I know that there was a bit of a longer wait that time. Sorry. Things were a bit busy for me and my writing motivation took a temporary dive. But hopefully this will make up for the wait.

While Raphael could not officially approve of Aziraphale and Crowley due to the former being considered an outcast and traitor to Heaven and the latter being a demon, he found them to be less annoying than many of his peers. [30] The pair certainly caused him fewer headaches than Gabriel did. They weren't eager for the final War and all the casualties it would bring, unlike most other angels that Raphael was forced to deal with. And they truly loved each other. Both of which were traits that he liked and were far rarer than he wished to admit.

But even if he couldn't officially claim to approve of the two strange beings, Raphael could at least admit that he liked Aziraphale more than he did Crowley. Not merely because of the demon issue. Mostly because the Archangel was still upset about Crowley's method of summoning him without warning, yanking him out of Heaven to Earth when Raphael could have been busy with a patient. That form of rudeness was not tolerated. Raphael could hold a small grudge over that, even if he could also reluctantly admit that it was an emergency at the time. Regardless, Aziraphale was much more polite about his methods of communication.

That was why Raphael only frowned briefly at the metaphysical tug for his attention. It was a surprise rather than an annoyance. He wasn't expecting Aziraphale to contact him currently, but he wasn't busy and he didn't mind the interruption.

As long as it wasn't a prelude to the reveal that one of them managed to get hurt again. Probably in a laughable display of their shared lack of common sense.

A quick word to Zadkiel and he hurried to his office. The bright blue lines of the circle [31] formed along the floor as the connection was forged. Connecting the two locations to enable to communication. Much more civilized than a full-blown summonings. Raphael carefully sat down on his stool as the air wavered above the circle. After a moment, the image of Aziraphale's anxious face solidified.

"Raphael," he greeted hurriedly. "I am so sorry to call you like this."

"What happened?" said Raphael sharply, skipping the pleasantries.

Because even if the circle could only show the angel's face and he couldn't read most of his body language because of that, Raphael could see enough to recognize Aziraphale's distress. Enough distress that Raphael was concerned, but the wrong type of stress to indicate an injury of his own. But the fact that he was calling a healer while in such distress suggested that someone was hurt. Hurt beyond what Aziraphale could handle on his own. And from what he'd observed of them, all signs indicated that the someone in question would be Crowley.

"It's Crowley," said Aziraphale, immediately confirming those suspicions. "He's missing. And our sources [32] point towards Michael being responsible."

Raphael stiffened, his hand tightening around his cane. That was not what he expected to hear. It wasn't something that Raphael could hear. Not without trouble following. That line of conversation could only lead to dangerous and potentially traitorous directions.

"Aziraphale," he said firmly. "While I harbor no ill will towards you nor Crowley and I am perfectly willing to treat you as patients should you need help, I cannot go against Michael for the sake of a demon. She is well within her rights to go after Crowley, regardless of my opinions on the matter. I'm sorry, but you cannot ask me to turn against my fellow Archangel and Heaven in such a direct manner."

Shaking his head, Aziraphale said, "I wouldn't ask that of you. We believe that she has Crowley trapped in Heaven. I should be able to find him once I'm there. All I'm asking is… would it be possible for you to find a way to keep Michael occupied briefly?"

Raphael closed his eyes and silently cursed both the of strange Earth-loving "traitors" that somehow ended up in his path. They simply couldn't stop causing him headaches. If it was possible for the Archangel of Healing to have high blood pressure, Aziraphale and Crowley would be the source of it. And yet, he just couldn't bring himself to turn away. Which only annoyed him more.

"I suppose," said Raphael slowly, "someone could mistakenly inform Michael about a meeting with Gabriel. He schedules so many that it would be easy to mix up the timing of one. That might keep her preoccupied for a short time. And I cannot control who might use this summoning circle to access Heaven or what they might do once they are there."

Aziraphale gave a small and relieved smile, some of the tension and stress leaving his eyes. A tiny spark of hope had returned.

