Everyone is concerned about Crowley, though there doesn't seem to be too many people who think that Raphael is about to execute him. Then there are those who have realized the real issue. Whether or not Raphael intends the demon harm, Crowley's actions are not going to go over well with Aziraphale…

Aziraphale didn't immediately know what woke him up. He blinked awake to see the creamy yellow curtains and hear the quiet music from Warlock's music player. But then he noticed the faint chill. The absence of an arm curled over him and a warm body pressed against him.

Crowley.

He pushed himself up, searching for the missing demon. But the shift in position dislodged a folded sheet of paper, drawing his attention to it. He blinked in confusion. Not only was Crowley missing, but there was a letter and he was abruptly wearing a set of tartan pajamas. Azirpahale had his suspicions on the source of the clothes and the letter.

After brushing his hand briefly along the flannel fabric, Aziraphale turned over the letter. A wax seal with the familiar impression from a signet ring that Crowley once used. Aziraphale would recognize the elaborate "C" anywhere. The demon used to send all their correspondences like that back when that was the style.

Though the color back then had always been the professional shade of red. Not this time. The wax was a dark green shade. A color that meant it was a private letter. Or sometimes it signified lovers who lived in hope. Either meaning brought a smile to his face.

Until he noticed a secondary color mixed in. Subtle, but definitely present. A little bit of black with the dark green. Black wax was meant for mourning or obituaries.

His throat tightening as an unknown fear squeezed in his chest, he carefully opened the letter.

Aziraphale,

I don't know when I started to love you. Maybe it was at the very beginning, when you told me that you gave away your sword and then sheltered me under your wing. That's certainly when I realized how special you were. You deserve to be loved and cherished for the entirety of those six thousand years that we've know each other. But if I can be honest, I can't actually pinpoint the exact moment that I began to love you. It was a slow and gradual thing, growing with every meeting, every smile, and every exchanged word. I loved you long before I realized it. And those feelings are woven throughout every part of me. Losing them, losing you, would rip me apart until there was nothing left of me. That's how vital you are to me.

You are the kindest, bravest, most clever, and most wonderful angel to ever exist. You're also stubborn, fussy, frustrating, have a tendency to ignore common sense when faced with good food, can't stay out of trouble for five minutes, and you couldn't sell one of your books to save your life. And I love you for that too.

I know that you love me, even if I can't sense it like you can sense my love. You demonstrate it in so many ways, big and small. You stood with me at the end of the world. You faced my execution to protect me. You marched out of Heaven and straight into Hell to pull me out of danger. But you also invited me to lunch in Rome. You gave me holy water even when you were scared. You smile at me in a way that you don't smile for anyone else. You spend every night in bed with me to guard me from nightmares. You tell me that you love me when I need that reassurance or even when I just want to hear the words. And you were my best friend through the ages, even when you had every reason to reject a demon.

I don't think that I can ever fully explain how precious you are to me.

The worst moment in my entire existence was during the Nope-mageddon when I thought you were gone forever. It was worse than the Fall. Losing you is my worst nightmare. Literally. Specifically, losing you and it being because of me. From me making a mistake or simply being unable to save you. I would do anything in my power to protect you and keep you safe because I love you and I cannot bear the idea of losing you like that.

You told me that you never wanted me to die for you. And I tried to find another way save you. But I wasn't strong enough to heal what Hastur did and I needed a way to convince Raphael to do the job. The only thing that I could offer was myself.

I'm not sure what will happen next, but I don't want you or the humans to try mounting a rescue. There's no guarantee that there will be anything left to rescue. I may be imprisoned in Heaven, end up in Hell, or be immediately destroyed. I hope that they don't make you watch. But whatever happens, it's fine. Please don't fight it. I made my choice. And chose to protect our side. To protect you.

Tell Warlock that I'm sorry that I left you both and take care of him. You can't give up on everything just because I'm gone. The kid still needs you. And we worked too hard trying to save the world for you not to enjoy it. I need you to keep going. Go to plays, eat expensive meals, drink fine wine, hoard old books, and marvel over humanity's ingenuity and imaginative ideas.

