boldness.
A look of surprise passed through Gabriel's face before being once again replaced by his unfaltering smile.
Then a few things happened at once.
It occurred to Aziraphale that the archangels talking about cooperation might mean exchanging hellfire for holy water and that Crowley was in terrible danger.
Sandalphon grabbed his arms, pushing him in the direction of the flames and Gabriel cried out, quickly followed by Sandalphon's grip loosening as he made a sound of pain himself.
For a second, Aziraphale stood inches from the raging hellfire, looking around without comprehension.
Gabriel and Sandalphon fell to their knees just as the hellfire flared up briefly before being smothered with the heavenly blaze that appeared out of nowhere. Then the fire shrunk into a familiar form that Aziraphale recognised with no small amount of guilt.
Still, he noted in satisfaction, if he were to be punished, this seemed to be a much more appropriate approach. After all, giving away the sword that was now lying before him with as much ostentation as a melee weapon could muster, was his first transgression.
For a very long while nothing happened. It was quiet, save for the soft crackling of the flames on the sword. Nobody seemed inclined to move and eventually Aziraphale was forced to acknowledge that there was a chance his own punishment might be delayed by the virtue of the other celestials present being currently incapable of taking any decisive action, their gaze shifting with uncertainty from him to the sword on the ground and back.
Which, of course, meant that he possibly had a moment to do the one final thing he thought he wouldn't be able to. Gathering his courage, he looked at Gabriel and smiled politely.
"I am terribly sorry to change the agenda for the day but if it's not too much of a bother, while you are busy here, I'll just pop out for a jiffy." With that he bent down to pick up the sword that shone brighter as soon as it touched his hand. The angel couldn't help but marvel at the comfortable warmth that spread through him as he held it again. "Right. I'll be going then."
The announcement was met with silence as the stunned archangels watched him turn on a heel and march toward the lift, holding the flaming sword that he could apparently summon at will.
It should be noted that that marked the first time in the history of creation that Gabriel reached the conclusion that he might have miscalculated a situation a little bit.
III
As a general rule, angels were not supposed to feel hatred. They were, more often than not, quite proficient at disdain and could very possibly be textbook examples of scorn but hatred required too much passion to even be contemplated. Still, be it through a personality quirk or the company he was keeping, Aziraphale could confidently state there was one thing he absolutely hated, Unfortunately for him, the thing in question happened to be improvising, which was exactly what he needed to do now that the lift doors were opening to the one place he never felt particularly curious about.
If he felt any hesitation, he did his best not to let it show too much as he stepped out. (He actually felt a lot, if he were being honest with himself, which he was very much trying not to be. After all, lying to oneself should be easy when you have a history of lying to the Almighty.)
If his thoughts had not been, at that very moment, thoroughly occupied with worry, he would have perhaps made a note of how utterly claustrophobic the place was. Which didn't, of course, mean it seemed any less so at present, only that his focus was dedicated to the more pressing matter of the place being practically impossible to navigate (by design, of course. While Aziraphale would never be particularly interested in knowing this, Lucifer was quite proud of how his little hobby of infernal development turned out. Then again, it might not be saying much, given the abundance of pride he took in every action.)
Faced with the conundrum of not knowing where to go next, it was almost with relief that he registered a group of demons approaching him. He considered how to proceed for a moment.
"Ah, hello," he greeted, eliciting some profound confusion. "I don't suppose you'd be so kind as to point me to the current location of the demon Crowley?"
"Now, do we have a little angel lost here?" One of the demons present taunted. Aziraphale frowned, reaching the unfortunate conclusion that the manners of the demons were severely lacking. It wasn't, of course, that he expected any pleasant welcome but it would be only appropriate to return a greeting before moving on to hostility.
"I- I wouldn't say lost, exactly" he responded a touch nervously, determined to move on. "It could hardly be considered that given that I haven't had a chance to really go anywhere yet. Still, it would be just peachy it you could spare a moment-"
The demon speaking previously cackled. It really was extremely boorish of them.