"You sure you don't need me to come too?" shouted someone from out of sight.

Aziraphale glanced towards something out of view and said, "We've already discussed this, Warlock. Do you need me to tell Anathema to watch you constantly while I'm gone or can I trust you to remain here?"

"Fine."

Raphael shook his head slowly. He was already regretting answering Aziraphale's call. There was no possible way that this would go smoothly.

Michael stomped her way through the halls of Heaven, her frustration rolling off her in waves and keeping any nearby angels at bay. They knew better than to disturb her when she was annoyed. It wasn't as if she didn't already have enough to do. Between her usual responsibilities and the demon strung up and waiting further punishment, Michael was too busy to deal with Gabriel's nonsense.

But since the failed Apocalypse, Gabriel seemed to be filling the uncertainty of it with bureaucracy and meetings. Trying to keep everything organized in the aftermath. Without knowledge of the Plan to guide them and unwilling to directly go against the traitors again, apparently Gabriel needed a hobby. Arranging staff meetings and organizing company exercises seemed to be the closest thing that he was capable of.

Pushing open the door, Michael called, "And what waste of time did you call us here for this…?"

Michael trailed off awkwardly. The large meeting room held a long glass table with a dozen hairs, but no other angels. She was the only one there. And it wasn't merely a case of her simply arriving early. Gabriel should have been there already, setting everything up for the meeting. There was no reason for her to get there before him. Especially when she'd just found out about the meeting at the last minute.

Unless there was no meeting.

Maybe she'd spent too much time with Ligur in the past and let it make her paranoid like the demon, but Michael didn't trust it as a simple mistake. There was something off about the situation. She didn't trust it at all.

Spinning on her heel, Michael hurried out of the room. The door slammed behind her as she rushed back the way that she came. She needed to check on her prisoner.

A quick exchange of goodbyes, good lucks, and Adam pressing a skeleton key into the angel's hand, the same one that they used during the previous breakouts attempts, and Aziraphale was gone. Just as he hoped, he felt the familiar warmth of Crowley's love the instant that he set foot in Heaven. Bright, warm, wonderful, and alive. Not as strong and vibrant as it should be, but not as worn away as when he followed Crowley's love through Hell. All those whispering doubts and fears immediately silenced by the undeniable proof that his demon was nearly in reach once more.

Holding his sword close, Aziraphale slipped out of the healing ward and into the rest of Heaven. The oppressive quiet and whiteness immediately tried to weigh him down. To pull him back under its sway. As if he was still trapped in the awfulness of that bright, silent, and inescapable room.

But he couldn't afford to buckle under the pressure. He couldn't lose himself like that. He did his best to focus on the feel of the sword in his hand, the soft sounds of his shoes on the polished floor, and his shaky breath as he moved forward. He needed to stay grounded to reality and not get lost in memories.

For Crowley. He was doing this for Crowley.

Whether it was pure luck or a sign of kindness from Her, Aziraphale didn't encounter anyone as he followed the feeling of his demon's love. He glimpsed a few angels at a distance, but they were all far enough away to avoid their attention. He followed the warm and bright sensation towards a more isolated corner of the wide and white hallways.

The perfect place to hide an imprisoned demon without anyone noticing.

Aziraphale found the door at the end of one of the long empty hallways. He could feel Crowley's familiar love on the other side. He Looked deeper, trying to identify any spells woven into the door or the surrounding walls. [33] But other than spells to block sound and to seal the room against unwanted intruders, there was nothing overly concerning. And thanks to Adam's skeleton key, he could open any lock regardless of the sealing spells.

The door opened quietly and no hidden traps activated nor did any alarms sound. Aziraphale considered that a good sign. He slipped inside, hoping that his luck would continue to hold.