I need you to find a way to be happy. I didn't write this letter to hurt you or make you miserable. I wanted to make certain that you would always know how much that you are loved and cherished. I wanted you to know how amazing and wonderful you are. And I wanted to make certain that you never forget or doubt how much I love you, even when I'm not there to remind you.

If someone ever tries to make you feel like you're worthless, this letter is physical proof of how important you are and how much you are treasured. Never let Heaven, Hell, or humanity make you forget that.

Never forget how precious and special you are, angel.

I will always love you. With all my heart and every piece of my condemned true demonic self. And even if I am unforgivable by my very nature, I hope you'll forgive me someday for leaving you. Once, I told you that I would never leave you. And I'm sorry that turned out to be a lie. Because I never wanted to leave you, but I had to. Because I love you so much, Aziraphale. And you are worth far more than you can possibly imagine.

- Crowley

Aziraphale was shaking by the time that he finished the letter. Horror and denial clawed their way up his throat. He couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true.

He wouldn't let it be true.

Aziraphale reached desperately with his more angelic senses. Hoping with all of his heart, but terrified of what he would find. Or what he wouldn't find. Because he couldn't bear the idea of a gaping absence where Crowley's love should be.

And when Aziraphale sensed Crowley's bright and warm love, he nearly wept with relief. He was still alive. He wasn't gone yet.

Not yet.

The fear and heartache transformed into a protective fury. As soft as he was, Aziraphale began as a warrior and a guardian. He was created to protect. And someone that he loved was in danger.

He couldn't lose Crowley.

Aziraphale was on his feet. He didn't remember standing. The angel reached for his sword, ignoring the fact that the weapon was in the umbrella stand in the cottage. It answered his call regardless. He faintly noticed the return of pain, but didn't care.

Crowley was in danger. He needed to save him before it was too late. He needed to reach Crowley before he lost him forever.


Raphael wasn't lying. There was no pain, but it was uncomfortable to have the Archangel reaching into his true form. Crowley couldn't help shivering from the sensation. He kept his eyes shut, trying to visualize Aziraphale instead of thinking about what was happening. Any moment now and the strange unnerving sensation would give way to his destruction. Raphael would either destroy some vital part of his true self or extinguish his Breath. [21] And Crowley didn't want to think about it. No reason to make his last few seconds worse.

Crowley winced slightly as he felt something. An almost gentle tugging. No pain, but completely unnerving.

"You managed to cause some impressive damage not that long ago," said Raphael calmly. "Some form of intense and prolong strain. And your efforts yesterday ended up exacerbating that previous damage."

Opening his eyes cautiously, Crowley croaked, "What?"

"Someone apparently tried to heal you and they managed to help, but that seemed to be more of a generalized healing," he continued. "And perhaps that would have been enough if you didn't keep pushing yourself. By now, if you want your true form to heal properly and regain your normal level of strength, you'll need to have that strain damage properly treated. Otherwise, you end up with faint scarring at various points of tension. Not enough to bleed over into your corporation, but it'll hinder you when it comes to larger-scale miracles."

"Treated?" he asked, his voice almost shaking.

Raphael looked up from where he'd been staring intently, too focused on the demon's true form before. He frowned at Crowley's expression before gaining a look of realization and pulling away his power. Crowley couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief.

"I asked permission to proceed," said Raphael carefully. "You allowed me access to your true form. Did you not understand what I intended?"

"I… The deal was that you could do whatever you wanted," he said, slow and uncertain. "You… You were going to destroy me. That was the deal."

"We have no deal."

Those simple words stole the breath from his corporation. He didn't even comprehend what he was hearing. He made a deal with the Archangel. His life in exchange for Aziraphale's life being saved. His angel was alive, so Crowley was supposed to…

"You released me from the circle before we had any formal agreement," said Raphael evenly. "I never told you that I accepted your offer. And even if I chose to accept your deal, there is no reason to assume that what I want would be your destruction. For Her sake, I'm healer, not an executioner. Besides, I thought demons were supposed to be good with loopholes."

