"What's going on, Crowley?" Anathema could barely contain her concern, "And who's this?" The witch eyed the boy now standing in her house. He was younger than the Them, probably less than nine. But his aura was not of someone his age. It had slowly healing cracks' webbing all throughout its pulsing light. Deep emotional scars, that Anathema had only seen a few times on a couple war vets she knew back in America. But this boy didn't seem broken like the others, she could feel a certain resilience in him. His aura didn't have a bright yellow haze of fear, just flashes of nervousness as he looked around with curiosity was mostly pastels of hope and well meaning, like that of a very small child who didn't quite know the world. Weary but still believing in the goodness of others.
Barnaby looked up and noticed the witch watching him. His mind flashed back to Pepper and the elderly people at the bookshop. Barnaby thought of the kind way they talked to him, especially when he was feeling shy. Reaching a decision, he outstretched his small hand.
"Hello, my name is Barnaby," That's what you were supposed to do right? Most people he had met introduced themselves like that and Aziraphale had told him shaking hands was the proper way to greet a stranger. Said it was respectful or something.
"I'm Anathema Device, nice to meet you," the witch melted into a smile and took his hand. What a sweet boy, she thought. Her heart twinged at the thought of all those spidering cracks and the deep hurt underneath. Anathema wasn't sure she even wanted to know what caused such pain, or why he was driving around the country with a demon.
Looking up at the said demon she wordlessly asked again, what's wrong. Crowley's face had dropped the fake smile, concern and turmoil were easy to read on his tense expression. Behind shaded eyes he stepped closer to the witch.
"I need your help," Crowley admitted. He opened his mouth to explain, but a high-pitched beeping from the kitchen cut him off.
"Newt, can you get that," Anathema called feeling annoyed. The cookies could wait, apparently Crowley needed help. But the only response form across the house was a muffled yelp and something crashing to the ground.
"Really Newton, it's just an oven!" she growled. Her poor boyfriend had dropped the entire bowl of dough that was being mixed for the next batch, it covered almost the entire floor. And on top of that, the cookies were still in the oven. Anathema swiped the mitts off the counter, stepped over the sticky mess, and quickly pulled the cookie sheet from the oven. They were blackened around the outside but still salvageable.
"Sorry babe," Newton was quickly turning red.
"It's fine honey," Anathema sighed placing a peck on his cheek, "But you better get this cleaned up,"
Looking relived he moved to grab some paper towels, "Oh, hey Crowley,"
"Newt,"
The clumsy computer engineer quickly got to work on the mess and Anathema settled the baked goods on a plate. Hopping up on a stool, Barnaby glanced longingly at the pleasant smelling cookies. He hadn't realized how hungry he was in all the chaos of the day. And now that he thought about it, he hadn't eaten at all since he'd lost Aziraphale.
"It's okay, take one," offered Anathema. With a shrug she grabbed a cookie for herself and took a bite. Ulgh, defiantly overcooked. "I'll get you some milk," Making her way to the fridge she poured two glasses. But when she turned around, the witch found that Barnaby had already ate his cookie.
"That was fast," a realization popped into her head, "Wait, have you had lunch yet?" The boy shook his head no.
Anathema fixed a fiery gaze on the demon standing across the room, "Crowley! It's almost three o'clock!" He adverted the glare by inspecting his shoes. The demon had forgotten the basic human need for food in his rush. Anathema gave an exasperated sigh and opened the cupboards. She would just have to find something for the boy. Crowley could just be so clueless sometimes.
Soon enough, Barnaby was settled at the kitchen table with a sandwich. Seeing that he was content, Anathema gestured Crowley and Newton into the living room, out of earshot.
"Now, can you finally tell me what's wrong?"
Almost relived Crowley nodded, "Someone took Aziraphale," He could feel the heat rising in his chest as he told them everything he knew. Making sure to leave nothing out, from finding Barnaby in his flat to the frantic search of the bookshop. Because, if he missed something maybe they wouldn't. As he explained Anathema looked practically livid, like she wanted to jump up and punch something. To fight against this injustice. Newton on the other hand was a mixture of concerned, scared, confused, and just wanting to cry. Aziraphale was one of the kindest, most gentle men they knew, why anyone would even think of hurting him was beyond the witch-finder.
"Wh-who would even do that?" he stammered.
"And this Cain, was also after Barnaby?" Anathema found herself glancing through the door at the small form still in the kitchen.
"At first, but I'm not sure anymore," Crowley figured Barnaby must just be some child on the streets, the attackers probably didn't see him as much of a threat compared to Aziraphale.
"Poor little guy, what's going to happen to him?" asked Newton.
"I was thinking he could lay low here for a few days, until I find Aziraphale,"
"And when you do?"