The scents hit him first. His sense of smell wasn't as strong as his precious demon's, but Heaven was rather sterile when it came to scents. It didn't have the life and variety that Earth did. Aziraphale was practically slammed by the powerful and instinctively soothing scents of myrrh and frankincense. They reminded him of churches and holy places. But the soothing nature of the scents didn't banish the dread due to his knowledge of what those incenses could do to demons. And underneath them was the stronger and sharper scents of blood and ichor.

The large white room didn't contain much. A twin pair of braziers containing the myrrh and frankincense. A rolling tray table covered in sharp knives. And a limp figure suspended from the ceiling by thick manacles. One that he would recognize even in the most dire of straits.

Aziraphale immediately covered his mouth to smother out the horrified sound that tried to escape. Crowley's back was toward him, the demon stretched out in a nearly crucified pose. Manacles around his ankles, wrists, and neck were covered in glowing sigils. His trousers remained, but the rest of his clothes were gone. Revealing all the wounds across his back, along his arms, and every other exposed centimeter of flesh. Long and elaborate cuts carved deep into his skin and the patches of dark scales, with two of the largest and deepest wounds near his shoulder blades. Like she'd carved out large chunks of flesh the way that children would carve a jack-o-lantern. Aziraphale could barely look at it without feeling nauseous. Dried blood and ichor stains only made the various injuries look worse.

It took a moment for Aziraphale to gather his resolve to continue. Because the sight was already breaking his heart. But he couldn't leave him like that. Snapping his fingers, Aziraphale banished the braziers and the incense with a miracle. Then used another one to remove all traces of myrrh and frankincense from the air. They weren't doing Crowley any good. Then, taking a breath to steady himself, Aziraphale moved slowly in front of the restrained demon.

And immediately realized it was worse than he thought.

There were cuts and slices across the front of the demon, just as he expected. And his head was slumped down enough that he could barely see Crowley face. But Aziraphale could only stare at his chest. Buried into Crowley was a sword. Driven deep into him. Far too deep to physically fit without piercing through his back. Which immediately told Aziraphale that it wasn't a normal sword and it wasn't limited to only the more physical aspects. It was something more powerful and meant to reach his true form, just like Aziraphale's flaming sword. A blessed blade. And that meant most of those awful wounds across his body were likely from the same sort of edged weapon and almost certainly went far deeper than they appeared.

Michael was wounding Crowley and not just his corporation. Damage that was far more difficult to heal properly. Aziraphale needed to get him to Raphael.

Trying to ignore how pained and labored the demon's breathing sounded, Aziraphale reached up to cup his face and called softly, "Crowley? Can you hear me?"

He stirred weakly. Exhausted and pain-filled eyes struggled to open. But they managed to find Aziraphale's worried gaze. A weak and relieved smile twitched briefly in response.

"Angel…"

"I'm sorry it took so long. But I'm here now, my dearest. And I'm going to get you out of here. I'll just need to fix this first, if you'll let me."

He reached for the sword. The awful weapon buried into Crowley's body and his true form. But before his hand could wrap about the hilt to try drawing it out of him, the angel's plan being to use a miracle to control the bleeding as it came out, Crowley whined in warning.

"Don't… She said… if it moves…"

Crowley seemed to run out of strength for words, slumping further in his chains. But it was enough to convince Aziraphale to Look deeper. To See all the damage that she'd inflicted on his true form. Damage that broke his heart and made him want to Look away. His true form looked awful and Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to Look too closely, something about the injuries unnerving him on a subconscious level that he didn't want to understand.

But Looking towards his true form also immediately revealed the problem. He wasn't a healer, but he knew enough to tell that it was badly positioned in Crowley. One wrong move and the sword would hit some vital part of the demon's true form.

"Okay," he said slowly. "We'll leave it alone for Raphael then. Just let me get those chains off and at least stabilize the worst of your injuries first. It's going to be all right."

This time, Crowley didn't respond. And Aziraphale abruptly noticed that the quiet room had grown even quieter. The soft, strained, and ragged breathing had given out. Trying not to panic, Aziraphale reached for his face again briefly before letting it slide down to the demon's neck. But Crowley wasn't breathing and he couldn't find a pulse. There was nothing. Crowley's body had given into the injuries.

