Aziraphale's bookshop was more crowded than Crowley ever remembered seeing it. Of course, seeing as how the angel usually scared off all of his potential customers, this was not surprising. And when there were customers, they usually weren't one of Heaven's lackeys and another denizen of Heaven - this one MUCH higher up.

The young angel's name was Sarelil. He was the youngest angel Heaven had to offer. He seemed rather embarrassed by this, like it was his fault God hadn't got around to creating him for a while.

Crowley was pacing, listening intently to Loki's account of the events that had led to the attack on Aziraphale. Occasionally, he would hiss. He had not bothered to winch in his wings. Or put on his sunglasses. Sarelil jumped whenever a feather brushed him or those yellow eyes glanced in his general direction.

Loki did not look up from her work. Not at Sarelil's jumps or Crowley's hisses. Patching an angel back together was not work you needed to be distracted during. Her tale of events was told in a flat voice. "There's another rebellion brewing, and nobody knows what the hell to do about it" was the general gist of it.

"You should contact your superiors," she told him. She was in the middle of patching up one of Aziraphale's wings. Crowley was determinedly looking in the other direction. This was not because he didn't like to see Aziraphale in pain. It had nothing to do with that. He didn't like the sight of blood.

Yeah. That was it.

Right.

"Why?" he asked, not turning around.

There was a pause. He heard the ruffling of feathers. "Sarelil, would you mind contacting the office and asking if anything else has happened?"

Sarelil bowed and disappeared.

Loki sighed and ran a tired hand over her eyes. There were more rustling noises. Crowley kept his eyes firmly fixed on the bookshelf in front of him. "You can turn around, Crowley."

The demon risked a glance over his shoulder. Aziraphale was still unconcious, on his belly. But he was covered to the neck with a blanket, and he seemed to be comfortable. Crowley felt a great weight lift from himself.

After all, he hurriedly assured himself, if the angel wasn't around, who would he get drunk with? He didn't really know any one else.

That was it. No, really.

Crowley tore his eyes away from Aziraphale's form to look Loki in the eye. It was better than looking at the angel, anyway. "What?" he snapped, noting the look in the female's eyes.

Loki smiled slightly, stroking Aziraphale's hair. Crowley resisted the urge to growl at the gesture. She had every right to touch him, he told himself firmly. She's one of his kind. "I need you to contact your own superiors, Camael."

"Don't call me that," he snapped.

Just because she'd healed the angel didn't mean he had to like her.

Loki sighed and rubbed a tired hand over her eyes. "We've been getting disquieting rumors out of Hell," she said. "Rumors of a revolt."

Crowley gaped. "They wouldn't DARE."

A grim smile was his only answer. "Are you saying that the demons of Hell are far too loyal?"

"No, I'm saying they'd have to be BEYOND cracked to even try it!" He raked both hands through his hair, making it stand on end. "And just what the hell gave you that idea, anyway?"

She shrugged. The gesture irritated Crowley. How an angel could make the simplest gesture look so graceful just grated on his already frail nerves. "I have contacts in Hell, too, you know," she said drily. "Heaven and Hell have started arranging meetings between representatives since Almostageddon. It's been myself and a Prince of Hell."

Crowley winced. He never enjoyed contacting his superiors, and he enjoyed it even less when he had to go that high up. Or low down, as the case may be. "Which one?"

"Damien," she answered easily, and kissed Aziraphale's cheek before leaving him to his rest.

Crowley gaped, then let out a groan of despair that would have fit right in down in the lower circles of Hell. Damien was, in Crowley's opinion, the worst of the lot. He was completely nutters, not giving a damn about anything, including himself. He was destructive, lunatic, and in charge of most of Hell. He was also, on the main, not a very pleasant guy to be around, especially if he didn't like you. And since he didn't like much of anyone, it was generally considered in the best interest of your health and all of your limbs to avoid him if at all possible.

Which Crowley did. He LIKED all his parts. The last time he'd had a run-in with that particular member of Hell's Dark Heirarchy, the Prince had threatened to rip his wings off. Crowley had believed him. Damien was one of the main reasons Crowley never went home. The only person who could control Damien was Lucifer himself, and even HE didn't have that tight a grip on the maniac's leash.

Crowley buried his face in his hands. "Oh, you have got to be kidding," he muttered.

Loki sighed. "Please, Crowley. What have you got to be afraid of?"

Crowley pulled his wings around him and started petting them gently. Loki watched this strange behaviour with a worried look. "It's ok," Crowley murmured into his feathers. "I won't let him take you away."

Loki just stared. Really, this one was TOO strange.