"I don't know,"
"Well, until then I can set up the guest room," decided Anathema, "Now, what about that symbol,"
Crowley reached down for the bag, only to realize he must have left it on the counter, "It's in the kitchen,"
Barnaby looked up and gave a small smile as the three adults walked back in. They seemed nice, not at nice as Aziraphale, but still nice. Crowley grabbed the plastic bag and pulled out the gown on top. Curious, Barnaby hopped off the stool and walked over. He watched as Anathema and Newton passed it back and forth discussing quietly the icon on the corner. It was the symbol of Barnaby's life. As long as he could remember it was everywhere, clothes, clipboards, walls, mugs, almost everything. He just kind of thought that was how the world was, it was a small shock to Barnaby when he didn't see it anywhere with Aziraphale.
"Sorry, I've never seen this company before," Anathema admitted, putting down the dirty hospital gown.
"It looks familiar but I just can't remember,"
"Damn," hissed Crowley. Anathema gave him a quick jab in the ribs and tilted her head at Barnaby, who's head the entire interaction went over.
"Is there anything else we can try?" the red-head asked grumpily, rubbing his side. The witch paused for a moment, the gears turning in her mind. Suddenly she gave a loud snap.
"I have it!" she rushed over to the closet and pulled out a rolled up map, pushing it into Newton's hands, "It won't be perfect though, I can't directly track Aziraphale," she explained rummaging back through the kitchen drawers pulling out every candle she could find. "But I should be able to find a base of operations," Anathema said now stepping on top of the counter to reach a small wooden box on top on the fridge. Inside she pulled out some sort of pendulum with a sharp needle like tip. "You see, symbols themselves have a certain energy signature," Anathema swiped the kitchen table clear and spread out the map, "And the place with the most association with a certain symbol will resonate with the same energy,"
"So If you follow the energy, you find the bad guys," finished Barnaby watching fascinated as the woman began to make a circle of candles around what he could now see as a map of the United Kingdom.
"Exactly," she smiled passing Crowley a box of matches. Ever the drama queen, he just tossed them over her shoulder and began lighting the candles with his fingers. Barnaby gasped at the explainable magic. The only person he'd ever met with that kind of ability was his dear Aziraphale.
"You're an angel!"
"Not exactly," snorted Crowley. Behind him, Anathema could barley stifle her laughter as he cut out the blocky logo from the dirty hospital gown.
"Okay, I think we're ready," Everyone gathered in close, watching in silence as the witch lifted the pendulum her right hand the the square of cloth in the other. She stood over the map and whispered a few words in a long dead language. A bright red glow began to illuminate her left hand. It bust to life, turning the plain cloth into dozens of tiny dots of red light. Like fireflies they circled the room a few times before settling into the pendulum, the needle like tip glowing with an unnatural light. Slowly moving her wrist Anathema began to glide the point back and forth over the map, speaking softly more of that long forgotten tongue.
Bit by bit another small red dot began to glow on the map growing bigger and redder by the second. With every pass the needle edged closer and closer as if drawn by an unseen magnet. Until it burst from the witch's hand, lodging itself into the table and right in the epicenter of red. The second the red tip pressed into the red glow, a shock wave basted forth blowing out the candle and ruffling hair, caring small red fireflies with it. Once the smoke cleared, all was left was a pendulum sticking straight in the middle of Manchester.
"There,"
Crowley gave a devilish grin and straightened his shades. Finally he had a lead, he could do something. The lanky demon could fell an impatience swelling up inside of him, he had to get out of here and fight back. Now he had a place, a target for his anger. Baby blue and bright purple lights brought him back, next to him Barnaby was hopping from foot in foot in excitement.
"We have to go there! We have to go save Mr. Fell and stop Ca-" he declared smiling ear to ear. A twinge of guilt flashed in Crowley's heart. He bent down and placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, stopping the hopping.
"I'm sorry Bart, but you're not coming,"
"But," the small face fell. Crowley could feel the guilt inside of him growing, but this was the best way.
"Anathema and Newton are going to let you stay with them, It's safer that way,"
"But I have to save Aziraphale. It's all my fault!" Barnaby's brown eyes were starting to water. He got the angel into this mess, he couldn't just trust someone else to get him out of it.
"No buddy, it's not your fault. This doesn't have anything to do with you," Crowley stressed. But Barnaby knew the truth, this was all about him.
"But it is, they were after me," he whispered.
"They weren't, they were just mad at Aziraphale," reassured the demon, still not understanding.
Barnaby realized then what he had to do. A panic began to well in his chest. He'd promised, he'd promised he would never show anyone. But Crowley was 'not exactly' an angel and Anathema and Newton were nice enough. Surely they wouldn't want to hurt him, even if they knew. But he promised Aziraphale. Except now he was gone, possibly forever, and Barnaby had to get him back. No matter what it took. So, the boy gave Crowley a determined look and arm by arm slipped off his raincoat. Sucking in his breath, he slowly extended his feathery wings.
I'm so sorry this took so long to get out. My internet had been out for the past few days. But good news it that I finished summer classes so hopefully I can update more often. And if my internet crashes again I just have to write the old fashioned way with pen and paper(still slow but probably better proof read). I thank you all so much for sticking with this! Have a great week. 3
P.S Sorry for another cliff hanger but, sometimes I swear that's the only way I know how to end a chapter.