Yeah, I will admit that was a particularly evil cliffhanger to end on. But it was definitely an effective one. But I've made you wait long enough.

With such a brutal miracle, powered by the full strength of an Archangel and shoved deep into the very core of a vulnerable demon with no defenses to resist it, Crowley should have been permanently destroyed by the time he hit the ground.

But he did not hit the ground.

Time halted. Nearly every entity in the healing ward froze. Michael's ichor-stained sword stopped before it could strike the principality trying to reach his best friend. And the demon remained just above the floor, suspended in his lifeless collapse. Even the stool trying to fall over from the surprise attack was frozen where it was, tilted too far to stay upright and yet unable to finish tumbling to the ground.

There were only two entities unaffected by time being stopped. Raphael, still semi-sprawled on the floor and breathing hard from both the unexpected attack and needing to halt the passage of time so suddenly. And the other was a skeletal figure with his hands already buried deep into the demon, in the process of reaping him before everything stopped.

The sharp word that Raphael snarled out was both vulgar and inappropriate for an angel of the Lord. But it seemed to summarized his feelings about the fact that someone just attacked one of his patients within his healing ward, taking advantage of the trust and sense of security that his patients should feel when in his care in order to harm them in the most invasive and destructive way possible. And when it didn't feel like it was quite enough, Raphael cursed again and far more elaborately. Directing his rather strong emotions towards the frozen-in-time Warrior Archangel and himself for not reacting fast enough to stop her.

After he finished venting into the silence and breathing hard, Raphael reluctantly reclaimed his cane from the floor and slowly forced himself back to his feet. Then, leg throbbing from recent abuse of being knocked to the ground, he hobbled his way closer to his patient and the waiting Azrael.

Crowley's corporation was already bad enough. The deep laceration had been torn open wider. Splitting apart the rib cage and tearing through multiple vital organs. It would have immediately sent him into trauma-induced shock and then discorporation a few seconds later. The new damage would have been enough even without accounting for the other injuries already in place before Michael's surprise attack.

But it was his true form where she'd caused the real damage. Slicing deeply through the more vulnerable and important structures. Causing a serious enough injury to require a healer's full attention. The type of injury that Raphael had rarely seen since the first War. But then Michael did more than just shred his true form with a celestial blade. She sent a vicious and ruthless miracle into the patient while all his defenses were down. Destructive power thrusted into his very core. And that's what brought Death to the healing ward. She extinguished the Breath [38] from Crowley's true form. Snuffing out all traces of life from him.

Crowley was dying. Essentially dead already. Time frozen at the very instant of reaping.

"AS YOU CAN SEE," said Death finally, "THERE IS NOTHING TO BE DONE, ARCHANGEL RAPHAEL. THE DEMON IS BEYOND EVEN YOUR SKILLS TO PRESERVE. SO I WOULD APPRECIATE IT IF YOU RESTART TIME." He inclined his skull towards where his hands were buried deep in Crowley's chest. "THIS ISN'T EXACTLY COMFORTABLE."

Raphael bowed his head. Death wasn't completely wrong about Crowley's condition. There had bee a few cases during the War when they managed to reach their patients right as they lost all Breath. And he and the other healers had done their best for them. Trying to save them despite them already tipping over the edge. Three cases. Two complete failures and one where her other injuries killed her as soon as Raphael managed to coax Breath back into her true form. In all three cases, they fell into Azrael's care.

But it was no longer the War, every healer pushed to their limits. And Raphael refused to give up on a patient under his care. A patient who was harmed despite being under his protection at the time.

"Crowley is not fully in your care yet," said Raphael. "That means that he is still my patient. And I intend to heal him."

"YOU TRULY INTEND TO FIGHT THAT BATTLE? DESPITE YOUR PAST EXPERIENCE WITH TREATING SIMILAR INJURIES? AND WHEN YOUR PATIENT IS A DEMON?"

"You've known me for thousands of years. What do you think?"

Death stared at him with dark sockets. As a skeletal figure, it could be difficult to read his expression. But after a few moments of the tense stare down, a small furry creature poked its head out of Death's hood. The kitten blinked blearily before yawning. Then it nuzzled Death's cheekbone.

"Mew."

And to Raphael's surprise, Death's posture softened slightly. [39] He leaned his head against the kitten. Then he turned his attention back towards Raphael.

