Aziraphale stared at the small pair of wings. And the child -cherub- stared right back, in too much sock to process what happened. If the child were human Aziraphale would say he couldn't have been older than nine. But, it was hard to tell anything in the dark. The boy was filthy, covered with dried on mud and dirt. He had no shoes, and was barely covered in some sort of hospital gown. Poor thing must be freezing. It quivered behind it's unruly mess of stuck together feathers. What was such a young angel here in this alley, much less outside of heaven?
A small groan form one of the unconscious attackers brought Aziraphale back to the present. Questions could wait, first priory is to get to safety. Carefully, trying to be as nonthreatening as possible, the angel bent down and outstretched his hand.
"Come along, dear," he whispered softly. But the cherub backed against the wall, terrified of the idea of going anywhere with this stranger. Their time was running out, and soon the two men would wake up. With no other idea of how to calm the child down, Aziraphale slipped off his coat. He was out of practice, since there was no need to materialize his wings for thousands of years. They ripped through the back of his shirt, and almost touched both sides of the alley.
The child calmed down instantly and gaped at the white feathers. He looked so in awe, it was like the cherub had never seen any other wings except his own. There was no protest this time as Aziraphale wrapped the small body in his coat. The blonde held the boy close, as he made his escape from the alley. It was strange, usually Aziraphale could feel anther angelic presence even from a distance, but as he held the cherub he felt nothing. Hiding his wings, the angel stepped into the sidewalk, fumbling with one open hand for his keys.
A small bell rung as he swung open the door and shuffled into the bookshop. The small form barely even noticed, he laid against Aziraphale's shoulder in a trance like state. The cherub didn't move a muscle as his rescuer ascended the stairs into the apartment above. It was a cozy little apartment, cluttered but somehow never really lived in. Old books were scatted on almost every surface, knitted blankets on every sofa or chair, and the occasional potted plant here or there. It was exactly what you would expect from a great-grandmother's cottage.
Aziraphale settled the bundled boy in the middle of the sofa. Clutching the angel's coat like a life preserver, his big brown eyes stared forward unseeing. He was a scrawny thing, small but not quite skin and bones. And his hair was shaved so short It was hard to tell what was hair and what was dirt. The poor thing was still shaking, wrapping himself tighter in the tartan coat. The principality should really be taking him back home, but he just looked so small.
"How about a nice cup of coca?" Aziraphale asked. The cherub just stared blankly. A few minutes later the principality came in from the kitchen holding a steaming mug complete with mini-marshmallows. The heavenly aroma pierced through the child's shock and he eyed the cup longingly. Thin arms reached out and took the wing-handled mug into his small hands. For a moment the boy simply sat there enjoying the heat in his fingers. Then taking a small sip, he almost purred with delight. As the child nursed his drink, he slowly became more aware of his surroundings. He took in the old books and soft decor along with his chocolate. The cherub was much calmer now, but he still looked at Aziraphale suspiciously.
Remembering the alleyway, the angel rematerialized his wings and outstretched them slowly. Once again the brown eyes widened in wonder. Still covered by the large coat, the child scooted forward toward the slightly messy wings. Since they were never out, Aziraphale never really put too much effort into grooming(much to Crowley's horror). But, that didn't bother the cherub. Tentatively he traced the soft down with his fingers, and ran his hand along the larger primary feathers. Once the boy was seemingly satisfied, Aziraphale drew back his wings so they wouldn't wake up as much space. The angel felt a strange wholeness with them out again, like he was more of himself.
"So, what's an angel like you doing down here?" asked Aziraphale softly. The child have him a confused look and tilted his head.
"Angel?"
A wave of panic swelled up in Aziraphale's chest. What kind of angel didn't know what he was? Unless this child wasn't a cherub at all. That would explain why Aziraphale couldn't sense him or why he was down here in the first place. That's why he was so amazed at wings, because he truly had only seen his own.
"It's it's...how do I explain this? Um, let's see. I am a angel but, I don't think you are. Angels may look like humans but they are not. First of all they can live forever and..." stammered Aziraphale but the blank look he got back told him he was wasting his time. Crowley was always much better at explaining things to humans. He was about to try again when a rumble came from the small bundle on the couch. That was one thing that set humans apart from angels, humans had to eat to survive.
"Oh dear, you must be starving!" Aziraphale jumped up cursing his bad hospitality. There wasn't much to pick from in the kitchen, since the angel mostly ate out. But, after some searching he happened upon a hearty duck soup. Once it was warmed up the boy scarfed it down ravenously, it like he hadn't eaten in a few days. From the looks of him he probably hadn't had anything substantial in some time.
"Let's start small, I'm Aziraphale or Mr. Fell if you prefer," the unanswered questions in his head were finally getting to the principality.
"Ah-zirah-fell." the child sounded out, looking up from his empty bowl.
"That's right and your's?"
"Don't have one," he shrugged like it was perfectly normal. Aziraphale could feel concern clawing in the pit of his stomach. Maybe the boy was just confused.
"Well, what do people call you?"
"It or sometimes you," said the child after thinking it over for a moment. A shiver ran down Aziraphale, what horrible people wouldn't even name their own son. But he was interrupted before he could ask the obvious question.
"Where do you get a name?" the small voice asked. It never occurred to him that a name was something he should have.
"It's something that's given to you,"
"By who?"
"Well, usually by your parents. Like your mother, do you have a mother?" Aziraphale tried. The boy shook his head no.
"How about a father?" Another no.
"Can you give me name?" the child asked hopefully. He never realized it before but, he desperately wanted a name. It would be his, something just for him.
"I do-don't know If I'm qualified," a surprised Aziraphale stammered. He'd never named anyone before, it was an awfully important thing. What if he messed it up? But, the way that boy looked at him. He needed a name as much as he needed food.
"Barnaby, That's a respectable name!" the principality blurted out, it was the first name that popped into his head. He used to know lots of Barnabys, a few hundred years ago.
"Barn-a-by, Barnaby, Barnaby," the boy rolled the word over his tongue. Aziraphale blushed, what if he didn't like the name? Was it too old-fashioned?
"It's okay I can pick anoth-," He blurted out frantically. But a quiet voice interrupted him.
"I like it, it's fun to say. Barnaby," whispered the newly christened Barnaby. For the first time he had a light smile on his face. The little boy looked satisfied, like all was right with the world. Felling safe and warm, Barnaby's head began to droop and he let out a big yawn. Now that the adrenaline was leaving his body he began to realize how tired he really was. Aziraphale noticed this too, answers would simply have to wait until the morning.