"No," whispered Aziraphale, dropping his own weapon with a clatter. "No, no, no."

Discorporation. He'd discorporated. But it didn't feel like he was gone. Crowley's love was still with the angel. And he could feel the faint demonic presence. It didn't make sense, but—

The sudden gasp and jerk from the demon made Aziraphale jump back. But as his own racing heart tried to settle, Crowley managed to take a few more breaths and regain consciousness. He shivered weakly in the aftermath, but that was better than how silent and still he was a moment before. Aziraphale was thankful for the small signs of life.

"Crowley," he whispered shakily. "What was that?"

Still struggling to catch his breath again, he said, "Can't discorporate… Stuck… Chains…"

Once more, Aziraphale could follow the demon's explanation with only a handful of words. They'd known each other far too long for him not to understand his trail of thoughts. He'd already seen the glowing symbols on the manacles, but now he tried studying them more carefully. The sigil for Crowley's True Name was on it in multiple places, but the others reminded him of the spells involved with binding a demon to trap them.

It was clever. Michael made certain that Crowley couldn't escape even by discorporation. His body was forced to stay alive and contain his true form regardless of its damaged state. It was cruel, but clever.

Aziraphale carefully reworked his plan. The injuries to his true form would continue to bleed through to his corporation and those injuries would be better for Raphael to heal. But Aziraphale would need to at least stabilize Crowley's physical body enough to survive before removing the manacles. That way, he wouldn't immediately discorporate and get yanked down to Hell. Then Aziraphale would need to hurry to the healing ward. Raphael would be able to take care of the demon properly. Aziraphale could make it work.

Aziraphale gently pressed his hands to Crowley's chest, not caring how the blood and dark ichor smeared on them. Crowley grimaced weakly, but seemed to understand what he needed to do. The demon lowered his natural defenses, letting Aziraphale's power pour into his corporation. Gently and carefully coaxing it into stabilizing. Not healing the deep wounds, but at least restoring the blood that he'd lost and strengthening his heart. Giving him just enough help to keep him safe and to dull the pain.

His efforts were immediately effective. Crowley sighed in relief and some of the obvious tension in his muscles melted away. His color improved beneath the dried blood and dark ichor. And his eyes looked more aware and livelier than before. It wasn't perfect, [34] but it was better.

Aziraphale slid one arm under Crowley's arm, curling around his back to support him. He tried to be careful, but Crowley still hissed in pain when he brushed against the two particular large gouges near his shoulder blades. Then Aziraphale sent a powerful miracle through the manacles, shattering the spells woven through the metal and unlocking them. Crowley tried to collapse the moment that he was freed. But Aziraphale was already holding him and supported his weight enough to carefully lower them both the floor, taking care not to jostle the sword.

"I've got you," murmured Aziraphale soothingly. "It'll be all right, my dearest. I've got you now."

Leaning his head against the angel's shoulder, Crowley mumbled, "I knew you'd come. Never a doubt."

Aziraphale pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. Then he used another miracle to summon a pair of sunglasses that he immediately settled on Crowley's face. His efforts were rewarded with the smallest smile.

He wanted to stay like that. Holding Crowley close and reassuring himself that he'd gotten him back. Keeping the demon safe in his arms. But just like when he rescued the demon from Hell, they couldn't linger. Especially since Crowley was still in need of healing beyond what Aziraphale could give him. He needed finesse rather than brute force. Besides, what if Michael came back?

Gathering Crowley carefully in his arms in a bridal carry while somehow managing not to drop his sword, Aziraphale picked him up and hurried towards the door. He would need to balance their need for stealth with their need for speed. The sooner that they made it to the safety of Raphael's healing ward, the better.

Michael snarled something extremely un-angelic when she found an open door and an empty room. Crowley was gone, empty manacles dangling where her prisoner should be. The demon was loose. Trying to escape her retribution.

