Anathema and Newt paused outside the door as they heard Aziraphale's voice, waiting for the right time to reenter.
Hearing a pause she made a show of being in the hall, giving the angel a moment to collect himself.
"Right. I have books, would you like some tea?" she asked.
"Oh! Oh that would be lovely," Aziraphale smiled.
"I'll go and make a fresh pot," Newt bumbled his way out of the door and back down to the kitchen.
"You love him don't you?" the witch blurted out.
The angel stared at her, open-mouthed, not expecting such a question. "Um.." he looked to Crowley, sure he was listening. "Yes. Yes I do," he admitted.
"And does he love you?"
"He's a demon, he says he doesn't know what love is."
"You don't believe him?"
"I believe he doesn't remember, that he doesn't think he's worthy of it."
"And is he? Worthy of your love?"
"Oh yes. He doesn't see himself clearly. Hell will do that to you," he sighed.
Anathema smiled gently. "The love of an angel, a Principality if I'm not mistaken, will be a great tool."
"Oh I'm not powerful. I've been reliably informed I've gone soft."
"And who told you that?"
"An archangel."
"The same one who came down to restart a war? Not sure I'd trust him. We need to find a way to tap into your energy. You're probably going to need it. Whoever did this, well they must really hate your friend. It's a slow and painful way to go."
Aziraphale's heart constricted and a rock settled in his stomach as he squeezed Crowley's hand a bit tighter.
"You said 'still something of the angel he was'."
"He was an angel once. Crowley never talks about it much. He just shrugs it off by saying he just asked too many questions and hung around with the wrong crowd."
"Do you believe him?"
"Once upon a time I would have said no. That there had to be more to it than that but now? Now I find it completely believable."
"Hellfire," Newt said, suddenly appearing with the tea tray.
"Sorry?" Aziraphale turned, bemused.
"You said he'd been blessed or his home had."
"His front door, yes."
"And passing through it has somehow sort of poisoned him."
"Newt?" Anathema was looking at her boyfriend curiously.
"Just hear me out. If a blessing has hurt him would Hellfire not counteract it? If he's a demon then he was born of Hellfire and Brimstone yes? So would it not be possible that those same things could save him now?"
The angel stared at him, mouth flapping.
"Newt! That's genius! But where do we get Hellfire or Brimstone?" Anathema's elation suddenly waned.
"Well from what I read in the Witchfinder's manuals Hellfire is an ever burning flame only available in hell, but Brimstone is just an old term for sulphur."
"I think I have some!" The young witch jumped up and ran from the room, returning, triumphantly holding a glass bottle. "Was in the kit my mother sent me!"
"That just leaves the Hellfire," Aziraphale said gravely, "and that is not easy to come by."
"What about Adam?" Newt suggested. "Maybe he could help?"
"He's just a boy!"
"And the anti-Christ. If anyone can get their hands on a bit of Hellfire, surely it's him?"
Aziraphale shook his head. "No. His powers left him after the end of the world that wasn't."
Newt and Anathema looked at each other.
"What?"
"Well, he didn't lose all his powers. He still has some pretty good tricks up his sleeve."
"Oh….. But still. Absolutely not, it's out of the question. I'm not bringing a child into this."
"It's only asking him a question, maybe he knows a way we can get it."
The angel looked at the stricken demon, trembling and sweating. He looked so fragile and vulnerable. Sighing he said "I suppose there's no harm in asking."
XxXxX
It was almost Adam's bedtime when Anathema managed to find him, playing in the woods as usual.
"Your dad wants you to go home," she told him.
"How do you know that?"
"Well, I am a witch," she smirked. "Plus I just saw him outside your house looking for you."
"Why were you at my house?" the boy frowned.
"Also looking for you. Someone is in need of help and we think you can provide it."
The boy frowned. "Who?"
"Crowley."
"He's the guy with the black wings right?"
"Erm maybe," she shrugged. "Black clothes. Red hair."
"Yeah I know who he is. Helped me stand up to you-know-who."
"Yeah. Well that's why we need your help. He's in trouble and we need to get hold of some Hellfire."
"Why doesn't he just ask for some?"
"He can't. He's in a bad way and we think this is the only way to help him."
"Sorry, I don't know how to get it. I've never been, not that I remember anyway," Adam said bluntly.
Anathema sighed and nodded. "Ok. Thanks anyway." She turned to head home.
"Is he going to die?"
"Probably." No point in lying to the boy.
"Can I see him?"
"I guess," she shrugge, holding onto a hope that the boy could still help them some way.
XxXxX
"What's wrong with him?" Adam asked as he watched Crowley shiver and shake, his back arching off the bed as he got worse.
"He passed through a blessing," Aziraphale told him.
"Will Hellfire save him?"
"It's our only lead," the angel shrugged.
"He's a demon?"
"Yes."
Adam frowned. "But he helped me. Demon's aren't meant to do that."
"No, they're not. He got in a lot of trouble for it." Aziraphale suddenly had a thought. "If I became him again I could go back and get the Hellfire!"
"What do you mean go back?"
"Long story. Problem is I need Crowley to switch with me and he's in no condition to do anything." He looked at Adam. "Can you still perform miracles? I mean the weather is always how you want it so…"
"Maybe," Adam shrugged.
"Can you make me look like him temporarily?"
"I don't know, maybe."
"Will you try?"