"How about we play a little game of Roast the Angel instead?" he growled, stepping between the angel and the closed lift doors (Heaven was very insistent about the doors closing as swiftly as possible - something about the smell of sulphur lingering otherwise. While Hell would be very surprised to learn they had an official position on the matter, there was actually a stack of properly filed paperwork stating that they concurred, for the sheer inconvenience it caused for everyone involved. Curiously enough, a copy, with the scent of rotten eggs more intense than anything ever detected in the lift, had found itself on Gabriel's desk.)
With a certain discomfort Aziraphale was forced to conclude that the group seemed to be advancing, having cut off his only way back. Two of the demons were now holding wisps of hellfire in their palms.
He took a deep breath.
"This is quite uncalled for. I'm certain if you stop to think about it you will realise there are much better ways of resolving the situation"
Unfortunately they didn't seem to see the reason and for the second time that day Aziraphale found himself close enough to hellfire that he felt the heat radiating from it, reaching for his very essence.
"Nah, I think this suits us just fine. 'Sides, there's no hurry anyway. The traitor's trial should be over by now."
This just wouldn't do. Aziraphale held his sword higher, trying to enforce some barrier between himself and the demons. Regrettably, being surrounded does come with the unfortunate fact that enemies are able to reach you from several angles. Opening all of his eyes, he could clearly see another hellfire-wielding demon approaching him from the side.
A quick scan of the dreary surroundings reminded him of the complaints Crowley often voiced regarding the ever-present leaking plumbing being one of the inescapable nuisances of Hell. Aziraphale might not have been particularly fond of improvising but he had once been a trained soldier and knew how to work with what little advantage he had.
Mindful not to let his guard drop, he kept his eyes trained on the advancing demons while simultaneously glancing at the ceiling, delivering a blessing to the water in the pipes. There was a soft hiss as the water, purified and sanctified, bit into the pipes.
Holy water does not dilute. Dilution is impossible by its very nature as it sanctifies that which it touches. If what it touches is more water, it simply results in a greater amount of holy water, a few drops able to sanctify a whole reservoir. Or, as the case may be, the small amount directly above an angel who happened to be present in Hell, rushing through the pipes, creating more in a chain reaction, seeking any opening, biting into the infernal pipes, widening any already existing leak.
Screams erupting in the distance didn't rob Aziraphale of his focus. After all, those were probably to be expected, being where he was. He readjusted his hold on the sword, focusing on the only remaining demon, lucky enough to escape the flaming blade and the annihilation dripping from above.
"I really do wish we could have avoided such disagreeable measures. I don't suppose I could persuade you to be more reasonable than your companions?" Frantic nodding from the demon flattened against the wall filled him with some hope. "I would very much like you to tell me where I can find the demon Crowley."
The demon shakily pointed in the direction of one of the corridors. He didn't even register the added insult to injury of the angel thanking him as he was too busy sliding to the floor, narrowly missing the nearby puddle of holiness.
III
Having once worked with celestial bodies Crowley was very aware that time was more pliable than everyone tended to assume. You stick around black holes enough and you can't help picking up a few tricks when it comes to locally stretching time and slowing it down almost to a standstill. It wasn't, therefore, all that shocking when what seemed a relatively quick death when put to test on someone else a moment ago, now seemed to stretch into long minutes.
Crowley felt the burn of the water touching him, angry and sudden, as if rubbing hot peppers onto the most delicate tissues but instead of expected oblivion of his eventual demise the time seemed to move forward somehow. He wasn't fooling himself with the hope that it was anything else but his own perception playing tricks on him but it was an odd feeling to have this unexpected moment after this final step.
The burn of the water reached deeper and deeper, as if biting into his very essence, viciously tugging at his true form, pain spreading from every point of contact. He gripped the edges of the tub, body arching as the next wave of agony hit, gritting his teeth to prevent any cry of pain from escaping. Hell loved cries of pain and Crowley wasn't about to give them that last satisfaction.
It would be over soon anyway. He just needed to find something to focus on until then.
He only hoped Aziraphale was safe. He could deal with the end of his own existence as long as the angel got out of it.
A sudden commotion by the entrance broke through the overwhelming burning sensation as he awaited his end. It was odd, the way his blood ran cold even as he was on the verge of burning away, at the sight of Aziraphale in the middle of Hell, calling his name. Was that what their sides had in mind? To execute them together, forcing the angel to witness Crowley's death before facing his own?