That would not be tolerated. She'd barely begun to punish the foul creature for Ligur's destruction.

But his escape wasn't perfect. On the shining, clean, and white floors of Heaven, even the tiniest droplets of blood and dark ichor stood out. There was enough of a trail for her to follow. And Michael could certainly move faster than a wounded demon.

She didn't bother trying to maintain any manner of dignity or subtlety. She broke into a full sprint. [35] She would not let Crowley leave Heaven alive.

"You two exist to frustrate me," said Raphael as soon as the pair stumbled into his healing ward. Despite his sharp words, he was already moving towards Aziraphale and Crowley. "Though it is nice to know that someone was smart enough not to trying yanking out embedded foreign objects from a wound and risk bleeding out. I'd love it if other people could get that concept through their thick skulls. Do you know how many arrow wounds from training that I've treated over thousands of years? Now, set him down and let me See my patient."

He knew that some of his assistants would come to investigate the ruckus soon. And Zerachiel and Zadkiel would have questions about the presence of a demon there once again. But the moment that Crowley set foot in the healing ward, he was Raphael's patient and no one could harm someone under his care. They might have their doubts, but they would go along with it.

Twin stools appeared right in front of the new arrivals, just a short distance into the healing ward. Aziraphale carefully moved his demon to one of them, Crowley wincing despite the care. But at least it didn't seem to jostle the sword buried into his chest. A small miracle cleaned away the dried blood and ichor from his body. Raphael claimed the other stool, letting his leg rest as he started his preliminary examination.

It wasn't ideal. His injuries were both physical ones and ones to his true form. Serious injuries that needed treatment, but not currently in immediate danger of killing him. Michael had been too careful in her cruelty for that. [36] Some would take skilled treatment to properly heal. Including some rather disturbing dismembering that he was fairly certain that Aziraphale hadn't properly recognized yet or else he'd be more distressed about Crowley than he already was. The loss was not something that could be easily fixed. But for the moment, the important part was that he was relatively stable.

The sword, however, was an issue. Michael managed to impale the weapon perfectly. Barely avoiding anything fatal in Crowley's true form, but close enough that the slightest mistake would wound something vital and vulnerable. Raphael would have to be very careful with the extraction. Healing the damage as he slowly removed the blade.

Once the more immediate danger presented by the sword was dealt with, he could move onto his other injuries. Some would take more time and care to heal. But there was no need to rush the process. As long as he could keep his patient stable, he could take the necessary time to ensure that Crowley's wounds healed correctly.

"All right, Crowley," said Raphael firmly. "I am going to remove the sword first and heal that laceration. I don't want to risk moving you too much before that is dealt with in case it tries to shift positions. We can move you to one of the beds before working on the other injuries afterwards. You're relatively stable right now, but I would like to get at least some of the worst injuries started healing. I don't want to try doing everything at once due to the damage to your true form, my limited experience with treating demons, and my concerns about what effects too much angelic healing might have on you. I want to take it slow to avoid complications for you. But as I said, I am going to start with the sword and go from there. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Despite there being a literal sword impaled in his chest, Crowley managed to say, "Got it, Doc."

"And since you understand what I intend to do, do I have permission to proceed?"

While Raphael could exert his power directly over any angel within his healing ward, a necessity sometimes in order to treat his patients, he did not know if the same would hold true for demons. But he preferred to be granted permission from his patients anyway rather than force the issue. In order to heal Crowley, the demon would have to lower all of his natural defenses and make himself completely vulnerable to another's power. And that same vulnerability that allowed another to heal him would also allow them to do far worse things. To control, manipulate, or harm directly with their power rather than being limited to more indirect methods. Giving someone that type of access required the greatest level of trust and Raphael would rather not force his way past someone's boundaries like that unless there was no other option. With Crowley awake, aware, and relatively stable, he could afford to give the demon that choice.