"I CAN HEAL THE PHYSICAL WOUNDS TO REVIVE A HUMAN SHOULD THEY WIN A BARGAIN, BUT THE TRUE FORM IS BEYOND MY ABILITY TO SAVE. I WILL NOT FIGHT YOU. BUT IF YOU CANNOT HELP HIM, I WILL STILL HAVE TO COLLECT CROWLEY. AND YOU KNOW THAT YOUR CHANCES ARE SLIM."

"I can work with a slim chance," said Raphael. "As long as there's a chance."

He closed his eyes briefly. Taking a moment to mentally sort out the sequence of events necessary for the highest probability of success. Not merely in regards to healing the demon, but also managing the violent Archangel of War and the principality who was bound to respond badly the instant time resumed. There were a lot of moving parts to keep track of. But he did have plenty of experience with triage combined with active combat.

"I swear, Crowley," he muttered, rubbing his aching leg, "you are not allowed to annoy me by dying in my healing ward. You've already caused me enough headaches. You're not allowed to die after I promised your safety here."

Raphael shook his head slowly. Then, gathering his power, he carefully separated the threads of Time. Maintaining the tight hold on the demon to keep him frozen in place, but releasing the rest. Letting time move forward for everyone else.

Aziraphale couldn't think, barely regaining his balance in time to see Crowley falling backward. Dark ichor pouring out of the now-larger wound in his chest, the life fading from his eyes, and the feeling of the demon's love vanishing sharply. Like a light went out, plunging the world into darkness as it drove all air from the angel's chest. Horror and an indescribable terror rose up like a tsunami, washing away all rational thought. All that seemed to matter was the awful feeling of Crowley's absence. The feeling of him vanishing in a fundamental and gut-wrenching way.

It only took an instant. An eternity.

Then Crowley abruptly froze in midair barely a handspan above the ground. And a second later, a sharp order rang out.

"Be still!"

Aziraphale flinched at both the harsh voice and the amount of power compelling obedience. But it wasn't directed towards him. It was aimed at Michael, the Archangel stopping in mid-swing with her ichor-stained blade. Freezing in a different way than Crowley. Her eyes were still aware and observing what was happening. Her expression twisted into frustration, rage, and a hint of realization that was slowly growing into worry for herself. Aziraphale barely noticed that she'd been aiming towards his throat. All that mattered was that Michael, the one that hurt Crowley so badly and now tried to finish him off, was right in front of him.

Aziraphale was purposefully soft. It was a choice that he'd made at the beginning of everything and continued to make. But he was a principality. He was a Guardian. His hand tightened on his sword, threatening to ignite it. Twin impulses roared up. The desire to strike out at the threat and the urge to protect his demon.

But checking on Crowley's welfare won out. He could recognize that Raphael must have frozen time for the demon. Pausing him in place to prevent further harm. It was the only explanation for the way that he was floating in midair with the dark ichor held immobile in the middle of trying to pour out of him and towards the floor. But his corporation was torn open from her sword. And when Aziraphale tried to Look towards his true form—

"You attacked one of my patients, Michael," said Raphael, distracting Aziraphale from his inspection. The Archangel of Healing spoke in a low and dangerous tone, as sharp as a scalpel. "You attacked a patient in my healing ward. A patient under my care and protection."

Aziraphale could tell from the look in her eyes that she wanted to respond. But Raphael had full control in his healing ward and was exerting it fully this time. And he'd commanded her to be still. At the moment, she was nothing more than a living statue.

"Drop the weapon and go wait in my office until I come for you," he continued. "I don't have time to deal with you right now. I have more important matters that require my attention."

There was a clang as her blade hit the ground. With stiff movements, she was forced to retreat. And with her moving out of the way, two other angels moved in to take her place. Aziraphale recognized Zadkiel with her straight black hair. He'd seen her back when he was staying in the healing ward for his own injuries. The other angel was a little less familiar. [40] Their hair was a mess of brown curls tied in a loose bun. And both angels took up position on either side of the frozen-in-time demon.

Some of that protective instinct rose up at the sight of so many angels around his wounded demon. Aziraphale knew that Raphael wouldn't hurt him, that Crowley was safe with the healer. But Crowley was supposed to be safe before and look how that turned out. He couldn't guarantee that nothing else would go wrong. Because everything was going wrong for them.

His chest ached and he couldn't breathe. Or rather, he was breathing far too fast, but it didn't feel like he could get enough air. Aziraphale knew that he didn't need to breathe. He just couldn't convince his corporation of that fact. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't think. He couldn't think about anything except the gut-wrenching fact that Crowley was dying, dying, dying—

"Aziraphale," said Raphael firmly, pulling him from that downward spiral a little. "Slow deep breaths. I need you to focus on that. I'm sorry, but I need you to keep yourself out of a panic attack for a little longer. What I'm going to be trying to do is going to require multiple angels to pull off. I'm going to need your assistance. Can you keep it together?"