There were no bounds of Hell's cruelty but he suddenly wished he had dissolved sooner to at least spare the angel the sight.
But there was something odd about the angel striding into the chamber. As he stepped inside Crowley could see the flaming sword matched by the furious blaze in the eyes of the Heavenly Warrior. This was the Angel of the Eastern Gate, ready for battle, more than prepared to deal with anything and everything Hell could possibly throw at him. No point creating a guard that couldn't protect the gate. From the entire forces of Hell if necessary.
Sound drifted to Crowley again, making it through the insistent ringing in his ears. Aziraphale was calling his name once more, with horrified urgency and became, if possible, even more terrifying.
The demons present in the execution chamber only a moment ago scattered, leaving only Beelzebub on their throne. Loyalty was not very popular among the Fallen. Obvious, given the reason they Fell in the first place.
Apparently paying no mind to Beelzebub, Aziraphale quickly made his way to the bathtub, concern now shining clearly in his eyes and leaned down, picking Crowley out of the water. In his dazed state, the demon could not quite comprehend how it was possible when it simply had to be his own demise that was being stretched in his mind.
"I won't allow you to harm him," the angel spoke clearly, with uncharacteristic steel in his voice.
The Prince of Hell doesn't keep such a title by the inability to adjust to a situation and choose their battles.
"Then keep him. Hizzz sentence wazzz to be dunked in the tub. It'zzz been done so get him out of my zzzight. " That had been blatantly untrue but nobody dared to argue the point.
"Very well then. I trust you shall leave us in peace?"
"Juzzzt get out of here!"
Nobody tried to stop the angel as he turned around, cradling Crowley in his arms. Nobody dared to.
Throughout the depths of Hell cries still sounded as the water kept eroding the pipes.
III
The door in the lift always closed fast but for Aziraphale it couldn't close fast enough as he was looking at it, rigidly holding the demon in his arms. When it finally did, with a soft clang, the sound seemed to unbelievably reverberate in the small space.
Then again, it might have just been his imagination and hyper-awareness of his surroundings. They were out of Hell. He could focus on Crowley now.
The poor demon didn't look too well. Aziraphale miracled a thick towel around him, hoping it would soak up any remaining drops of the holy water but what damage it could do was already done.
He supposed he should be grateful that at least Crowley's face and hands didn't get submerged but other than that… What skin was visible from under the clothing was unnaturally white and waxen with a suggestion of not-quite developed blisters. The demon's breathing was shallow and while he did seem to be looking at Aziraphale, there was something terrifyingly absent in that look.
And he was silent. So dreadfully silent and still. The demon who was always moving, as if unable to sit still for ten seconds, always with a quip ready at the tip of his forked tongue, no matter how inappropriate the situation, was silent and still in Aziraphale's arms.
The journey up seemed to be taking forever, as if Hell itself was dragging the lift down as it was trying to pull itself up to the ground level, and Aziraphale was getting more and more frantic, cataloguing each sign of injury he could see and counting the horribly uneven breaths.
"Please, just hold on, my dear. We'll be out of there in two shakes. Everything is going to be just fine," he kept repeating softly, whether to reassure Crowley or himself he couldn't really tell.
The demon's lips were so pale they were practically white and was it just Aziraphale or were his eyes losing focus even more?
When the lift finally arrived on the ground floor, he stepped out of it quickly, already planning the quickest way to get Crowley somewhere safe, eyes trained on the demon save for the quick glances to see where he was going. Then he stilled.
Gabriel and Michael were standing in the lobby, eyes focussed on the lift he had just stepped out of.
For the briefest moment Aziraphale froze, panic overwhelming him. They were obviously waiting for him. Which, perhaps, shouldn't be surprising given the manner in which he'd left Heaven. But he couldn't let them capture him again, now, not when he had Crowley with him. He could, theoretically, miracle the demon to safety but that was risky when he was in such a precarious state and with Aziraphale gone he wouldn't have anyone to heal him. Aziraphale didn't want to think of the odds of Crowley managing that by himself.
"Ah, Aziraphale, there you are!" Gabriel greeted jovially as if he had forgotten the circumstances under which they'd last seen each other.
