Disclaimer: I own very little.

A/N: Sorry for the little cliffhanger in the last chapter. I'd like to say that it's not going to happen again, but as I refuse to lie, alas, I must stay silent.

So, now you'll get some battlemode!Crowley and some insight on Michael's view of Aziraphale (and Crowley, too, a bit.)

Chapter 9:

Dangerously Damaged

Michael froze momentarily as he saw Aziraphale being enveloped in the blazing flames of hellfire. Crowley, however, did not hesitate; the demon immediately rushed forward to where the badly injured angel now lay. Fangs emerged and claws flashed as the demon dove from the sky, reaching for his lover under the Hellbeast's fiery gaze. Another flame erupted but was blocked by the shiny obsidian wings. Untouched by hellfire due to his demonic blood, Crowley now shielded with his lover with his own body.

Carrying Aziraphale away from danger, Crowley cared little for the roaring fire. However, although he was indeed not hurt by hellfire, being of demonic stock himself, he was indeed brought down from his flight as the beast used its secondary weapon, striking with its fierce claws. Even as he fell, turning around to face the monster, Crowley carefully kept himself between Aziraphale and the Hellbeast.

Michael watched this with morbid fascination. He was about to go to aid, but was stopped by a fierce glare saying clearly, 'This is my battle, so fuck off.' Therefore he forced himself to stay back, worried for Aziraphale. The cherub-ranked-principality had been extremely badly hurt from what he'd seen.

"Sir!" he suddenly heard a voice behind himself. As he turned around, he saw Canael and the other soldiers. "Why aren't you fighting, if I may ask, Sir?" the angel asked warily from his superior.

Glancing back at the ongoing fight -- right that moment Crowley sliced the beast with his claws -- the Warrior Prince of Heaven shook his head. "We'll stay out of this fight. Somebody who has more both right and ability for this battle is already facing the beast, as you can see."

Turning to watch the battle as well, Canael then gasped in surprise. "But -- but that's a demon!" he exclaimed. The others were shocked as well, some even drawing their swords.

However, a sharp command from Michael stopped them. "This demon, going by the name Crowley, is not to be harmed in any way," he announced, his azure blue eyes blazing warningly. "Our Lord himself has ordered that this demon shall be left untouched unless he is initiating an attack. He is not eager to face the Host in a battle, and he's also very dear to one of his servants."

This silenced the angels, although most of them still seemed wary. A couple of angels concentrating on keeping humans away, the rest now simply stood and watched the demonic battle.

At last Crowley managed to knock the beast back far enough to turn, take Aziraphale's unmoving, burned form into his arms, and fly for it. Reaching the angels, he carefully laid his precious burden onto Michael's arms. Then he turned towards the nearest angel and, without any warning, reached out his hand and grasped the hilt of the cherub's sword. The angels were too surprised and shocked to react before the demon had already drawn the sword from its sheath. Rising it, Crowley simply glared at it, thus lighting it with glittering silver flames. Then he flew back to face the now quickly approaching Hellbeast.

"Sir?" asked Canael, bewildered. "Sir, what shall we do now? He took one of our swords!"

"You stand back," said Michael coolly, letting his gaze wander between Crowley and Aziraphale's battered form. "You stand back, watch, and learn." As a couple of angels looked questioning, even doubtful, he snapped, "Do as you're told! Back in Heaven, in times before the Fall, this demon -- known back then by the name Carowiel -- was one of the best swordsmen among the Host. In fact, he was pretty much unrivalled except for myself, and I'm not too proud to admit that even that wasn't by far. Every one of you has certainly much to learn from him, even if he is a demon nowadays." While speaking, he subconsciously rearranged the angel in his arms into a better position. Every glance he took at Aziraphale hurt him deeply.

Michael still remembered the time when Aziraphale had been a mere child among angels. Gabriel had loved taking his little brother everywhere with him. Even back then Michael had seen the little angel's potential, and he hadn't been disappointed; the little cherub had grown up to be one of his warriors, right up there with Carowiel and others of his skill. The archangel had been genuinely disappointed when Aziraphale had been sent down to Earth, although he would have never tried to question any commands from Him.

Those memories of a tiny angel child clutching on the hem of Gabriel's robes and later an eager and very talented warrior now brought only pain as he looked at Aziraphale now. The poor angel's corporeal form had been completely destroyed by hellfire, and even his ethereal form seemed to be on the verge of collapsing. There were no wings to speak of left, a few burned feathers the only thing remaining of them. The rest of the ethereal body was burned, scorched, and at some places even melted. At places it was thin enough for the light of Aziraphale's essence shine right through the angel's flesh without being transferred into his halo. To put it simply, Aziraphale was about as close to dead as an angel could be.

