Comments - Apologies on the delay on this, but I've been having problems with breaks, and as you will see, this chapter needs it! Plus I'm now back at 6th form... you don't want to hear this. Get on and read!

Chapter Six

The cold mud felt horrible to his feet, but this style of sandal was all the rage in Rome, so Crowley ignored the discomfort and, sure enough, it disappeared.

Everything was going as planned. Before long, this rugged little isle would be crushed underneath Rome's mighty empire, yet another piece of land to govern (or, in other words, exploit, steal from and bugger up). Everything was just as planned.

He felt Aziraphale's presence before he saw the angel, standing in another part of the silent battlefield. Walking over, he saw that the angel was stood over something small – the tiny limp form of a child, a girl no older than nine cycles of the seasons, her dark brown hair mingling with blood and mud, her face peaceful though her body was broken like a shattered plate.

"You did this."

"It would've happened any way," Crowley replied, almost defensively. "Besides, I thought your lot would approve – civilisation, religion, all that."

"Some of them do," Aziraphale admitted absently, his gaze fixed on the child.

"They won't win, you know," the demon said quietly, not sure what else he could try with the strange, almost-friendly angel he had come to know. "They never would have."

"I know that, demon," Aziraphale snapped, looking up to glare at him. They stood for a few seconds, both eyeing each other cautiously. This was wrong – they shouldn't even be stood next to each other, let alone talking, even if they were arguing. "Leave me alone, Crawly."

"It's Crowley," Crowley corrected. "I changed it."

"Good for you. Now leave me alone, demon."

So he left.

"I can't believe you did this!"

Crowley just shrugged. "I'm a demon, Axiraphale. It's what I do."

"How can you murder these people? They're innocent – they've done nothing wrong!" Aziraphale shouted, gesturing wildly.

"They're human," Crowley replied bluntly. "As I said, it's my job. Demons create havoc and pain. Besides, if they just give the right answers, they might get off…"

"That's stupid and you know it!" the angel retorted, eyes blazing. "Well done Crowley. The Spanish Inquisition - murder, rape and torture millions of innocent lives. I'm sure this will be a feather in your wings. I'm sure you can do without me."

He turned his back and unfolded his wings, walking to the edge of the roof.

"Axiraphale! Come back!" Crowley protested. The angel didn't turn. "Angel!"

Aziraphale just spread his wings and flew off, leaving Crowley alone in the moonlight. He was always surprised how much that hurt.

"Oh look, here comes trouble," Aziraphale bit out with a hint of sarcasm as he looked up at the sound of the bell and spotted the demon.

"Hello angel," Crowley replied, raising one hand to wipe across his eyes, nudging his sunglasses out of the way. He hefted the pack on his back further onto his shoulder. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm just fine," the angel bit back sharply. "There are millions dying on the Front, the German war-machine is grinding its way across continents and I'm just peachy."

Crowley sighed. "Az-"

"No," Aziraphale interrupted. "I don't want to hear it, Crowley. I don't want to hear how you've tempted a few more people into lasting torment. I don't want to hear how you've prolonged yet another World War. I don't want to hear what atrocities you've committed. After all, it's your job."

The demon glanced away, his eyes burning suspiciously, his stomach swooping with a mixture of emotions.

"I didn't do anything like that," he replied quietly, still not looking up. "I just – I wanted to see if you were OK."

"I'm fine," Aziraphale repeated huffily, before asking despite himself. "Where have you been anyway?"

That made Crowley look up, his strange eyes seeming to burn into the angel despite the covering of tinted glass.

"I've been fighting a war."

Then, without another word, he turned his back and let himself out of the bookshop.

He just made it to his Bentley before he broke down, a million horrific pictures flitting across his memory. A million pictures he had hoped the angel might help erase.