I'm very happy to hear how much everyone liked that last chapter. Thanks for the comments. Now it is time to visit Michael…
Despite there being plenty of places to sit in Raphael's office and having the ability to miracle up even more, Michael wasn't taking advantage of it. When they opened the door, she'd clearly been pacing around the room like a caged animal. She spun around at the sound of their arrival. Aziraphale nearly flinched instinctively when he caught a glimpse of the cold fury in her eyes. Nearly flinched, but didn't.
She might be dangerous and very angry, but Aziraphale wasn't exactly happy to see her either. Not when he'd just barely gotten Crowley back. Not after she hurt him so badly and then nearly killed him. He almost wished that he hadn't dropped his sword earlier. But Rapahel had made his conditions to accompany him quite clear. Aziraphale couldn't harm her. Not in his healing ward. No matter what she'd done to Crowley. [44]
"Siding with the traitors?" she snarled. "How dare you, Raphael."
Staring her down, he said, "Don't try to turn this on me. We both know that it's not a matter of siding with anyone. You attacked my patient in my healing ward. That is intolerable."
"A demon can't be your patient."
"Other than Her, I am the highest authority within the healing ward. And I never said that I would refuse treatment for demons. But you knew the rules about the healing ward. You knew those rules before you set foot inside. You knew and yet you attacked him regardless," said Raphael in an icy tone. "Torture did not satisfy you, so you broke those rules."
"He deserved it," she said sharply. "He was a demon and he was a traitor to his own kind. He deserved everything that I did to him and more." Turning her attention back towards Aziraphale, Michael said, "Though it ended too soon. If you hadn't tried to rescue him, your precious demon would still be alive."
If Aziraphale was a different angel and if he didn't know that Crowley was alive, he would have lunged at her for that comment regardless of what condition Raphael had given him. But he didn't move. He stayed perfectly still, listening to the quiet music playing from nowhere as Raphael stared her down.
Just like how there was something nice about having Crowley rescue him dramatically from various human threats over the years, there was something satisfying about letting the furious Raphael unleash his rage on her.
"There is a difference between injuring or killing an enemy in battle and purposeful cruelty against someone who is at your mercy and unable to resist. And even before you attacked him in my healing ward, the injuries you caused were clear acts of cruelty. Allowable, but distasteful. But what you did to him here, when you took advantage of my attempt to heal in order for you to extinguish his Breath, was the cruelest act of all," said Raphael coldly. "And it was a betrayal against me and my healers."
Narrowing her eyes, she said, "You—"
"Stop," he snapped, the command filled with power that paralyzed her. "If you want to discuss what my patient deserved for his actions, then you should be equally willing to accept the consequences for your choices. And the punishment should fit the crime. Wings out."
Michael's wings popped into view, the feathers sleek and neatly groomed. Not a single one out of place. Her wings spread open enough to see every perfect feather. And despite her normal calm and control, Aziraphale saw fear in her eyes.
Leaning heavily on his cane, Raphael dug out a scalpel from his lab coat. [45] He hobbled in front of Michael. Studying her and her wings with a clinical and detached expression. He spun the scalpel in his hand briefly and it grew in size to that of a dagger.
Quietly, Aziraphale asked, "What are you—"
Then Raphael moved like lightning. The scalpel flashed on either side of her, making even Aziraphale flinch at the sudden movement. It was over in the blink of an eye. Several primary feathers, sliced approximately two-thirds of the way down their length, fluttered down to the floor. An equal number from the outside edges of each wing. Carefully clipped below the coverts, the task performed with expert perfection despite his speed.
"You are grounded," said Raphael before banishing the scalpel. "You can try all that you want, but your wings will not support you in flight and are completely useless to you. At least until those feathers are molted and replaced. It should serve as an effective reminder of what you've done today."
"That could take centuries."
"Then you should hope that the final War doesn't come before that point or else you will be at a disadvantage." [46] Raphael gestured towards the door. "Get out. And don't you dare set foot in my healing ward again unless you are on the verge of dying. Because if you do, I will assume that you intend to harm another patient and I will not be as merciful a second time."