Did he have any chance of fighting off two archangels? Theoretically, he supposed, it was possible. He was armed with a celestial weapon and while it had been a while, he did get some practice not an hour earlier. He would have to focus on Michael first, they were always the more skillful warrior, but if he got close enough and was quick about it- But none of it was possible while he was holding Crowley in his arms. He wouldn't be able to even unsheathe the sword, let alone wield it. Perhaps against Gabriel alone who always relied more on sheer strength rather than finesse but two against one…
Forcing himself to appear calm, Aziraphale made his way through the lobby. Maybe if he tried talking to them he could buy them some time or at the very least see a proper opening. He didn't need much…
"Gabriel, Michael," Aziraphale acknowledged, trying to assess his position in the lobby. He was still too exposed. He would need a place where Crowley could be protected behind him should a fight break out.
"We haven't quite finished your disciplinary meeting before you left," Gabriel pushed on with an unnervingly cheerful expression.
"Yes, of course." The space was too open, all straight lines, just the active escalators on the one side and the exit doors on the other, with the archangels on the way. Maybe if he could-
"We believe you should be immediately informed of your punishment," Michael announced, watching Aziraphale's movements like a hawk. No doubt they were preparing as well. In this space they had the obvious advantage and turning their backs to the escalators was too much risk. "After all, it is only proper that you face the consequences for your insubordination and consorting with the enemy."
Aziraphale held Crowley a bit more tightly. He would face the inevitable but he just wished he could ensure the demon's safety first.
"Naturally," Aziraphale made another step forward only for Gabriel to step back, moving closer to Michael.
"Principality Aziraphale," Michael announced with a carefully controlled voice of someone wishing very much they were somewhere else, "you are hereby banished for your transgressions. You are henceforth forbidden to return to Heaven, forced to lead your existence on Earth until such time that it ceases to exist."
"If you could allow me to-" Aziraphale blinked. "You are banishing me to Earth?"
Michael nodded, a certain nervousness now apparent in their pose as Gabriel took another step back to stand behind them "Effective immediately. I trust that given your current company you don't intend to appeal this sentence?"
Aziraphale had never heard of the possibility of appeal when Heaven dealt its sentences, let alone Michael offering anyone the option but he was not about to voice the fact.
"Of- Of course, Archangel Michael. I fully accept the punishment."
Before he could take the next step, both archangels nodded and hurried to the escalator. Aziraphale looked at their disappearing forms in disbelief before shaking himself out of the stupor and quickly stepping out of the Entrance building back to Earth he was now apparently banished to.
III
One could suppose that the fact that a spacious traditional black cab happened to be just outside, waiting for the next passenger, was a very fortunate coincidence. Of course, that would mean one was not aware of just how desperately an angel who just stepped out of the modern building that humans could only somewhat see and tended to quickly forget about was.
At first Robbie the driver was rather surprised by the sight of an unassuming man holding another grown man with no apparent strain, which quickly graduated to being alarmed when the man being held seemed to be injured and not particularly lucid and the strange man in pale clothing asked to be driven to some bookshop rather than the nearest A&E. He was about to voice something on the topic but then the man smiled at him gratefully as he held the door open for them and he couldn't quite recall what was so odd about the situation.
He did, however, recall that the man seemed to be worried about something the whole way but he still wished him a wonderful day as he exited the car.
And it was, because the most memorable thing that happened that day was that when Robbie bought a scratchcard during his lunch break as usual, he discovered he won the top prize.
III
Crowley wasn't quite sure what reality was anymore. He was sure he still had some grasp on it when he saw Aziraphale entering the execution chamber but then things were becoming harder and harder to comprehend.
Had Aziraphale really got him out of that bathtub before the water destroyed him or was that simply an idea his mind was desperately grasping at in his final moments? The pain from the water burns was still present, a surprisingly grounding element within this experience but even that was changing from excruciating to something he could no longer feel. Were parts of him dissolved already?
But Aziraphale was with him, a steady and comforting presence even if he could not be sure if he wasn't imagining the angel's holding him altogether. He thought he was being carried but he simultaneously felt parts of him still burning and couldn't feel the angel's hold.