There was some hesitation. Even with his sunglasses on, Raphael could see the fear and doubt on his face despite his efforts to hide it. Fear, doubt, and pain that Raphael wanted to ease sooner rather than later. But he could understand why a demon would have trouble trusting an Archangel when he was already hurt. It was a lot to ask of him. But Raphael felt somewhat encouraged when Crowley turned slightly towards Aziraphale.

"I'm right here," said Aziraphale quietly. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"You will come to no further harm while you are here, Crowley." Raphael tightened his grip on his cane. "You are my patient and this is my healing ward. You are safe here."

A moment more of reluctance. Then Crowley gave a small nod, either accepting the reassurance or in too much pain to wait any longer. His hand shaking slightly, he pulled off his sunglasses and closed his eyes. Raphael sensed the demon purposefully making himself as open and vulnerable as possible. Giving the healer permission to proceed.

The door to the healing ward was open at the end of the hall. They'd been in too much of a hurry to close it behind them. As soon as she rounded the corner, already suspecting where the trail of droplets would lead her, she could see inside. Michael could see all of them even at that distance.

Raphael, the soft-hearted and yet snarky Archangel of Healing, already sitting in front of his new patient without any concern for who or what it was.

Aziraphale, the traitor to Heaven that somehow did not Fall nor perish to hellfire, standing next to them with his anxious and yet hopeful.

And Crowley…

They intended to heal the demon. After everything that he'd done. What he'd taken from her. Michael refused. A burning fury rose up. She was the Warrior of the Lord and no one would deny her this victory.

Teleporting with a miracle was always a tricky and difficult thing to attempt without anything to guide them to their destination. But it was far easier when she had a line of sight towards her target.

As the demon made himself vulnerable so that Raphael could begin the healing process, Michael acted. She materialized in the middle of the small group, knocking both Aziraphale and her fellow Archangel back as she grabbed at her sword. The sword still buried deep into the demon's body and true form.

And in that moment, where all of Crowley's defenses were lowered and he was completely open and vulnerable to another's power, Michael did not hesitate or hold back. She drove in her divine and holy power deep into the demon, following the path of her blade where it pierced through him. It only took an instant. And every fragment of her vicious intent filled her powerful miracle.

Her power snarled "destruction" and "cessation of existence" and "oblivion" and "Be Not."

And Michael performed her violent miracle [37] in the brief seconds that it took her to grasp the hilt of her sword, drive it in a little deeper, force the tip upwards to slice through even more of his corporation and true form, and then rip it out of the enlarged wound. Barely enough time for Raphael to hit the ground and yelp with pain from the impact to his bad leg.

Barely enough time for Aziraphale to regain his balance from where her sudden arrival shoved him stumbling back. And for him to see what she had done.

A choked gurgle. More dark ichor pouring from the wound. A normally-animated face going blank and empty. Then, Michael already turning her attention to Aziraphale and his growing horror, Crowley slumped backwards and slid off the stool.

[30] Their inability to take care of themselves and stop sacrificing themselves for each other, notwithstanding.

[31] A metaphysical reflection of the physical circle on Earth, the one made with candles and drawn with chalk instead of pure power.

[32] Meaning his two godchildren who decided to sneak away to Hell to interrogate Beelzebub, though Aziraphale didn't intend to reveal that part. It made him look like an irresponsible guardian for Warlock and he didn't want to look even more foolish in front of Raphael than he already did.

[33] Aziraphale had learned his lesson about opening doors without checking first. The Annex in Hell and the backlash that almost killed Crowley taught him that.

[34] Especially with a sword still buried in his body, along with the other injuries.

[35] Which did indeed look rather ridiculous while wearing her tailored suit.

[36] Raphael could not officially disapprove of Michael's actions against a demon. But he was not a fan of causing physical harm to someone solely for the purpose of making them suffer. If violence was required, he would prefer that the opponent be dealt with quickly and as painlessly as possible.

[37] More of a curse than a miracle, but that's simply semantics.

Oh, look. It's cliffhanger time. Sorry, but not really.