She reached out to touch her clipped wing cautiously. As if she couldn't quite wrap her head around what he'd done and the implications it would have for her in an emergency. Then, eyeing him nervously in case he intended to do more permanent or painful damage, she carefully headed out of the office.
Raphael glared at the door for a moment before shaking his head. He turned his attention back to Aziraphale.
"I suspect that you would have expected and perhaps even preferred a stronger punishment for what she did to Crowley," he said slowly. "And maybe it would have been more effective. But I do not like the idea of harming anyone within my healing ward. Not even Michael. Clipping her wings and leaving her grounded for centuries will have to suffice for now. I can't promise that she won't try again when you leave, but she won't come here. And she doesn't seem to realize that Crowley is still alive, so he should be safe for now."
A rather un-angelic part of him wished that she could have been punished further. That she'd suffered the same pain that she'd put Crowley through. But only for a moment. He wasn't malicious enough for more than that.
Besides, Crowley was more important to him than revenge. And he still had his demon. Aziraphale would focus on that. He would trade away any amount of revenge as long as Crowley was alive.
"I should head back to the operating room," said Raphael. "If you still wish to assist further, you can. But if you need some time for yourself, my healers and I should be able to handle the rest alone. This has been a difficult situation for you as well."
"I'll come with you," he said immediately. "I need to help."
And he needed to stay with Crowley. He needed to be with his demon and make sure that he was still alive. Taking a moment to make sure that Michael faced some form of consequence for her actions had felt important, but now h wanted to get back to him.
Smiling faintly, Raphael said, "I had a feeling you would say that. You're welcome to maintain his corporation while we work on healing and strengthening his true form instead of merely stabilizing him. As I explained to him previously, we'll need to take our time and be cautious not to cause Crowley more harm due to our inexperience with demon patients. His additional injuries only increase the need for caution." He took a few steps forward, his cane tapping quietly on the floor. "But I am confident that he is past the most difficult part of treatment. It should get easier now."
Zadkiel looked a little more worn by the time that Raphael and Aziraphale returned, but not enough to turn over control of the demon's personal halted time to Zerachiel. Both angels looked up as he hobbled over slowly and claimed a stool. He wouldn't be standing for this session. His leg was already complaining about earlier, throbbing and aching.
"Aziraphale will be maintaining the patient's breathing and heartbeat again," he said, letting one hand drift up to the demon's chest and the deep wound held together by a healer's power. "Zadkiel, when you release your hold on time, you should take the opportunity to rest. Recover your strength. Zerachiel, you won't be able to erase all the physical injuries, especially those that correspond to his true form's injuries, but work on what you can. The deep chest laceration and the internal damage her blade caused might resist you because of how connected it is to his true form injury, but do your best. Leave the two deeper wounds on his back alone for now. They're stabilized and will need some planning to properly treat. I'll be working on his true form."
The healers gave him a nod before Zadkiel claimed a chair out of the way. Zerachiel stayed on their stool on Crowley's right side, taking his hand again. Raphael was already seated on Crowley's left next to Zadkiel's vacated stool. And Aziraphale reclaimed his position near his demon's head.
"All right," said Raphael carefully. "Zadkiel, restore the flow of time to the patient in three… two… one."
He reached for that fragile spark of life as time resumed for Crowley, his breathing matching Aziraphale's as the principality took control of that task. Raphael let his power curl around the Breath that he'd coaxed back into the demon. Quietly urging more energy into him to strengthen that demonic spark. Not enough to risk overwhelming the demon with celestial power, but enough to leave Crowley in a less delicate state.
Then he moved towards the actual damage. Carefully patched and stabilized earlier, but now in need of actual healing. Raphael slowly poured his power into the deepest of the wounds. Where Michael had torn through so many vital structures of his true form and tried to scorch away all traces of life. Knitting back together the damage with gentle and careful skill. Working slowly to ensure that it would heal correctly.