Nobody ever has a chance to explain how the final moments of being destroyed feel so Crowley didn't exactly have any frame of reference here. But if this was all in his head, why the Heaven would he hallucinate… was that Gabriel's voice? And then, for the briefest moment, he felt like he almost could make sense of everything again when he was suddenly hit with the sounds and smells of London. Their London.
He wanted to say something, he knew he did, but all that escaped his mouth seemed to be a barely audible moan. The-perhaps-real-Aziraphale seemed to be saying something in response but that brief moment of clarity was already drifting away.
III
Allowing your hands to be anything but steady had never helped with anything, be it wielding a sword, holding a quill or repairing an old manuscript. As far as Aziraphale was concerned there was absolutely no advantage to one's hands shaking. But especially not when one was carrying someone one cared about after they had been injured. Which was rather unfortunate because at the moment it was a struggle to convince his hands to afford any steadiness.
He remained relatively composed, focussed on the tasks still ahead of him until the bookshop door closed behind them. Then it became a struggle. How was he to proceed from here? He couldn't begin to imagine how one was supposed to deal with holy water injuries in a demon.
Part of the reason, of course, being that no demon survived the contact with holy water long enough for it to ever be an issue.
That thought spurred him forward. He didn't recall making the decision to go to his bedroom upstairs but he discovered his feet led him there all the same. He miracled a fresh linen cloth over the bed because that seemed like a reasonable thing to do and was altogether easier than any other course of action he could take. Then, as gently as he could, he lowered Crowley onto the bed.
The demon made an indecipherable sound of protest and his eyes seemed to be trying to find focus.
"Please, hold on, my dear," Aziraphale said softly, unsure if the demon was lucid enough to understand the words but hoping to convey the intent with his tone. "I'm going to do my best to help you, I promise."
As he was speaking the angel was desperately scrutinising the demon's state. His clothing was clinging to the burns created as the water soaked through it, what skin was visible was bearing the marks of severe burns as well. Crowley seemed, if possible, even paler than before, his breathing fast and shallow, eyes fully golden with pupils blown so much they almost looked round.
Whatever steps Aziraphale needed to take to heal the demon, he needed to take them now. With a quick gesture he miracled Crowley's clothes away, not even wanting to imagine removing them from the wounds by any other method. Whatever hope he retained that the layers of clothing had protected his friend from the water evaporated immediately.
Crowley started shaking and he couldn't tell if it was from the cold or if he was going deeper into shock. But that only indicated that something needed to be done immediately.
Taking a deep breath he directed a powerful healing miracle at the demon's chest and stomach. The injuries resisted a bit, the holiness protesting at the intervention but with a bit more force added to the miracle it yielded to the angelic power, allowing itself to be absorbed and further fuelling the miracle.
For a few frightful seconds Aziraphale waited for the miracle to take. He almost allowed himself to relax minutely as the injuries started to reverse when Crowley arched on the bed, an anguished cry escaping him.
After the wave of helpless terror at witnessing that, a chilling realisation dawned on Aziraphale. The injuries were slowly reversing, which meant the damaged nerves were restored, still tender, only to be forced to process the damage of the second-degree burns.
He grasped the demon's thankfully uninjured hand, blinking as his eyes brimmed with tears.
"I'm so sorry, my darling. Just a little bit longer. It'll be over soon," he soothed through his tears. Crowley made another sound of distress and seemed to try curling up, which only aggravated his injuries further. His body was trembling and sweat appeared on his forehead, mixing with the tears pain had drawn from his eyes.
Then the demon's form finally relaxed, the delicate, newly healed skin contrasting with the areas not yet healed. He would need to approach healing them more carefully, focussing on smaller areas at a time. And hope that Crowley would eventually forgive him the suffering he put him through.
III
Crowley not so much drifted back to reality as it kept nudging him like a particularly insistent cat until he was prepared to acknowledge it. His body felt odd, extremely exhausted and sensitive. But sensitive in that strange, somewhat familiar way-
His whole skin felt as if it was slightly too small and tingling in a way that reminded him vaguely of the time he decided to give shedding his skin a try. It seemed easy enough when regular snakes did it and it was appealing, the idea that one could just get out of the old skin, roughed by the unpleasantness of Hell. What the idea resulted in was absolutely terrifying three days without the ability to see anything clearly or to assume any other form. He had never felt so exposed and vulnerable in his life and swore to never repeat the experience if he could help it, no matter how amazing the resultant exfoliation effect.