Not always. Not when Crowley was scared, desperate, and frantic. Not when he was cradling his dying angel in his arms and hundreds of nightmarish scenarios were flashing through his head. When he was teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown, it was almost impossible to focus closely enough to decipher possible loopholes.

"If you don't want to kill me," said Crowley slowly, "what do you want with me?"

"I want to heal you," he said. "I'm a healer and you are my patient at the moment. Both of you are. And if you would accept my offer with a proper understanding this time of what I intend, I would like to finish repairing and strengthening your true form. The places where it has been strained thin in the past. It shouldn't take long and I can promise that you won't feel any pain."

Crowley stared at him silently for a few moments. Trying to wrap his head around the idea. There was no reason to assume that Raphael was lying. The Archangel had been reaching into his true form and could have snuffed him out already. Raphael could have done anything to him already. But he didn't. He'd even withdrawn his power when he realized the demon's misunderstanding, giving him a chance to agree properly or decline. While everything that Crowley knew told him not to trust any angel except Aziraphale, there was a decent chance that Raphael meant it.

His natural defenses remained lowered from before, leaving him open and vulnerable. And after another moment of consideration, Crowley gave a small nod. A true agreement with an actual understanding of what was being offered. He shivered as Raphael reached back into his true form.

"None of this is as bad as Aziraphale's wounds were. You are mostly healed from the initial event," he described absently, the unnerving tugging sensation back. "I am mostly smoothing things out and fixing a few places. Minimizing scarring and long-term effects. Though it looks like someone fixed a few deep lacerations with barely a trace."

Grinning nervously, Crowley said, "Yeah, my last visit to Hell wasn't fun. Adam fixed where Satan's claws poked holes in me though."

"Not one of the normal stories that you hear about the Anti-Christ," he said.

"He's a good kid. Likes the world. Doesn't want it destroyed."

Small talk. Crowley couldn't believe that he was making small talk with an Archangel while the angel had his power buried into his true form. The entire situation felt surreal.

Then there was light.

A sudden flash of divine power before a bright figure stood in the middle of the room, flaming sword in hand. Teleporting without a clear line of sight or a proper method of zeroing in on a destination was reckless. But it was awe-inspiring to see him in a protective rage. He shouldn't have seemed as impressive, dressed in tartan pajamas and with ruffled hair from sleep. But Crowley couldn't help it.

There was nothing quite like seeing his angel in full guardian mode.

Then, seeing Raphael firmly entrenched in the demon's true form in a way that could end very badly, Aziraphale moved. In an instant, the angel was between them, the stool immediately shoved away by the Archangel knowing how to recognize an intense situation. The angel's back was to Crowley as Aziraphale faced towards the potential threat. He held his sword defensively in front of him. A clear and undeniable demonstration that Raphael would not touch the demon.

"Did no one listen when I told you no miracles?" snapped the Archangel. "Does no one listen to a word that I say?"

"You can't have him," said Aziraphale, his voice steady and firm. "I won't let you hurt Crowley. I appreciate your assistance, but I won't let you take him from me."

"It's all right, angel," murmured Crowley, climbing to his feet and reaching his hand for the angel's shoulder.

Refusing to take his eyes away from the Archangel, he said, "I read your letter. I know what he intends to do to you."

"I made a mistake. It's fine." He squeezed Aziraphale's shoulder. "I promise that I'm fine. You can put down the sword."

Aziraphale didn't move. Not yet letting himself relax or lower his guard. He was still trying to protect the demon from harm. But as Crowley peered over his shoulder, he could see the angel starting to tremble.

"Put your sword down this instant," said Raphael, glaring sternly at the angel. "How many miracles did you just perform against my instructions? How badly did you tear open those wounds again? Because you definitely hurt yourself again. Is it too much to ask for you to stop damaging your true form for five minutes?" He shook his head. "I need you to put that down and let me take care of you before you make things worse."