This wasn't as difficult or exhausting as what he'd been doing before. It was mostly a matter of patience and precision. And with his injuries already stabilized and held together by angelic power to fill in the gaps, Raphael could afford to go slow.
He wouldn't be able to heal all of the injuries at once. The strain wouldn't be good for his patient. Especially after his extremely close brush with death. [47] The worst damage from Michael's sword needed to be well on its way towards healing, but the smaller lacerations to his true form would have to wait.
As for his wings…
Raphael took a moment to Look at the two deep chunks that Michael had sliced out of the demon. Where she'd carved out his wings. That wasn't something easily outdone. For now, he left them alone. Leaving the angelic power in place to fill in the gaps and maintain everything so that it wouldn't worsen or try to scar over.
When he felt that he'd made enough progress with his patient's true form, Raphael shifted his focus to the corporation. Zerachiel was doing fine work. The organs that Michael's blade had shredded were knit back together, blood had returned to the body, and the smaller lacerations were scabbed over. While not completely healed and wouldn't be until his true form recovered more, his body should no longer be trying to immediately give out.
"All right," said Raphael. "We'll finish up for now and let the patient rest for a while. We can arrange further treatment once he has a chance to recover from the stress of the attack and his injuries."
Raphael gave a quick Look over the demon's true form, ensuring that the remaining injuries were still properly sealed with power. Like metaphysical gauze wrappings. Zerachiel used a miracle to wrap Crowley's torso in real gauze saturated with a concentrated healing miracle. [48] Another small miracle cleaned away any lingering traces of blood and ichor from his body. Leaving the patient looking in far better condition than when he arrived at the healing ward.
"Aziraphale?" Raphael watched him look up from the demon's face and was paying attention. "You can let him breathe on his own now. He's past the worst of the danger. We'll move him to one of the beds for a while. You can stay and keep watch over him. We can put up some screens like we did for your stay so you'll both be more comfortable."
Because there was no chance that Aziraphale would be going back down to Earth before Crowley recovered. It would be better to keep the pair together. And possibly provide a large bed in case the angel wanted to keep him company if the demon woke up feeling anxious.
Assuming that he woke up at all. There were certain things that Raphael still needed to discuss. But it could wait until everything was settled and the principality could have some privacy. For now, the angel simply needed to know that Crowley was alive and stable. Beyond that, the outcome grew more uncertain.
Warlock sat up suddenly on Anathema's couch, blinking back tears in the darkness. His hand scrambled for his dream journal. The moonlight streaming through the window gave him enough light to immediately start writing down his Dream. He didn't have to think. It was pure habit. He wrote quickly while every detail was still fresh in his mind.
When his racing heart began to slow and he managed to swipe away the tears from his face, Warlock set his pencil down and read back over what he'd wrote.
"Aziraphale was helping Crowley to a stool with Raphael on another stool. White room with lots of beds, definitely in Heaven and probably a hospital type of place. Crowley doesn't have a shirt, but he's badly hurt with lots of cuts. Two big cuts on his back and a sword in his chest.
Lots happened fast. A dark-haired woman (an angel, Michael?) appeared in the middle of everyone. Knocked over Aziraphale and Raphael. She grabbed the sword and tore it out of Crowley. Lots of blood and black stuff. Crowley fell backwards, woman turned towards Aziraphale with the sword…"
And then he woke up.
While Warlock never knew for certain when his Dreams might happen, he knew that the events that they showed were never more than a day before or a day after when he had the Dream. And they always came true. Which meant that his guardians were in danger of being killed… or already were.
Shaking his head sharply, Warlock slipped off the couch. He wasn't going to consider the possibility that it was already too late. He could still save them. He refused to accept any other outcome.
Aziraphale had been gone a while, so Warlock knew that he needed to hurry if he wanted to reach them before the Dream came true. He would need a plan. Holy water guns and the ability to command the armies of Hell wouldn't help against an Archangel. But he did have a cursed blade from Hastur.