And yet, here he was again, somehow feeling the insistent newness of his own skin, which was too sensitive as if still learning which signals he actually wanted to process. At least he could still see - he blinked, remembering he still had the eyelids, his eyes gaining more focus.
Aziraphale was sitting at the edge of the bed (the realisation that he was in fact in bed, and unfamiliar one, led to a quick inhale and flicking of the tongue, catching the familiar scents of the bookshop), Crowley's right hand clasped in both of his.
The angel seemed worried about something and had a faraway look in his eyes.
"Azrf'l?" Crowley managed, his throat surprisingly sore.
The angel's change of focus was instantaneous. "Oh, Crowley! You're awake! How are you feeling, my dear?"
"Dunno. Odd? What happened, angel? The last thing I remember was getting hit on the head in the park. After that it's pretty woozy. I think I had a dream about being executed by holy water."
The angel stilled, his hand grasping Crowley's a bit tighter. "That wasn't a dream, my dear."
For a second Crowley stared at him without comprehension. "Which part? Because I'm pretty obviously not dead."
The angel paled and his eyes grew glassy. Crowley swore internally.
"No, thankfully it didn't quite come to that," the angel said, as if carefully choosing his words. "Though it certainly wasn't for the lack of trying on Hell's part."
The demon swallowed. Something odd was going on here. Maybe he should try a different approach. "How did I get here then?"
Judging by Aziraphale's expression this wasn't the right direction to go.
"I- I brought you here. After your trial."
"From Hell?"
"Indeed. I'm afraid you recall the location of your trial and punishment rather accurately."
"I recall being dunked in holy water."
Silence. Then, just above the audible register, the angel whispered, "I'm so sorry I got there so late, my dear."
Now everything made even less sense.
"You make it sound as if you got there too late to prevent them from throwing me into the holy water," Crowley tried to make his tone light, to make the angel see the reason and have his frown disappear. His words, however, seemed to have the directly opposite effect as Aziraphale's hands trembled.
"I'm afraid I did."
"Not funny, angel."
"I would never joke about this."
"But if you- Then I- I should be dead."
For a moment Aziraphale went absolutely still, looking at him. Then the dam of tears broke as the angel started shaking with sobs.
"Aziraphale?" Crowley tried, attempting to sit up and reach for the angel.
"You so very nearly were. I don't know how it was possible that you survived as long as you did because I certainly was too late to help you. Oh, Crowley, you were so awfully hurt. I have never felt so helpless in my life as I did when I saw you in that tub…"
The tub. Crowley inhaled sharply, a memory suddenly jumping into focus.
"You got me out of it, didn't you?" He frowned. "And then you argued with Beelzebub?"
"I wouldn't call that much of an argument. I informed them that I was getting you out and they didn't seem to have anything against it," the angel defended as Crowley was doing his best to wipe the tears off his cheek. "You remember this?"
"Bits and pieces. I remember it hurt something awful and then everything seemed a bit fuzzy and unreal."
Aziraphale's expression grew absolutely devastated. "It still didn't hurt as much as my attempts to heal you afterwards."
"Wha? What are you talking about, angel?"
Tears rushed to Aziraphale's eyes again which was decidedly not the effect Crowley wanted to achieve.
"You were so terribly injured,' the angel's voice was just above a whisper, a pained note ringing in it. "I hardly knew how to hold you to avoid causing more damage. And still, judging by your reaction, it couldn't have been as bad as my attempts to reverse the injuries. Please, believe me, my dear… If I could think of any way to avoid hurting you so much, I would have."
Crowley blinked, struggling to comprehend what he just heard. "Angel, that was just Hell. Of course I wouldn't let them get the satisfaction of knowing something hurts. Hiding that is normal."
"But don't you see that only makes it worse?" Aziraphale was practically sobbing now. "If you're used to hiding your pain, how horribly did I have to hurt you then?"
"You didn't though. I'm used to hiding it, yeah. But with you I don't have to. My memories of what happened might be a bit fuzzy at the edges but I can assure you that your miracle didn't hurt anywhere near as much as the holy water did. I just feel safe enough around you not to bother hiding it."