"No," he said shakily. "I won't let him trade his life for mine."

"There is no trade. No deal," said Raphael firmly. "Both of you are painfully frustrating and stubborn, do you know that? Now, please stop panicking and stressing yourself out." When Aziraphale didn't immediately obey, he snapped, "I will not let anyone wave weapons around my healing ward. So for the last time, put down the sword or else I will force you to do so. That is not my preference, but you're being ridiculous and self-destructive."

Trembling and his sword tip starting to waver, Aziraphale said, "You were reaching into his true form. You were trying to…"

"He was just giving me a checkup," said Crowley gently. "I was wrong. I didn't mean to scare you with that letter. He doesn't want to hurt either of us. I'm safe, Aziraphale." Sliding around slowly to the angel's side and reaching for his arm, he said, "Please put down the sword. You're hurting yourself. Let him fix it."

Aziraphale took a deep breath and swallowed hard. Then he let the weapon fall with a clatter, the flames extinguishing. From his new position, Crowley could see the tightness in his expression. Trying to hide the pain. Crowley felt him wobble before he forced the angel to sit on the cot that he'd just vacated.

"Stubborn idiots. Both of you," complained Raphael, moving his stool closer to his patient. "I would strangle you if I wouldn't just have to heal you afterwards." Staring hard at the angel, he said, "And look at what you've done. That's one of the deeper ones. You managed to tear open at least two of your wounds with that stunt."

"I'm sorry," mumbled Aziraphale as the healer's power slipped into his true form.

"You should be. You're staying in my healing ward for an extra day," he snapped. "And don't even try to argue."

Sitting down next to him, Crowley said, "We'll stay then. Warlock is with Book Girl, so we've got time." He turned his attention towards the concentrating Archangel. "You've got to understand. We both have reason to expect the worst from both Heaven and Hell. Neither of us are exactly popular with our former sides."

No one said anything for a few moments. But the pinched look around Aziraphale's eyes relaxed. The damage and the pain were fading under Raphael's attention.

"Do you know why I need a cane?" asked Raphael eventually. "Scar damage to my true form that bleeds over into my corporation. Getting a new body won't fix it. The new corporation will end up with same problem." [22] Never looking away from his work, he explained, "During the first War, it was sometimes necessary to leave my healing ward to retrieve the wounded and bring them back. Especially those in more serious condition who could not wait for a lull in the fighting. It was a brutal and vicious time. Many angels fell during the War, long before any of them Fell. And during one of those rescue attempts, I was attacked."

He pulled away before turning his attention back towards Crowley. A questioning look from the Archangel and a nod from the demon. Then Raphael's power poured back into Crowley, uncomfortable and cautious. Working carefully to fix the strained damage.

"She used to be a dear friend of mine," he continued. "We were very close until she started listening to Lucifer. Eventually she would Fall with the others, but she was still an angel when I encountered her. But it was the War. And the War had led to cruelties and betrayals that no one could have imagined. My old friend nearly destroyed me, tearing deeply into me before leaving me to die." Raphael glanced up at them. "There is a reason why I could trust Zerachiel not to complain when I asked them to help me heal a known traitor. They found me and managed to save my life back then. But they weren't as experienced at healing such serious wounds. Their work was imperfect and left scars along my true form. I appreciate what they did for me, but they still feel guilty over not doing better and they've been overeager to assist me ever since."

Crowley tried to stop wincing, but the sensation was too unsettling. He felt Aziraphale reach over and squeeze his hand. He couldn't imagine that it would take much longer. He hoped not. But the strange Archangel deciding to take a random trip down memory lane was at least a distraction.

"I remember the cost of the first War. The lives lost. The painful injuries. The betrayals of those who were meant to be friends. And I remember that even victory doesn't erase how many angels that I couldn't save," he continued. "While I am certain that Her Plan will lead us to the proper outcome in the end, I have no complaint if we avoid another War and those losses for a little while longer."