It was simple. Sneak out of Jasmine Cottage, grab the knife from where he hid it, sneak into Heaven, and find Aziraphale and Crowley before it was too late. He'd pulled off harder and more difficult plans when he was younger. He could handle it. The only tricky part was getting into Heaven. Warlock hadn't tried it before.
But he knew someone who had.
Aziraphale tugged the light blanket over Crowley. They'd settled him in the bed on his side, not wanting to put pressure on the injuries on his back and chest. They were wrapped in gauze, but they still didn't want to risk agitating them. Crowley was unconscious as Aziraphale finished tucking him in. But he was breathing on his own and he didn't look as pale. He almost looked like he was simply sleeping.
Not that Crowley would purposefully choose to take a nap in Heaven. Even if they'd made an effort to make it seem less like the bright, white, silent, and unnerving place that Aziraphale was once trapped. The quiet music and yellow screen panels surrounding the enlarged bed helped ground him. But it was still Heaven and no demon would ever be completely comfortable there. Certainly not enough to easily take a nap.
"I'm here, my dearest," murmured Aziraphale, clasping Crowley's hand between his own. "I won't let anything hurt you again."
Leaning heavily on his cane that suggested that he probably needed to sit down again, Raphael said gently, "Aziraphale?"
"Yes?" he said, reluctantly looking away from his demon's slack face.
Raphael didn't immediately respond. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and massaged his leg. Digging his fingers into the muscles with a grimace. Trying to combat whatever pain or stiffness that was plaguing him. Only then did he start speaking again.
"We should talk about Crowley's prognosis," he said. "At least, what little I can predict about it."
Aziraphale stiffened at his words. Dread creeping back in. He'd thought everything was all right now. But if Raphael wanted to talk, it might not be as certain.
"Both his corporation and his true for should heal without too many potential problems," said Raphael slowly. "There are a few injuries to his true form that might require some specialized treatment, but he should survive even if those injuries aren't healed correctly. Though I will certainly do my best. The point is Crowley is no longer in any danger of dying." He paused a moment, letting Aziraphale absorb the information. "My only concern is any possible lingering effects of Michael's aggressive miracle. She extinguished his Breath and I barely managed to restore it. There isn't a high success rage for what I did for him and I don't know what the long-term effects might be. He maybe fine with some time to recover or…"
"Or?" asked Aziraphale.
"Or he might not wake up," he said. "Humans whose breathing and heartbeat stop for too long, what they describe as 'clinical death,' can sometimes be revived using their medical knowledge. But it might still cause enough damage that the patients are left as empty shells. Crowley was reduced to a metaphysical equivalent of clinical death like those humans. He was essentially dead by most standards. And there may be consequences for that. I don't know if a demon can be left in a vegetative state, but I want to prepare you for any possibility."
Aziraphale closed his eyes, squeezing Crowley's hand. Taking a moment to settle his emotions. Trying to force down the distress that Raphael's words churned up. But he reached out for the faint, but familiar sensation and found it easily. Reassured, Aziraphale opened his eyes again.
"Thank you, but I don't believe that will be the case," he said quietly. "He's still here. He's still with me. I can still feel Crowley's love. He's not gone. And even if the worst should happen and he doesn't wake up, I won't abandon him. It would simply be like one of his longer naps. I would still take care of him. For however long he needs me."
Smiling faintly, Raphael said, "Love is patient."
"Something like that."
No matter how worried he might be or how much it hurt to see Crowley so badly hurt, Aziraphale wouldn't lose faith in his demon. It would be all right in the end. He would wake up eventually.
"And perhaps I am worrying over nothing," said Raphael. "He's my first patient to survive having their Breath extinguished and restored. We won't know how effective it might be until we see how he responds to the treatment." Raphael eased himself back to his feet. "I'll give you some space for now. But if you need anything or if something happens with Crowley, one of us will be close and ready to help."
"Thank you," said Aziraphale before turning his attention back towards the unconscious demon. "For everything."