111

"No, no, no," Crowley argued a few hours later. "And no. I am not contacting him. He's a lunatic. He told me if I ever spoke to him again, he'd rip my wings off. I LIKE my wings."

Well, that explained the part where he was petting his wings. Loki sighed, and calmly began juggling fruit from the bowl on Aziraphale's kitchen table. "Crowley, he won't hurt you."

"Wanna bet?" Crowley snapped back.

Suddenly, the fruit was back in the bowl. "Fine," she said finally, and pulled a small book out of her coat that seemed to be bound in human skin. That was because it was. Crowley knew what it was. What he didn't know was how the hell an ANGEL had gotten a hold of a book of demon summonings. Or WHY an angel would want one. Or where an angel got the power to summon a Prince of Hell. Most DEMONS didn't have the power to contact a Prince of Hell.

Loki flipped through it for a moment. Then she swore and stuffed it back in the pocket of her coat. The coat was white, Crowley noticed with disgust. Of course it was white, a nice, clean, angelic white. She straightened in her chair, closed her eyes, and resumed her angelic form. Her wings and halo came back into view. A pair of sunglasses materialized out of Crowley's eyes. The halo was rather blinding. Loki took a deep breath and called out an angelic name.

Crowley swore. Then he swore again. He covered all of English, most of the widely spoken languages on Earth, and most dead languages, just for good measure.

He had to give her one thing. She had balls. Metaphorically speaking.

He knew the name. It was a name that hadn't been used since the Rebellion, when the angels had Fallen and taken their new names. No one had had the guts to use it since, because...well, because he was very, very scary.

There was no flash of light, no puff of smoke, not even a faint smell of brimstone. The next moment, however, Damien was standing in the middle of the room, a shrieking, kicking human girl slung over one shoulder. He was also in full demonic form. His hair was standing up on end, his feathers were distinctly ruffled. His eyes were glowing, he was naked from the waist up, and he looked distinctly pissed off.

Memories of the rules of Hell hit Crowley like a delivery truck. One with spiked tires. He hit the floor, nearly pressing his forehead to the dusty floorboards. Damien made a disgusted noise and dumped the shrieking female on the floor. "Get up, Crowley," he snapped. "You look like a dumbass."

The female made to kick him in the shin.

It wasn't so much that Damien moved as that he was just suddenly in a different spot. The girl's foot connected with the floor at full force, and she swore. Damien made a 'tsk' noise. "Shame on you. You pray with that mouth?"

"Oh, you have got to be fucking KIDDING me," Loki burst out suddenly.

Damien grinned at her. "Nope. This is her. The HUMAN my Lord chose. Great, isn't she?"

Loki groaned. Crowley, still in his prostrate position on the floor, heard the distinct sound of an angelic skull hitting the table. It was a very distinctive sound. He'd heard it plenty of times when Aziraphale passed out after having too much to drink.

The girl started to cry. Crowley raised his head. He and Damien both stared at the sobbing female; Crowley with disbelief, Damien with contempt.

Loki started to laugh. "Oh, this is TOO perfect," she managed, in between peals of laughter. "That's wonderful. Who knew Lucifer would go for a fundamentalist?"

Crowley groaned and thumped his head on the floorboard. "Wasn't one kid enough for him? It was good enough for GOD."

"Blasphemer," Damien said absently. He picked the girl up by the color of her pink blouse and dropped her into a chair at the table. "What is it, Loki? You made it sound urgent."

Loki pulled herself back up in her seat, all traces of mirth gone. "We have another Rebellion on our hands Upstairs. I was wondering if anything was going on in Hell."

Damien frowned and resumed his human form. "Yeah." He materialized a pack of cigarettes and ignored the girl's pitiful sobbing. "We have a revolt. Some of the lesser demons." He sighed impatiently. "Are the floorboards really THAT interesting, Crowley?"

"Yes," Crowley responded, his voice muffled against the floor. He slowly pushed himself into a crouch, brushing dust out of his hair. "Is this another one of HIS hairbrained schemes?"

"Yes," Damien admitted readily. "He's a lot stupider than people think."

The girl wiped tears from her eyes. "If he's so stupid, then how come he's managed to hold Hell for all these centuries?"

"Because he's as powerful as fuck," Damien said calmly, and lit his cigarette.

The girl stared at him, her eyes huge and bloodshot and magnified by her thick glasses. "And you called HIM a blasphemer?" she snapped, gesturing at Crowley.

"That was sarcasm, dear," Loki mumured. "Blasphemy against God, not Satan."

