Aziraphale felt as if he was lost in a hazy cloud. Like he was floating in nothingness, even his thoughts were fleeting. Each time he tried to focus on one it slipped away from him, just out of reach. The angel was vaguely aware of a dull ache in his chest and head, but that too seemed distant and meaningless. But even through the numbness, it all felt wrong. He felt a certain uneasiness, a nameless felling of danger. Like a bad dream he was helpless to wake from.

Every once in a while memories flashed in Aziraphale's mind. Fleeting images he was unable to connect in his haze. Armed men grabbing at him, shouting. Snapping out his wings on pure instinct, trying to shake off the attackers. Too many to miracle away without attracting heaven's attention. But after long he didn't even have that option, with both his arms and wings pinned behind his back. A man stepping in front of him, familiar yet somehow twisted, flaming red hair and a voice like broken glass. It got blurry after that, a stream of questions the angel refused to answer and blows each harder than the last. Until the memories too faded into nothingness.

It was hard to tell how much time passed, or if it passed at all. But his thoughts were becoming easier to catch, and the pain was getting sharper and sharper. Less of a dull ache anymore, now a hot throbbing in his chest and a sledge hammer in his skull. The floating sensation was gone now, but his limbs felt heavy as if made of lead. He could feel all six of them now, but it was a distant sort of recognition. Like they were there but not connected to him, unwilling to move. Maybe if Aziraphale tried hard enough he could wiggle his fingers. But something stopped him. If his body would accept his brain's signals, it would shiver. A hand was on his wing, not necessarily painful or harsh but still unwanted. He didn't entirely understand why, but the angel wanted this touch gone.

"Mi ángel, tan hermosas alas, tan hermosas alas*," a woman's voice spoke softly. The hands moved down the wing, outlining each feather softly. Until they reached a gap in the uniform white. They coldly prodded the sore flesh where a primary had been torn out, sending a spike of pain through the angel. His eyelids were heavy and just prying them open was an uphill battle, but the small agony was enough to push him over. Slowly his eyes began to open a crack, then a little bit more. He almost regretted it, bright white light inflamed his already aching head. It took a moment to adjust, and even when he did it all seemed fuzzy. Like a camera just out of focus, making it difficult to place his surroundings. But she was crystal clear.

She was dark skinned with long raven hair. A beautiful young woman in every aspect but what really mattered. Inbetween her defined cheekbones was a face devoid of all kindness. Cold detachment and fiery passion all at once. Dark eyes shining in awe as she reached out and admired the ethereal wings, giving a feather a tug as if testing it. Despite himself, a whimper left Aziraphale's lips. And all of the sudden those dark eyes were on him. But there was no hint of sympathy, hate, or anything really, just a mild curiosity.

"Oh, el sedante se está desgastando**," she mused reaching to pick something off a tray. In her hands she held a large needle as nonchalantly as someone would hold their car keys. Without bating an eye she plunged it into Aziraphale's arm, and pushed down the plunger. He tried to struggle away but still his body wouldn't listen. So all the angel could do was twitch a bit as he faded back into a numb haze.

*Mi ángel, tan hermosas alas, tan hermosas alas = My angel, such beautiful wings, such beautiful wings

**Oh, el sedante se está desgastando = Oh, the sedative is wearing off

Crowley was used to big cities, he lived in London for Satan's sake. But the last time he had been in Manchester was probably over fifty years ago. So as he drove along the demon was becoming more and more frustrated as well as lost. If it was possible to get lost when you had no idea what you were looking for. It wasn't like he could just drive around all night looking for a symbol, at least not with Bart. It was already seven o'clock, and unlike Crowley the boy actually had to sleep. And that meant finding somewhere to stay the night.

As he drove on a little shop caught his eye. A tourist center next to a train station. Swallowing his pride, the lanky man pulled into the parking lot. It was one of those places where saps dropped in to get mementos and books like 100 best museums. But he desperately needed a map and a chance to stretch his legs. Crowley chuckled as he turned off the engine, Barnaby had barely noticed they'd stopped until the radio sent silent. Once he got used to it's newness, the boy had been enthralled with the music, not caring at all when the limited queen songs repeated themselves. It was all so new and lively, unlike anything he had heard before, seemingly magic coming from thin air.