Pebbles tossed at the window managed to rouse Adam enough for the boy and Dog to sneak out of the house. Warlock tried to ignore the uncertain expression on his friend's face as he explained about what he'd seen in his Dream. The same uncertain expression that had followed their visit to Hell. Warlock couldn't think about it. He needed to focus on more immediate things. Like laying out his plan.
When Warlock finished, Adam didn't immediately respond. He stared at Warlock. Like he was having a silent debate with himself about something. Leaving the two boys and a hellhound standing on the Young's front lawn in the middle of the night in silence.
"Adam?" he asked quietly.
Scuffing a slipper against the damp grass, Adam said, "I'll tell you how we managed to get there last night and I can give you the tracking crystal we got from Anathema, but…"
"But what?"
"Did you really kill someone, Warlock?"
Blinking in surprise, he said, "You mean Hastur?" He gave a short shrug and said, "Yeah, I did. He tried to kill Aziraphale. And he made it clear that he wouldn't stop trying to hurt them. Eventually he might actually kill him or Nanny. So I stopped him permanently to keep them safe."
He wasn't proud of it. Warlock didn't particularly enjoy destroying the demon. But at the time, it felt like the only option. He could either hunt Hastur down and stop him or the demon would keep coming back until he succeeded. And if the choice was losing someone that he loved or crushing his enemy beneath his heel, Warlock knew which choice he would always make.
"Are you going to do the same thing to Michael?"
"Maybe," he said with another shrug. "Mostly I just want to save Nanny and Aziraphale. But if she gets in the way or tries to hurt them, I will stop her."
Adam sighed, his shoulders slumping tiredly. He crouched down to scratch Dog's ears. Purposefully not looking at Warlock.
"Then I can't go with you."
"Why not, Adam?"
"It doesn't feel right. Maybe there's times where there's no good answers and maybe sometimes you have to kill someone to keep them from killing other people, but… I can't do that." Still petting Dog, he said, "Destroying someone… It feels too much like destroying everyone. If I start going down that path, I… It's why I don't try using my powers much. I don't want to be that person. I can't be the Anti-Christ because I don't think I would be able to stop again."
Warlock nodded slowly. He could understand that. Adam and Warlock were both fighting destiny, but the grip on Adam had always been stronger. He needed to actively resist it in a way that Warlock didn't. Warlock fought to be something while Adam fought not to be it.
"I get it. You don't have to help me go after Michael," he said quietly. "You don't need to be that type of person. But I chose to be my own version of the Anti-Christ and I won't let anyone hurt Nanny and Aziraphale. Even if that means destroying my enemies."
Standing back up, Adam said, "Just be careful. You don't want to start one of those revenge cycle things that they talk about on television or in comics." He looked back towards the house. "You'll need to sneak into the church and go through the locked door to find the stairway to Heaven. Let me get the stuff to help you break in. I think I have another skeleton key."
[44] Not that he'd be able to defeat her in a straight fight. She was the Archangel of War and he was a soft and retired principality. His only chance was to either catch her by surprise or tap into a previously-undiscovered level of unstoppable rage that would probably destroy them both in the process. And with Crowley alive in another room, Aziraphale was unlikely to reach that level of fury at the moment.
[45] Made of the same material as the celestial blades, Raphael preferred having something that was made for more than just causing harm. He was a healer, not a warrior.
[46] Taking out someone's wings was an effective way to hamper their maneuverability during a fight. It was why a lot of angels and future demons tended to target wings during the first War. And it was why so many angels and demons had issues with someone bothering their wings unexpectedly.
[47] And Death (and Mort).
[48] One of their workaround solutions for healing someone without needing to use miracles directly on another angel (or apparently a demon) while in the field. They also serve the same purpose as regular wound dressings in staunching blood loss and keeping injuries clean.
And so Warlock is preparing a rescue… after they are no longer in need of a rescue. But that's how it turns out sometimes. But at least Crowley is healing. Got to look on the positive side.