Aziraphale stirred in his sleep and let out a pained sound. Crowley was by his side without even thinking. If he had thought, he wouldn't have moved, as he would have realized that he was in the presence of one of Hell's highest ranking demons, and comforting an angel in pain might have looked a little - well, undemonic.

But none of this crossed Crowley's mind. Instead, he knelt by Aziraphale's side and stroked his hair, murmuring soothingly in the angel's ear. Aziraphale quieted, and Crowley looked up to realize that three pairs of eyes were on him. Loki's were wide and gentle, the human's were confused, and Damien's were covered by shades.

Now Crowley realized why his sunglasses irritated Aziraphale so much. The shades completely hid Damien's expression. Not that he'd probably had one to begin with. Crowley realized this was probably NOT a good sign. Of course, he shouldn't have moved. Now someone might realize how close he and the angel were, the fact that they practically lived in each other pockets, how much he lo -

Crowley promptly seized what was left of that thought and booted it out his right ear. If he knew anything about the demons of Hell, Damien was poking around in his mind right now, looking for a weak spot, something he could use against his fellow demon. Hel- Heav- For SOMEBODY'S sake, Crowley would have done the same thing, had he the power.

Damien tilted his head to the side and regarded Crowley with shielded eyes. Crowley returned the gaze defiantly. This pose was somewhat dampened by the fact that he kept stroking Aziraphale's hair.

Loki cleared her throat pointedly. "That's enough, boys," she said tiredly. Crowley opened his mouth. "Crowley, I swear, if you say anything, I will be forced to bring up Korea."

"I already knew about that," Damien said. "Crowley's orders came from me."

"And I followed them to the letter," Crowley muttered.

Loki snorted. "Right," she muttered, and went off in search of Sarelil.

Damien took a long drag off his cigarette. "I know you didn't, Crowley," he said drily. "You'll have to forgive me if I don't give a damn."

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale. "Enough men died cursing God, on both sides," he said finally. "They didn't need my help. I had to get them out of there." He looked up at Damien, or past him, or perhaps even through him. "They believed."

"They had FAITH?" Damien said disbelievingly. He pulled off his sunglasses, and his eyes glowed green in the dimness of the bookshop. "You saved them because they had faith in GOD?"

"No," Crowley said. He was still touching Aziraphale, stroking his hair, his back, his shoulders. Hiis fingers sifted through the feathers of the angel's wings, neatening them. "I saved them because they had faith in me."

Damien stared at him in silence for a moment, then raised his glass in what looked suspiciously like a toast. "Out of all of us, you were always the most angelic."

Crowley looked away, mentally trying to figure out if that was an insult or not. Eventually he shrugged. Aziraphale would probably say it was ineffable. "I didn't mean to Fall."

Damien laughed, a slightly ironic sound. "None of us did." He drained his glass. "Lucifer made it sound so easy, didn't he? Just wave the swords around and the entire Host of Heaven would just surrender."

Crowley was still looking at Aziraphale. "I know." He glanced up sharply, his yellow eyes going huge. "I mean -"

The senior demon waved a dismissive hand. "It doesn't matter, Crowley." He looked down at Aziraphale and slipped his shades back over his eyes. "This does, however."

Crowley froze, his hands stilling in Aziraphale's feathers. "What do you mean?"

Damien boosted himself up on the counter and materialized a bottle of tequila. "Fraternizing with the Enemy, Crowley. And you can't even claim that you were tempting him to Fall, because you've been supposedly working on it for six thousand years."

One hand smoothed Aziraphale's wing and he started to work on the other one. "I don't want him to Fall. He's - I don't know what he is, but I don't want him to Fall."

Damien looked at him for a long moment. A number of expressions crossed his face. He'd had more expressions in the last day and a half than he had in the previous three thousand years. All together. He looked revolted, then shocked, then disgusted, and then he finally collapsed into hysterical laughter. He laughed so hard he fell off the counter.

Crowley clenched his teeth. His fangs bit into his lower lip, but he didn't notice. Aziraphale let out a small pained sound as Crowley's fingers clenched in his feathers. He forced himself to relax and smooth the ruffled feathers. "Dare I ask what's so funny?" he asked. He wiped the blood off his lower lip, and absently healed the cuts. Luckily, small wounds weren't a problem. Unfortunately, for the big ones, he always needed angelic healing. Fortunately, he had an angelic friend.

Absently, he went back to stroking Aziraphale's hair. Damien boosted himself back up on the counter, and he was snickering. Crowley just glared. "You do know that if Lucifer would do to you if he found out that you're in love?"

Crowley snarled at him. "I do not love Aziraphale," he snapped.