"You coming?"

"Oh, yeah," Barnaby didn't realize that he was just sitting there staring into space. The boy shook his head and stepped out into the damp night air. He pulled his coat a little tighter around himself, fall would be coming soon, and followed the demon inside.

The store itself wasn't that impressive, a information desk/checkout in the back with some shelves in-between. They were stocked with basics like clothes, toiletries, umbrellas, and anything else someone might need on vacation. The only other people in the store was a small family trying to explain something to the register. But Crowley ignored all of that, making his way to a rack of maps and pamphlets along the wall. It was settled next to the stuffed animals and other children's toys, for when parents fly in but are too much of a disappointment to buy a gift ahead of time.

With a sigh, Crowley inspected the maps. First he plucked out a road-map, that was a given. But it would be practically useless finding Aziraphale. So the demon turned to the sightseeing pamphlets. Public Parks, probably not. Art galleries of Manchester, nope. Industrial Quarter, maybe. He worked his way down the rack grabbing everything that could possibly help. Lastly, grabbing a list of nearby places to stay. He had quite the large stack now as he turned to the checkout.

"Well Bart, I think this will do," he said to no one. The boy wasn't standing next to him anymore. Crowley spun around panicked, frantically scanning the store. He couldn't loose him, not now. He had to protect the kid for more reasons than just Aziraphale. Barnaby deserved a life, a real one. The demon was almost ready to search the street, when he finally spotted the boy. He was at the information desk talking to the little family they saw walking in. The father looked as if he was explaining something as he made vague hand gestures. Crowley was almost ready to storm over, but stopped.

With a nod Barnaby turned to the man running the shop, "They came up from Spain to visit his sick aunt but don't know how to get to the hospital," Crowley felt his shoulders relax. He watched from afar as the boy translated directions. He looked so happy helping, being useful to others. It didn't take long to get the problem sorted out and the directions written down. The mother gave him a hug in gratitude and the Spaniards went on their way. It was only then that Barnaby realized Crowley was watching.

The boy gave a little wave and headed over. For a second Crowley wondered if he should chew him out for wandering off, but decided against it. Bart wasn't stupid, he just wanted to help. Besides a little trouble was healthy at that and all ages. An idea popped into the demon's mind, "One sec, I have a few more things to grab,"

"What do you mean there's no open rooms? It's a Thursday for crying out loud!" Not wanting to attract too much attention, Crowley had picked a small motel to stay the night in. Not the worst but certainly not a tourist destination. But this was ridiculous, it was a weekday who could possibly be renting rooms?

"Sorry but like I said, all rooms are taken," a bored looking attendant shrugged.

"Then check again," Crowley hissed. The man gave him an unimpressed glare then typed something into his computer.

"See no open r- Oh wait, one just opened up,"

The confused attendant grabbed the demon his key muttering something about faulty computers. He passed it over to the stranger in the sunglasses, watching him walk away taking his little boy's hand.

"Wait sir! Did you know your coat's ripped?" There were two long jagged tears in the back of his expensive black jacket.

"No it's not," the man said without missing a beat. He was right, it was a completely normal jacket, no rips or anything. The attendant shook his head, he'd swore that it was ripped a minute ago. Maybe it was time to finally take out some of his vacation days, this place was starting to get to his head.

The moment he opened the door to his room Crowley flopped face-first onto the nearest bed. Giggling Barnaby flopped down next to him. Giving an overly dramatic groan the Demon flipped over onto his back to reveal a toothy smile. Barnaby pulled himself up into a sitting position and grinned back. He liked this man, even if he seemed irritating at first. Suddenly the demon popped up and began to rummage through their purchases from the tourist center. Somehow grinning even more, the demon pulled out a plush animal and a pack of tiny cars. He brought them over and pressed the items into Barnaby's hands, expectantly.

