Disclaimer: I own very little.

A/N:Gwaihiril, are you psychic or something? Or are my intentions just too easy to guess? 'Cause, yes, it is indeed Crowley/Carowiel's sword that he went to get.

Chapter 21:

Purifying Punishment

A moment later Uriel appeared again in front of the other archangels. The others immediately noticed the change of his accessories. On his side now hung another silvery sword in addition to his own, which he'd already had earlier. It appeared that the only difference between the two swords was the shape of the emerald embedded on the hilt. On Uriel's sword it was triangular, on the other, round. Raphael and Gabriel were confused at first, while Michael simply nodded. Then, however, realization hit the two others.

"Is that... Corawiel's sword?" asked Gabriel disbelievingly. As the other angel nodded, the heavenly Messenger continued, "So you've had it safe all this time? That is... surprising."

"Why is it surprising?" asked Uriel levelly. "Gabriel, my friend, I am the Angel of Salvation. If anybody would cling to the hope that my brother will Rise one day, it would be me." With a glance down at the sword, he added rather quietly, "Though I have to admit that at times I have come close to destroying it."

The other archangels just nodded, too stunned to say anything. They were not used to seeing this kind of behaviour from Uriel. However, now wasn't the time to dwell on it. Aziraphale and Crowley needed their help, and their help the two were going to get, even if Uriel was acting out of character.

"Are you sure you're up to it, Raphael?" asked Gabriel, glancing worriedly at his lover. "Maybe you should stay here. After all, you can't heal anybody in this condition, so you'd better just --"

"I'm coming along," the red-haired angel cut him off. "This is Aziraphale in question, Gabriel. He's your brother, which makes him practically my brother, too. And he's not suited for any kind of battle. I could not rest easy without knowing for sure that he's absolutely safe."

The other three glanced at each other behind his back, rolling their eyes. Raphael still saw Aziraphale as more than a baby. Well, that was rather understandable; after all, he had never seen Aziraphale fight. Being not interested in battles himself -- he had probably never drawn his sword since the war during the first Fall, and even then only momentarily -- he'd never gone to see the battle practices. Thus, he never saw how the little baby he'd once held in his arms had grown to be one of the most formidable warriors to ever stand among Heaven's forces. The only times he'd seen anything associated with both battles and Aziraphale had been when the young angel had come to him with the wounds from practices. During the Fall Raphael had been one of the first to die, waking up to see poor Aziraphale killed and very slowly returning to health. All this didn't really make him more confident about Aziraphale's battle skills.

Gabriel shivered as he thought about Aziraphale during the war of Fall. Oh, he definitely had to question Crowley about that. The archangel still couldn't understand why he'd done such a thing to his best friend.

However, there was no more time to ponder such things right now. They had two beings to save.

Both Aziraphale and the lower angels were startled as Crowley screamed in pain. Then, however, their surprise and, in Aziraphale's case, fear and worry soon turned into morbid fascination. Instead of melting him, the holy snow, melting into holy water as soon as it touched him, seemed to be... washing Crowley.

Wherever the snow met black wings, melting in an instant because of the heat of the demon, it took away a bit of the darkness, the tiny streams of holy water leaving white trails on the feathers. When the demon's hands were touched by the snow as well, his claws disappeared, and the slight burns in them were healed. His mouth open in a pained scream, Crowley soon got some of the melted holy snow into his mouth as well, and before he doubled up, coughing and spluttering, the angels managed to catch a glimpse of shrinking fangs. Finally, the no more demon was on his knees on the ground, head hanging low, pained whimpers escaping his lips as his whole body shook with tremors.

And his wings were as white as the now happily falling snow.

"...Crowley?" asked Aziraphale hesitantly. "Crowley, my dear, how are you feeling?"

"Bloody awful," croaked the demon. "I don't understand... When those kids dropped holy water on me, it didn't even burn me. It did hurt, yes, but nowhere this much. What'd go wrong this time?"

For a moment, Aziraphale didn't find anything to say. Just how was he going to explain something he wasn't sure he understood himself? Finally, he whispered, "Crowley, love... look at your wings."

Obediently, Crowley bent his wings forward, his muscles trembling at the effort in their weakened state. As the large, feathery appendages finally reached his area of sight, his eyes widened in shock. Aziraphale noticed offhandedly that although the formerly snakelike eyes were now mostly like angel eyes, heavenly blue and with round pupils, there were still little golden flecks in them.

"But -- how --" started Crowley, then shook his head. "No, this can't be true," he said, chuckling weakly. "Be careful what you wish for, indeed." Ignoring Aziraphale's questioning gaze, he raised his hand to examine it. "My claws are away... and they won't come even when I summon them. The same goes for my fangs. And my wings are white, bloody angelic white, and I put my claws on divine fire." With a final humourless laugh, he added, "The next thing I know, the archangels and Metatron will probably all show up here to offer me a chance at Redemption."

"Well, not exactly," said a calm voice behind them. "Metatron couldn't make it, nor do I think he would have been interested, never mind much of use. But as for us archangels, well, we are indeed all here."

Very slowly, Crowley turned around. The angels all looked to the same direction and froze. There really were four archangels in front of them, Michael in full armour of red and gold, the others' robes shining in the richest hues of yellow, blue, and green along with gold, silver, and white. Gabriel and Raphael were both unarmed, but Michael had his sword at his side as usual, and Uriel had... two swords.

For a moment Crowley and the four angels nearest to him just stared at the archangels, his mouth open, too stunned to say a word. Then they were snapped out of their frozen state as Michael -- who was also the one who had spoken earlier -- looked at the three lower angels sternly.

"It has been ordered by Him that demon Crowley and angel Aziraphale are to be left in peace by every and each member of the Host of Heaven," the blond archangel said strictly. "For your crimes, you should Fall."

The angels immediately went about as pale as their robes would have been, had they not been so dirty. "But -- we didn't know that!" Anael cried out. "Nobody ever told us about such an order!"

"We know that," Gabriel said calmly. "And because of that, the fact that it's Christmas, and that you didn't manage to cause any true harm, you shall not Fall. However," he added strictly as a hint of hope showed up on the three angels' faces, "you shall not go unpunished, either. For your transgressions, you shall not sing along with the angelic choirs on the coming Christmas night."

Anael, Lyriel, and Unsurel all looked shocked. Michael, however, just waved a hand. "Now, fly back to heaven," he commanded strictly. "We have some business here."

Obediently, the lower angels rose to their wings, still slightly trembling as they swept their wings the few first times. Glancing back once or twice, they then headed towards the sky and the Heaven that lay beyond, leaving behind the archangels, the cherub, and the being that was neither a demon nor a true angel.

And now, the archangels glanced at Aziraphale and Crowley.

Author Notes: Now, who admits having skipped the bit with the archangels at first to get to know what happened to Crowley right away?

Next chapter:

Archangels talk with Aziraphale and Crowley.

...Well, what did you expect?