Aziraphale inhaled sharply at his words and tried to say something that might or might not have been Crowley's name before pressing his lips to the back of the demon's hand, still holding it firmly even as his own hands trembled.
Crowley tried tightening his own grip a little bit in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. The angel was clearly upset and overwhelmed but he couldn't quite figure out if it was good or bad kind of overwhelmed. He could only hope that the kiss on his hand indicated the former but he had no real way of telling at this point.
What he could do was to try to make the angel a bit less upset by redirecting the conversation to some other topic.
"The main thing is that everything is all right now, yeah? But you still haven't told me how things went in Heaven."
Somehow he had a feeling that the angel going from trembling to completely petrified wasn't a good sign. Aziraphale turned slightly away from him, as if ashamed of something, determinedly focusing his eyes in the corner of the room.
"I- I'm afraid that I didn't quite wait for my trial. I have been encouraged to resolve the problem of my continued existence by myself and then I heard something indicating that you might be in peril… I might have left at that point. I had intended to face the combined consequences once I ensured your safety-"
Crowley sat up, hissing as his still tender skin stretched at the movement, and grabbed Aziraphale's forearm with his free hand. "You can't go back to Heaven, angel! They will- I won't let you!"
"I don't have much choice in the matter, my dear, even if I felt inclined to go," Aziraphale was trying to speak calmly but his voice wavered. "The archangels met with us as we were leaving. My punishment has already been decided. I'm afraid I'm no longer welcome in Heaven."
A chill ran down Crowley's spine as he heard the words.
"They can't! Not to you," he announced desperately, opening himself to the metaphysical planes, practically throwing himself at Aziraphale's brilliant form, searching for any indications of it being tainted with Hell's power.
On the physical plane he felt the angel's arms gently embracing him. Despite his panic Crowley allowed himself to drift fully back into his body. Aziraphale was holding him, whispering into his hair.
"Oh, my dear. No, not like that. Please calm down. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea. I meant what I said quite literally. I have been banished and am not to return to Heaven. Though if I were to risk a guess I would say I might be persona non grata in Hell as well.
Despite himself Crowley managed a soft chuckle. "Yeah, them being utterly terrified of you might get you that. Not that anyone down there would be brave enough to admit that to your face."
"Crowley, this is no joking matter!"
"You have to admit it's just a little bit funny, though. I mean, I'm more than grateful that you got me out of there but I think the way you looked when you entered sealed the deal and prevented anyone from trying to stop you."
"I think they learned their lesson by trying to stop me from reaching you," Aziraphale responded dryly in a way that suddenly made Crowley recall the vision the angel was in Hell even more vividly. Then he sagged, the intimidating power evaporating from him as if it was never there.
"Aziraphale?"
"I can never go back to Heaven, Crowley." the angel whispered as if the whole weight of that statement only now settled on his shoulders.
Crowley was torn. Of course, as far as he was concerned, keeping Aziraphale as far from the bastards in Heaven as possible was the best imaginable scenario but he could not ignore the pain in the angel's voice at the realisation.
He shifted a bit, pulling the angel closer and enveloping him in a proper hug "Would you even want to go back, though? If you had the option, I mean?"
"I-" Aziraphale hesitated. "Does it matter though? It's a principle of the thing. I am an angel cut away from Heaven. How am I even to come to terms with that?"
"You are an angel no matter what and what a bunch of stuck-up archangels decide has nothing to do with it. You don't have to drag yourself up there to give your reports to prove anything."
The angel made an unspecified sound of acceptance.
"Besides, not having to deal with that bunch again? Good riddance I'd say."
"This is a punishment, Crowley."
"Mhm, if you say so. For my money, if you looked up there as scary as you did down in Hell, they just wanted to save face before anyone saw them hiding from you in some corner."
"You're talking about archangels!"
"I'm talking about a bunch of self-important bastards who were taking advantage of your good will for centuries who happen to be archangels."
"You shouldn't be saying that."
"I'm a demon. What are they gonna do if I disrespect them? Make me Fall?"
"Crowley! This is no joking matter! I almost lost you today."
The demon paused, running his hand down the angel's back. Aziraphale seemed so vulnerable like this, lost and heartbroken.