"Here, I got them for you,"

The boy turned the soft beige animal over in his hands. It had four stocky legs each one ending in claws, a long thick tail, two rabbit-like ears, and a strange snout that looked like a pig's. Barnaby knew of a few animals, but not of one like this. He also couldn't seem to figure out why Crowley was giving him the model in the first place. But the man seemed excited about it.

"What is it?" Barnaby finally asked holding out the soft creature.

"An aardvark,"

"Aardvark?"

"Well...You know...it eats ants and stuff down in Africa," the demon tried to explain. That made no sense to the boy but he nodded anyway.

"What does it do?" the boy gestured to the model mammal. The demon gave a little pout at that.

"It's a toy, I guess it does what you want it to. It's fun, like a little friend," Since stuffed animals or animals at all were never a thing when he was young, the demon never actually had one, but Warlock adored his and they seemed very popular with kids for a long time now. Barnaby looked down at the toy, it did have a certain charm to it and he liked it's soft fur.

"A little friend,"

The boy now turned his attention to the pack of tiny cars. They were just like the one's he'd been seeing all day, he could even see a little steering wheel when he looked though the tiny windows. But they were so small, too small for anyone to ride in. Maybe they were for teaching people the different breeds of car? Crowley chuckled seeing the boy's confusion. Reaching over he opened the pack and pulled out a model Bentley that he may or may not have miracled into existence. Now this was something he could explain. With a devilish grin, he set the car down on the nightstand. Flicking it with his finger, the tiny Bentley was soaring into the middle of the room.

"Now these are fun," Crowley grinned getting up to retrieve the car. Seeing for himself Barnaby took another one out of the bag. It didn't seem to be powered by a engine like the normal sized cars, just by pushes from whoever was playing with it at the time. Remembering Crowley, the boy set it on the night stand and gave it a little push. And just like the tiny Bentley it went flying into the motel room, just not as far.

"You can do better than that," challenged Crowley. His declaration started an all out war of tiny cars flying through the room. Each one going further than the last, and howls of laughter following each one's flight. Eventually Crowley flicked a car that simply couldn't be beat with the help of a little demonic miracle. But the demon would never admit to his small amount of foul play. Barnaby didn't seem to mind though as he stifled a yawn.

"How about you get ready for bed?" Crowley suggested. The boy nodded and began to rummage around in his bag of clothes. The demon on the other hand grabbed his stack of pamphlets and settled himself on the bed. He'd opened the one on top and began to leaf through when Barnaby reemerged from the bathroom. Looking up the demon felt his breath catch. Wearing it like an over-sized night-gown, Barnaby had on Aziraphale's light blue sweater. It was the same one Crowley gave to him back in the fifties, he spent months tracking down the perfect one for his angel. And it was the principality's favorite to this day.

Crowley fought back the rage in his chest, Aziraphale was out there somewhere, all alone in the night. Surrounded by unknown enemies, doing who knew what. But getting mad now would only upset Barnaby. Slits had been cut into the back of the sweater letting him pull his wings through. They were ruffled and messy from being hidden all day, russet feathers sticking out at all angles.

"Come here," with a sigh Crowley patted the mattress next to him. It just bothered him to see wings in such condition. Aziraphale's wings always drove Crowley nuts, so disorderly. Slowly moving his hands though the soft feathers the demon groomed them back into place. Now sitting in his lap, Barnaby leaned back into the demon cradling his aardvark with one arm. Crowley moved slowly and purposely forcing out his thoughts, just relishing in the small touch. It didn't take long for the small form pressed against him to fall into the rhythmic breathing of sleep.

A small part of the demon was tempted to join the boy. But Crowley knew that he couldn't even think of closing his eyes until his angel was safe again. So he turned off the lights and sat in the dark making a silent promise to the one good thing he had ever known.

Still having internet issues at my house. :'(. But here it is. Thanks for waiting it out. Once again I don't know Spanish.

P.S Barnaby's aardvark is a Webkinz, fight me.