Adam stared between the two men and concentrated. Ever so slowly Aziraphale changed; becoming leaner, more angular, his hair turned red and suddenly there were two Crowleys in the room.
"Thank you dear boy!" he exclaimed miracling himself into some Crowley appropriate clothes. "Right then, off to London." There was more than a little trepidation in his voice.
"Are you sure about this?" Newt asked.
"Well. I've done it before. This time hopefully they won't try to kill me." He gave a scared little chuckle that was very un-Crowley-like as he looked back at the original.
"We'll give you a minute," Anathema said, ushering Newt and Adam out of the room and down the stairs.
"Right. Well. Here I am again, pretending to be you. I know what you'd be saying. You'd be telling me I'd lost my mind. That I shouldn't do it. Probably that you're not worth it. Well you'd be wrong. You've survived 6000 years. You're not going anywhere yet." Smoothing the hair from Crowley's brow, he bent to kiss his forehead. "Wish me luck."
XxXxX
Aziraphale hesitated at the top of the escalator. It was such an odd feeling. Everything in him was telling him to go up, to use the other one, it still had a pull on him.
Taking a deep breath he stepped into the moving stairs and prayed he wasn't interrupted.
The smell of sulphur hit him like a book to the face as he descended lower and lower. How did Crowley deal with this? It burned in his nose and lungs, making him nauseous. Swallowing it down, Aziraphale endeavoured not to breathe more than necessary while down here.
Stepping off the escalator he rounded a corner and was met with familiar looking corridors. It wasn't any different from when he was here last time. Only difference was he hadn't been conscious when he'd arrived.
It was always so busy in hell, demons shoulder to shoulder as they made their way through the tunnels and corridors. Aziraphale briefly wondered about the 'do not lick the walls' signs, he'd have to ask Crowley about them one day. Seemed such an odd thing to have posters about.
Staying close to the walls and in a shadow, Aziraphale looked around for his destination. He didn't want to draw attention, not yet anyway. Crowley's presence was hardly going to be welcome after his trial.
He zeroed in on the door he wanted and miracled himself inside.
"Lord Beelzebub, how the….saints are you?"
The Prince of Hell looked up in alarm. "Crowley. Didn't exzzzzpect to see you down here."
"Well no. And nor would I be but you have something I need."
"And what izzzz that?"
"I just need a smidge of hellfire in a takeaway cup and I'll be out of your… flies," he grinned.
"What do you need that for?"
"Ah, now I'm glad you asked," Aziraphale lounged on one of the seats. "Hastur has been sniffing around my place and I suspect the bastard has had my door blessed. Now it wouldn't bother me except the smell is driving me mad and it itches a bit when I walk through."
Beelzebub looked at him. "You smell strange."
"That would be the Holy water bath and the blessing. Smell gets into everything."
"Why should I help you?" they asked.
"Well, to put it bluntly; if you don't I'll go out there and start discorperating people. No one will stop me, they didn't even stop me getting in. Then you'd have a demonic riot on your hands."
Aziraphale watched Crowley's former boss weigh up their options.
"Not sure that would be any different than normal thezzzze dayzzzz."
"Do you want to take that chance? I mean I could go out there now with this," he twitched his hand and produced a flask, "holy water and really upset things. Or I could just flick it at you. Your choice." Aziraphale was amazed he managed to keep his voice even despite the racing of his heart.
Beelzebub raised their eyebrows. "You're bluffing. Therezzzzz no holy water in that."
"Really? Are you sure of that? Do you want to test it?"
They stare at each other for a moment before the Prince of Hell calls in a demon minion. "Show me on him."
Aziraphale raises an eyebrow above his glasses and takes a deep breath. "Alright, if that's what you want." He unscrewed the cap and dipped his fingers into the flask. "Sorry about this," he muttered as he flicked his fingers at the minion, spraying him with the water.
The minion screamed like the unholy creature he was. The angel managed to school his features into a passive expression, managing to hide his own horror at injuring another being.
Beelzebub couldn't hide their own shock. They'd never expected Crowley to come down to Hell again let alone bring holy water and be willing to use it. There was definitely more to it than a blessed doorway but as it was, the most sensible course of action was to comply and work the rest out later. "Fine." They turned to the screaming minion "oh be quiet. Go and fetch some hellfire."
"In a container. Well I can't walk around the humans carrying it can I?" He explained when they looked at him quizzically.
"And be quick about it." Beelzebub was definitely unnerved which gave Aziraphale a little thrill.
"So…. How've things been?" the angel asked, not bothering to hide his smirk at the other's face.
"It wazzzz bad enough stopping them from going to war. Then your little stunt with the holy water."
"Not my stunt. That was all on you."
Silence fell until the minion returned. It's face still smoking. With trembling hands it handed a container to Aziraphale and stepped away as far as he could.
"Right then. Thanks very much. I'll be off. Enjoy hell," he gave them a tight smile as he slunk out of the door into the corridors of hell. Screams echoed all around the heaving masses of bodies, the air reeked of sulphur and despair.
The idea of Crowley adding to those screams broke Aziraphale's heart. One day maybe the demon would trust him enough to tell him the worst of it, maybe ease some of the old wounds. But right now he has to save his life. He just hoped their theory was right.
Sashaying his way towards the exit, in the way that Crowley would always do, he could feel eyes on him. He turned and instantly zeroed in on his observer. Hastur was glaring at him so he gave him a salute before disappearing up to the surface, back to the real world.
XxXxX