He forced himself to take a few slow and deep breaths, trying to make his body obey. Swallowing hard, he managed to give a shaky nod. He could hold it together. For Crowley.

"All right." Raphael turned his attention back to the other healers. "Zadkiel? Zerachiel? We're moving the patient to the operating room."

Zerachiel looked like they wanted to hesitate a moment, but they gave a nod. Zadkiel's nod was more enthusiastic. It was strange watching them move someone frozen in time and suspended in midair. It didn't quite look natural. But it was better than having Crowley slip away.

But what if he already had? That's what it felt like in that brief second before time froze. Like he was already gone. Aziraphale tried to shove that thought away, but it kept whispering at the back of his mind.

The operating room wasn't quite the same as what a human hospital would look like. It was a white and brightly-lit room, but with no trays of surgical equipment, no monitors, and not even an actual operating table. When everyone involved were angels, there were bound to be some changes. Some things weren't necessary or useful for them when miracles were more convenient. But there were several stools arranged around what looked like a small cloud.

"Our own creation," said Raphael distractedly, apparently noticing where Aziraphale was looking. "Works better than a solid flat surface. Conforms to fit the patient regardless of the position that we place them in. Offers more support than just floating, but without putting any pressure on injuries. We can even access injuries beneath them through the material without needing to shift their position." He gestured towards one of the stools. "I need you to take up position near his head. Zadkiel, on the left. Zerachiel, on the right."

Aziraphale moved to take the stool as they settled Crowley in place. The demon was lying on his back, carefully supported by the could that shifted to nestle around him and his stiff limbs. Aziraphale was right above his head, staring down into Crowley's slack and empty face. He couldn't help reaching out briefly to touch his cheek. His poor demon. Crowley didn't deserve any of what happened to him at Michael's hands.

"Our first priority is stabilization," said Raphael. "Properly healing his wounds will have to wait. Remember our patient is a demon and too much holiness could easily worsen the situation. Try to focus on more generic healing miracles of your own rather than drawing on Heaven's direct power to bolster your efforts." Moving so that he was on Crowley's left side just past Zadkiel, he continued, "When I release my hold on time, we all have our tasks. Zadkiel, you will be stabilizing the wounds to the patient's corporation. Zerachiel, you will be stabilizing the wounds to his true form. And Aziraphale?"

He couldn't help jumping a little at being addressed. Whatever Crowley needed him to do, he would do it. Whatever role that Raphael gave him. But that didn't stop him from being a bundle of anxiety and worry. He was wound too tightly. There was so much that could go wrong. He could ruin everything by making a mistake and lose Crowley.

No pressure then.

"His body is going to try giving out immediately, but we can't let him discorporate. Not in this state," said Raphael. "I need you to focus on keeping his body going while we work on the rest. Just keep his heart beating and him breathing."

Aziraphale gave a small nod. It wasn't anything that he had much experience with, but he would manage it somehow. The simplest way would be to synchronize it with his own corporation. Aziraphale positioned his hands on either side of Crowley's face, practically cradling it. The physical contact would make it easier.

Zadkiel grabbed one of Crowley's arms and Zerachiel took the other. They claimed their respective stools. Raphael remained standing despite the grimace on his face, leaning over the demon with hands resting on Crowley's chest on either side of the ugly wound. The Archangel closed his eyes. Visibly gathering his strength.

"I will release the hold on time on my mark," said Raphael. "Stabilize the patient on three… two… one."

Aziraphale's power slipped easily into the demon, forcing still and silent organs to stagger back into action. Breathing with Aziraphale's breathing. His heart beating in rhythm with the angel's. Maintaining the body despite the damage.

But it was hard to focus on that task because of the horrible emptiness. It hadn't just been the result of time halting. He couldn't sense Crowley because he was gone. When Aziraphale found him in the Annex in Hell, Crowley was only nearly gone and fading fast. This time, there was no trace. Nothing that felt like his demon at all. Crowley didn't even have any Breath. As soon as time resumed, Aziraphale realized that it was already too late.

Except Raphael immediately poured his own Breath into the demon's true form. Using it to sustain him. [41] Keeping Crowley's true form going even though Aziraphale couldn't feel any spark of his demon left. It was only a hollow shell without the bright love or his demonic aura. All he could sense was the Archangel's presence. The wrongness of it nearly made Aziraphale sob except he needed to keep the corporation breathing.