A silent sigh escaped Michael's lips. By this time Aziraphale probably could be saved, should somebody skilled enough in healing come nearby -- meaning Raphael. However, reaching the Archangel of Healing in time was very doubtful. Most probably the poor angel would lose his ethereal body entirely within a very short time, and after that, it would take months to recover. In fact, even this pitiful condition was a testament to Aziraphale's true power -- a mere principality would have been mere ashes and essence right away.

A cry of the beast drew his attention back to the still ongoing battle. He hadn't been lying to his men when he told them they had much to learn from the fallen angel. Despite the fact that he most probably hadn't used a sword in ages, Crowley still moved with the old grace and skill that'd had every angel in all of Heaven adore him. Even Uriel had grudgingly admitted that Carowiel had potential. And now Michael saw it all again, a hint of pride rising in his heart at the thought that he had taught this great warrior.

The beast charged, but Crowley was prepared. Raising the silvery-flamed sword, the demon jumped aside, then hit the creature as it couldn't turn back towards him in time. By the time the beast -- now roaring with fury, flames of hellfire escaping with each breath -- had turned its massive body to face the demon again, Crowley was on his wings, teasing the monster from above. There was a frightening look on the demon's face, a mix of worry and fear for his angelic lover and infinite fury at the creature that had hurt him. The snakelike eyes were flashing golden, the slit pupils almost round, trying to take in every little thing there was to see. And, rising the sword again, the fallen angel then dove from the sky right towards the beast. Slowed down by previous injuries -- all inflicted by the still unharmed demon -- the Hellbeast couldn't get out of the way in time. Raising its paw in a futile attempt to defend itself, it then fell prey to the furious demon's sword. Crowley hit exactly the right place, the deadly weapon sinking between the plates of armour covering the monster's neck, its most vulnerable place. The sword sank into soft flesh, the fire flaring high one last time, the divinely sharp blade neatly cutting the beastly head apart from the body.

For a moment everything stood still. A kind of surprised expression still on its face, the Hellbeast's head rolled a bit further as the rest of the body collapsed. All angels just stood, stunned, watching the very quiet demon, waiting him to do something. And Crowley, he just stood there, his eyes directed down at the monster he'd just slain, almost every part of his body covered with back demon blood.

Then the fire of the sword died down, and the blood disappeared from Crowley's body, leaving his dark armour just as spotless as it had been before. Not paying another thought to his fallen opponent, the demon hurried towards the angels and especially Michael, who still was holding Aziraphale in his arms. Carelessly tossing the sword to the ground, from where its rightful owner quickly picked it up, the demon reached his arms towards Michael's precious burden. The archangel handed the angel over without any hesitation.

Glancing down at the precious load in his arms, Crowley then raised his eyes at Michael. By now they almost resembled human -- or angelic -- eyes, except for their golden colour. "You have to heal him," the demon demanded quietly. "He's not going to make it like this. I'd only hurt him more if I tried to heal injuries caused by hellfire. You're bloody angels, now fucking do a good deed and heal him!"

However, Michael merely shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do," he said quietly. "None of us has the skills needed to stop his body being destroyed completely. As you can see, there's little left -- not even as much as when you brought him to me. Probably the only one who could now save him is Raphael, and by the time we'll reach him, it'll be too late. It's for the best just to let him go, and not try to cling onto him," he then advised gently. "He'll recover by time, and as soon as he's whole again, he'll get a new corporeal form -- it's a standard prodecure to give hellfire victims a new one as soon as they're well enough to use it again. Until then, all you can do -- all we can do -- is to wait."

"No!" shouted the demon, fury flashing in his eyes. "I won't allow that to happen! I'm definitely not going to just walk around on Earth for whoever knows how long, knowing that at the same time Aziraphale's in extreme pain somewhere Up There and I can't do a bloody thing about it!" As Michael just shook his head sadly, the other angels watching silently, Crowley then raised his face towards the sky. "You! Up there!" he shouted. "I know You can fucking hear me, so listen up! You can't let this happen to Aziraphale; you're supposed to be good and merciful and all that, right? So fucking send down somebody who can heal him and fast, or I swear I'll come Up There and bloody tear the whole fucking Golden City down!"

However, there was no answer -- not that anybody was surprised, Crowley least of all. After all, very few of even His beloved humans got a true answer to their prayers, and this disrespectful plea -- for it definitely couldn't be counted as a prayer -- came from a demon. Of course nobody answered.

After a moment of silence, the demon simply fell onto his knees, the now quickly fading angel still held securely in his arms. "He'll die," Crowley whispered, his head now lowered, his eyes locked at the rather disfigured face of his lover. "He can't die... Somebody just help him... please..."

However, none of the angels could do anything to help the distraught creature.

Next chapter:

Aziraphale's practically dead. Michael realizes something surprising (no, it's nothing that might help save Aziraphale), and later Raphael and Gabriel talk about the attack on Gabriel's dear younger brother.