Damien waved a hand. "I didn't ask if you were lovers. I know you're not. Any kind of love is the closest thing to a sin we have in Hell, you know that. Some of us Fell for love, Crowley." He took a long pull off his tequila. "You know how that happened."

"And I know what you Fell for!" Crowley snapped.

Damien went very still. He slowly set down the bottle.

Crowley went back to looking down at Aziraphale. "How DARE you criticize me for feeling the same things you felt? Why is it such a sin to have friends?"

There was a moment of stillness. The bottle behind Damien exploded. And then he was gone.

111

Loki nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the bottle explode downstairs. Next to her, Sarelil botched his landing and fell on his arse. The two of them shared a shocked look, winched in their wings, and bolted downstairs.

Loki looked around the room with wide eyes. There was glass and tequila all over the floor and the counter. The girl was curled up in one corner, looking absolutely terrified. Crowley had his face buried in one of Aziraphale's wings. Aziraphale was still unconcious.

"What the hell happened?" Loki demanded.

"Ngk," was all Crowley managed.

"Where's the other one?" Sarelil asked. "The other demon?"

"Mmph," Crowley said.

Sarelil and Loki exchanged another glance. "Bit of an issue?" Loki asked gently.

"Grk," Crowley said.

Sarelil moved over to the girl curled up in the corner. He began speaking in a low, gentle voice, urging her out of her hiding spot. She was frantically shake her head, chanting something that sounded like "No, no he might come back, he might come back."

Loki covered her face with her hands and mentally cursed God. But quietly.

She wondered if the approach Sarelil was using on the girl would work on Crowley. Probably not, but there was nothing wrong with wishful thinking.

The angel walked slowly over to him, wishing she were anywhere but where she currently was. Of course, an angel wishing too hard will land them with exactly what they wished for, so she tried to keep it down. She crouched down next to the demon, who still had his face in the other angel's wing feathers. "Camael?" she said, and laid a hand gently on one of his smoke-stained wings. "Camael, what happened."

"M'd'd," was the feather-muffled reply.

"I beg your pardon?" Loki replied gently.

Crowley lifted his face. "I'm dead," he said dully. "Damien's going to kill me."

Loki sat down and stretched her legs out in front of her. "What happened?"

Crowley snorted. "I reminded him of the reason he Fell," he said shortly. "He looked through my head, laughed, and told me that it was the closest thing th - we have to a sin in Hell, and that I was going to be punished for it, and then I reminded him of why HE Fell, and then the bottle blew up and he bailed. Yes, it was beautiful."

Then he buried his face back in Aziraphale's wing.

Loki sighed. "Great." She stood back up and arched her back, popping her spine. These human forms had all sorts of issues. "You DO know why he Fell, right?"

Loki took the sound he made for a yes. Crowley raised his face from the wing and raked his black hair out of his eyes. "Whatever happened to her?" he asked after a while. "I know...well, I heard that she tried to stay in contact with him after the Fall, and that's why he's...like he is."

Loki turned her face away. "She was destroyed," she said softly. "It wasn't my Judgement. I never Judged any of the Fallen, or those who were destroyed after the Rebellion." She sniffed, and Crowley realized the shine in her eyes wasn't the usual holy-angel-halo-reflection bit, but tears.

He shifted uncomfortably. Demons don't do well around crying angels. He'd learned THAT a long time ago.

Loki stood up quickly, wiping her eyes. "We need to get Aziraphale upstairs," she said shortly. "Can you carry him?"

Crowley nodded and stood, gently gathering the sleeping angel to him. "Lead the way."

A few moments later, Aziraphale was safely tucked into his bed, Crowley up against the wall, arms folded over his chest, looking uncomfortable. Loki was fussing over him, double-checking everything to make sure his wounds would heal and all that.

"Can you stay with him?" she asked suddenly.

Crowley stared at her. "What?"

Loki looked up, brushing hair out of her eyes. "He needs a familiar presence. You're about it."

Crowley shifted uncomfortably, his wings furling tightly around his shoulders. "What do I do?"

She smoothed Aziraphale's hair and kissed his brow. "Just stay with him. Sleep next to him, keep him comfortable." She looked at him and lightly touched his face. "No matter what they say in hell, friendship is no sin. Not even with an angel." A gentle smile. "Not even with a demon." She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Take care of him, Camael." And then she vanished down the stairs.

The demon took a deep breath and crawled into bed next to the angel. For a while, he lay there, watching Aziraphale, as if afraid the angel would vanish if not watched closely. Then his eyes slipped closed, and he drifted off to sleep next to his friend.

TBC...