Except what was the point? There was nothing left of his demon.

Aziraphale tried to smother that thought. He couldn't lose hope, but it was hard. Because he felt nothing. Not Crowley's love, his demonic presence, or any other trace of him. He was gone. Crowley was gone and there were some things that not even the Archangel of Healing could fix.

What Raphael was doing, maintaining another's true form by sharing his Breath, wasn't easy to accomplish. And it was certainly not something that any angel could pull off. He'd attempted it before. But it was exhausting to maintain for very long. And as Death had acknowledged, it had a very low success rate. The one time that he pulled it off, the angel's other injuries finished her off.

But during the War, they couldn't spare four trained healers [42] to focus on a single patient. Not when there were so many others in need. But there were no other patients currently. And with enough angels to assist, they might be able to help the demon pull through.

As Raphael maintained the careful balance, sharing his Breath with another, he also kept track of everyone else's progress. Despite looking like he was struggling not to collapse into heavy sobs, Aziraphale managed to keep the patient's body breathing shakily. Rising to the occasion despite not being a healer and in deep emotional distress. Zadkiel was pouring power into the deep gash in the patient's chest the same way that Zerachiel was trying to fill in the wounds of his true form. Not trying to heal and knit the injuries together. Not yet. Simply filling in the damage with their strength and power to maintain him. Like a supernatural dressing for the wounds. It wasn't a permanent solution, but it was a useful technique for stabilizing someone or if they couldn't fully heal a patient immediately for some reason. It allowed the patient's corporation and true form endure despite the damage and work around it.

"Stable," said Zadkiel, the statement almost immediately echoed by Zerachiel.

Raphael gave a short nod. With his body and true form stabilized, Crowley shouldn't immediately die from his injuries. The others had done their jobs. All that was left was Raphael's part.

Well, his and Crowley's part. And Crowley had the hardest job.

"All right," he muttered under his breath. "Come on now."

This would be the tricky part. Raphael slowly pulled his Breath back out of the demon's true form. His silent, still, and empty true form. Trying to coax Crowley back into taking over. For his own Breath to fill and fuel his own true form. Like trying to rekindle an extinguished fire from the spark of another, hoping that the flames would catch by the time they were pulled away. And when Crowley didn't show any change, Raphael had to go back to sustaining the patient himself.

"Come on, you stubborn demon. Don't make me do all the work."

Again, Raphael slowly withdrew his Breath from his patient. Waiting for the demon to use his stubbornness to fight for his own survival. Though perhaps being a demon, who was being preserved by an angel's Breath, was the problem. It was a delicate process already. One prone to failure. And angels and demons were similar, but he'd never tried it with a demon as the recipient. Or it might be the way that Michael's power was forced in the very core of his being, all of it concentrated on his absolute destruction. Regardless of the reason, Crowley didn't respond and Raphael was forced to share his Breath again before the true form failed completely.

He closed his eyes and stretched his senses down deep. Raphael Looked at the patient's true form. Badly wounded, held together by the healers' power, and empty except for Raphael's Breath. Trying to find a hint that the patient was responding even slightly to what they were attempting.

"Crowley," he said firmly. 'You are not allowed to die. Do you want to upset Aziraphale?"

Because if Raphael had learned anything, it was the frustrating lengths that these two would go for each other. And there was only so much that Raphael could do to help. After a certain point, it was up to the patient and their will to hold on. He was balanced on that razor's edge, barely hanging on. Death would still claim him if Crowley didn't at least try fighting for his life. For Aziraphale's sake if not his own.

But Michael's miracle would have obliterated his ability to resist. To strive and try to survive. Destructive power jammed into his deepest core and burning with an aggressive command to die.

She'd extinguished the Breath from within him and it was like trying to relight kindling that had been completely soaked.

Raphael pulled away again, but Crowley still didn't take up the slack. Which forced the Archangel to immediately pour his Breath back in. Raphael heard a barely smother sob from Aziraphale. But he couldn't allow himself to be distracted. He was feeling the strain of sharing his Breath with another. If he lost focus, then he could lose that hold completely and Crowley would certainly be lost.

"Breathe. Come on and Breathe, you pain-in-the-neck demon with no self-preservation instincts. Stop breaking that angel's heart," he snarled quietly.

Because he knew how much Aziraphale loved Crowley. It was obvious to even the most oblivious angel. It radiated off of both of them. Bright and impossible to miss. And having Crowley slip away would shatter him.