"I'm sorry, angel. But I promise you, it won't be so bad. You love to be on Earth and you know I'll always be there for you. If you look at this right, they've done you a favour."
"I'm not sure that is quite what they had in mind doing it."
"Not my problem. They gave you up, I get to keep you and the Earth is still here for us to live on. I'd say that's a pretty solid win."
"If you put it like this, I suppose it doesn't seem so bad," Aziraphale allowed, his features relaxing a bit. Crowley grinned at him.
"Glad you think so angel. Want to lie down next to me and stay like that for a bit? We could get up tomorrow and go to the Ritz or something." The demon scooted to the side of the bed making room and patted the spot next to himself invitingly with such an over-the-top entreating expression that the angel had no choice but to smile.
"Excellent idea, my dear."
A few hours later the angel was lying in bed, playing with the slumbering demon's hair, wondering at the new chapter of existence they were now facing.
III
Crowley got the bag of pastries from the passenger seat of the Bentley and quickly made his way to the bookshop door. The sign on it proclaimed that the shop was open, which was odd, as Aziraphale's most generous opening hours should have ended ten minutes earlier.
The demon frowned.
Granted, the shop might not have had all that many eager customers of late (which might or might not be attributed to him encouraging the disgruntled man who lost a bidding war for the Basel edition of 'In Praise of Folly' to Aziraphale to do his best to tarnish the bookshop's reputation online in hopes that the threat of insolvency would convince the owner to sell the book in question - this resulted in a small fall in the number of collectors pestering the angel and if some light soul tarnishing was involved, well, all habits simply died hard).
But none of that explained why Aziraphale would leave the shop open a second longer than necessary. Especially, the demon noted, looking around with growing concern, setting the bag on the desk, when the angel was not in the shop to prevent any potential buyers from browsing.
"Aziraphale?" he called into the shop, utilising all his senses to locate the angel. He had been here recently, his scent still fresh in the air-
"In here!" sounded the response from the back and the demon sagged in response, flipped the sign to closed and strode to the source of the voice, leaving the door to lock itself.
"You left the shop open," Crowley informed him, stepping behind the curtain and into the private space.
Aziraphale was sitting at the table with the sword in front of him. There was an open steaming teapot standing forgotten to the side.
"Oh, did I? I suppose I should close it then," the angel offered distractedly, never tearing his eyes from the sword.
"It's fine. I closed up. Is everything all right, angel?"
"I- I suppose so," Aziraphale responded less than convincingly. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Instead of replying Crowley pulled a second chair for himself and sat down. The sword was sheathed, the ornate scabbard of celestial steel seemed to be glowing with its own light. It warmed up, whenever Aziraphale ran a finger across it, as if preparing for the sword inside bursting into flame at an angel's touch. Once, just once, Aziraphale experimentally grasped the handle and errant flames started dancing along its length.
"The sword causing you trouble?" The demon broke the silence eventually.
"What am I to do with it, Crowley? It symbolises the part of me that I don't want to emphasise. That I never felt comfortable being. I would have given it back but I can't exactly go back to Heaven to do so."
"And you already tried giving it away and it didn't work out all that well."
"Precisely. I suppose I should keep it but then it will be a constant reminder."
Crowley's heart broke at the distraught look on Aziraphale's face. While he could see no contradiction in different sides of who Aziraphale was, the angel himself seemed haunted by the reminders of it. If only the demon could make him understand that it was his choices that always made him who he was.
"It doesn't have to be. It doesn't have to be anything more than it already is - a sword that you'd rather not use but are prepared to, in defence of what you care for."
"Or rather who I care for," the angel sent him a smile.
"Ngk. Right." Crowley cleared his throat. "What I mean is, I could see that thing hanging on your mantel, with fire cracking in the fireplace as you sit with some book and hot cocoa, very much not using it."
"Not that it's not a lovely image but the fireplace in the bookshop had not been in use since at least the fifties, my dear."
"No, you're right, angel. We definitely don't want any open fire in the bookshop. But you know what? We don't have to look to Heaven or Hell for anything. We could get ourselves a nice cottage by the sea with a big garden, lots of space for your books and a fireplace above which you could hang that thing."
"That's a very tempting idea, my love."