As Raphael withdrew his power and gave a nod of satisfaction, Crowley frowned thoughtfully and asked, "Are you saying that you're… happy that the apocalypse didn't happen?"

"I am pleased that whatever She has in mind with Her Ineffable Plan, it doesn't involve crowding my healing ward with the wounded and dying," he said coolly. "I trust in Her infinite wisdom in regard to when the world should end and now was clearly not the correct time."

Crowley could recognize that careful avoidance and dancing around the topic, not fully committing while still parroting the official company line. Aziraphale had done the same thing for thousands of years. While Raphael was technically supporting the Ineffable Plan, he was also pleased to avoid another War for a little longer. Maybe not for the same reasons that Crowley and Aziraphale wanted to stop the end of the world, but he wanted the same thing.

He grinned to himself. A reasonable Archangel. Who would have thought it?

At least there was another potential ally for them, one that Crowley should definitely keep in mind in the future. There was no guessing when it might be useful to have a healer who didn't want them dead.

Aziraphale leaned slightly, drawing Crowley's attention to how drowsy the angel looked. And now that he was paying attention, the demon felt a faint dull ache from where Raphael worked on his true form and a general weariness. Having older injuries healed could clearly be as tiring as the angel's more recent ones.

"You need some more rest, angel," said Crowley, wrapping an arm around him protectively.

The door flung open with a loud bang, letting the angel from early rush in. She seemed frantic as her eyes locked on Raphael, clearly not paying attention to anyone else.

"He's gone. I'm sorry. You told me to watch your patient, but he disappeared," she said quickly.

"Zadkiel," said Raphael, his firm tone making her freeze. He gestured towards Aziraphale and Crowley. "I've seemed to have located the missing patient. I just finished giving them both a brief examination. Would you be so kind as to escort them back to his bed?"

She ducked her head briefly with an embarrassed grimace. Then she nodded before opening the door for them. Crowley helped Aziraphael to his feet, his hand brushing reassuringly at the twin sensitive places on the angel's back [23] and making him shiver. Then they followed the dark-haired angel back towards the bed hidden by curtains, Warlock's iPod and the letter still on the bed.

"If you would please stay here for the rest of your recovery," said Zadkiel, "and not randomly teleport away, that would be nice."

Then she pulled the curtain back around them and walked away, her footsteps easy to follow. Some of the tension that Crowley had barely noticed before began to ease. He might be starting to accept Raphael wasn't a threat, but that didn't mean that he was going to trust some random angel just because she worked for him.

"'M not nice," muttered Crowley as he settled Aziraphale back down on the narrow bed before curling around him.

There wasn't much room on the bed for both of them. But a demon performing miracles in Heaven was more difficult and Aziraphale would not be trying anything else for a while. It just wasn't worth the effort to miracle up anything better. Crowley would just have to press himself close to his angel.

Oh, what a hardship.

Wrapping an arm around the demon, Aziraphale said, "Yes, you're a real menace." He twisted around until he could tuck Crowley's head under his chin. "But you're my menace. And if you ever try to pull something like that again…"

"Sorry, angel. Didn't mean to upset you." Nuzzling closer, he said, "But you're still here. And I'm not going anywhere."

Aziraphale tightened his hold on him. But after a while, his grip relaxed as the weary angel drifted off. Crowley wished that he could join him properly. He wished that he could doze off, curled against his angel and wrapped in his arms. But they were still in Heaven. As drowsy as he might feel, Crowley needed to stay awake and keep watch. He needed to keep Aziraphale safe.


[21] 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."

[22] Rather like Crowley's serpentine eyes. He would always have them, regardless of which corporation that he had. If he'd stayed in Aziraphale's body long enough, those eyes would have eventually changed as well.

[23] The two spots where his wings would manifest. Where the barrier between the physical and the metaphysical was the thinnest.

There you go. No one is dead or gone. I'm not completely evil. And Raphael isn't a horrible person. Just a grumpy one who keeps dealing with people who frustrate him.