Then he sensed it. Tiny and fragile. The faintest and weakest hint of something demonic. Barely detectable, but Raphael had very sharp senses.

Buried deep in Crowley's wounded form was finally some traces of Breath.

Raphael carefully withdrew his own Breath slowly, cautiously Watching that spark of life. And while it wavered slightly, it endured. Crowley endured.

"Zadkiel, time," said Raphael, snapping his eyes open.

Once more, time surrounding the demon froze. Giving Raphael, Zerachiel, and Aziraphale a chance to stop and rest a moment. He would remain in that state for however long Zadkiel kept time from progressing for Crowley. The healers released their hold on the patient, giving Raphael a chance to reclaim his cane. His leg throbbed angrily at him, but that was a minor concern. His patient's condition was of greater importance.

"Can you maintain it?" he asked.

Nodding, Zadkiel said, "I'll be fine. I can hold it for a while."

"All right. Injuries are stabilized and the patient's Breath has been successfully restored. Give me a little while to deal with Michael. If the strain gets too much, have Zerachiel trade out with you. When I return, we can focus on healing. Starting with the true form injuries." Turning his head, Raphael said, "Aziraphale?"

The principality hadn't moved, still holding Crowley's head between his hands. Staring down at the demon. There were tears on his face. But there was such relief there now. Relief and fragile hope.

"Aziraphale? He's alive and stable for now. You did well helping us. And I know that you likely wish to stay with him. But I'm going to make you a small offer." Raphael started limping slowly towards the door. "I can't allow you to harm her within my healing ward, but if you would like to be present while I deal with Michael…"

That managed to earn a glance from Aziraphale. Just as Raphael suspected it might. Some quiet anger shone in his eyes. He gave a small nod. Then Aziraphale leaned down and whispered something in the demon's ear, pressed a small kiss to his forehead, and reluctantly stood up.

Raphael made it out of the operating room to the lines of beds in the main section of the healing ward. But even with the office close to the operating room, he didn't even try to go straight there. Instead, he stumbled to collapse on the closest bed. Almost shaking with exhaustion.

Yet another reason that he rarely attempted that. It really took it out of him.

"Raphael?" asked Aziraphale, sounding a little panicked.

"I'm fine." Rubbing his eyes with one hand and massaging his bad leg with the other, the Archangel sat on the edge of the bed as he waited for the worst of it to subside. "Just a little worn out. It isn't often that I have to attempt that particular technique. Most patients aren't caught at that critical moment. Give me a couple of minutes to recover and I'll be fine." Remember when Aziraphale was his patient, Raphael continued, "I know that being in Heaven distresses you. Please take whatever steps are necessary to avoid that issue while I metaphorically catch my breath."

Aziraphale hesitated a moment, looking unconvinced by Raphael's reassurances. But he sat down on the bed next to Archangel. A snap of the fingers from Aziraphale and soft music started playing in the healing ward. [43] Raphael closed his eyes, listened to the music, and tried to recover his strength for the next step.

[38] There was no exact human word in any language that could serve as a direct translation. It had nothing to do with the act of drawing oxygen into lungs. It had to do more with the way that She had taken primordial fire, light, and air, spun them together into new shapes, and Breathed Life into the deepest core at the center of Her angels' true forms. When angels or demons spoke of Breath, they didn't mean anything to do with their corporations. That form of Breath somehow combined the connotations of "life," "existence," and "the burning brightness at the center of their true self."

[39] Death knew Crowley's connection to Warlock and he was very grateful for Mort. And he knew that gratitude should be properly expressed.

[40] Zerachiel might not have argued with Raphael's decision to bring the known traitor of Heaven and a demon into the healing ward, but that didn't mean they comfortable with it. During the previous stay, they spent most of his time away from the pair. As long as there was no need for their assistance as a healer, they were content leaving the entire questionable mess alone. Unfortunately, they could already tell they wouldn't get the option this time around.

[41] If what Aziraphale did to heal Crowley in the Annex was the metaphysical equivalent of CPR, Raphael was performing the equivalent of open-heart massage, artificial respiration, and injecting adrenaline in an attempt to induce the restoration of a heartbeat and spontaneous circulation all at the same time.

[42] Or three trained healers and a principality with at least some basic healing skills.

[43] A classical instrumental arrangement of "The Girl from Ipanema." He'd heard it in an elevator once.

And so Raphael managed to wrestle Crowley back to life. Because that definitely would have shattered Aziraphale. Now he's just got to deal with Michael. She should know better than to anger a healer.