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025. Strangers.

It was a sunny, warm day, just the kind Crowley liked most. Despite the energy given him by heat – unlike to true snakes, too high temperatures weren't unpleasant to him; he was used to the fires of Hell, after all – he was feeling lazy. Thus, he was currently lying on the ground, gazing up to the sky.

One of the clouds was an interesting shape, he noted. It almost looked like an angel with their wings spread. And now it was becoming larger…

It actually was an angel.

Suddenly, Crowley didn't feel even nearly so lazy anymore. Quickly standing up, he gazed warily up to the sky as the angel circled lower. Once the angel was close enough for him to see, he raised an eyebrow. He hadn't known angels came in several colours – well, except for Aziraphale, of course. They were usually all pale and pure like no human could ever be. This one, however, had dark skin, only emphasized by the pristine whiteness of his robes.

He didn't recognize the angel at first, having never seen him looking quite like this before. However, the overwhelming feeling of the Presence made the angel's identity rather clear while it also forced him to take a step back, almost bending over under the pressure. He stayed firm, though, looking at the angel's changed form. Those eyes used to be blue, he remembered, deeper blue than he'd seen anywhere as they had watched him when he fell asleep. And those hands had been pale, so very pale and soft when they had tied his wounds after a rough practice, the ever-patient voice chastising him…

Shaking his head slightly, he banished such memories. That was the past. This was the present.

"…Uriel?" he asked finally. "Since when have you been that colour? Last time I saw you, you were trying to be paler than your robes… And your eyes weren't green, either."

"I fail to see how that is any of your concern," the angel replied coolly. "Step out of my way, demon, or bear the consequences."

Crowley did not step out of the way. Whether this was because he trusted the angel not to hurt him so easily or because he was still too stunned to move remained unclear. Probably the latter – he knew very well Uriel's merciless reputation. "What consequences?" he asked sharply nevertheless, never one to be put down easily. "What more damage could you cause to me? You already Severed me, after all – brother." The last word was definitely an insult, no trace of an endearment in it.

"Watch your tongue," snapped Uriel, his hand drawing closer to the hilt of his sword. It would be unnecessary, however. They both knew Uriel could destroy him with his aura alone as close to permanently as could be achieved, given his nature as a demon. "It might bring you trouble."

"I know all too well it has and will," Crowley said. "That is what you used to tell me all the time, isn't it? That my tongue would get me in trouble one day." He smirked humourlessly. "Boy, weren't you right about that. The only crime I ever committed to Fall was calling the wrong name."

"It was not only that, and you know it," Uriel replied quietly. "You defied God Himself."

"No I didn't," Crowley claimed. "Lucifer did. I just followed him. How were we to know, before the battle had been fought, which side would come out victorious? If it had been our side that was triumphant, you would have been the ones regarded as criminals, driven out of Heaven. In that big battle, if it had been Michael who fell under Lucifer's sword instead of the other way around, I would now be up in glory and you would be a mere worm, or even less! What would you be without your Presence? Nothing, that's what!"

"That is enough!" announced the archangel, now indeed drawing his sword and raising it. That dreaded sword, the one he used for Severing. Every demon hated and feared it almost as much – or, possibly, even more – than Michael's blade.

"That is true," said another voice, this one quiet yet well audible. "That is enough. Crowley, do cease your taunts. And Uriel, if you would, do not rid the world of that demon. However annoying he is, he is soothing in his incompetence. If you destroyed him, they might send somebody in his stead who actually can do something."

"Ah, Aziraphale," Uriel said, his sword lowered. Immediately his former rage seemed to have disappeared. "You are the one I was looking for."

"Wait, what are you doing?" exclaimed Crowley. "Are you going to Fell Aziraphale?"

Uriel turned to give him a cool gaze. "Of course not, foolish fiend," he replied. "I am only here to visit a friend. Well, that and to oversee the writing of the Scripture, of course. It may be written down by humans, but that doesn't mean we can't look over the things a bit, right?" The archangel turned away again. "Get out of my sight," he said. "For this once, I shall do as Aziraphale requested. The next time we meet you will not be as fortunate."

"Is this the way to treat your brother?" asked Crowley sharply. "Is this how angels respect the bonds of kinship?"

"I have no brother," Uriel replied, his voice cold as ice. "And I have no ties to any being, not in the way of kinship, at the very least. What ties I do have I have by choice."

"Geez, what warm company you are," muttered the demon. His rational thinking had been screaming at him for quite some time already, telling him to get the Hell away from there and fly for his life. However, his pride and just simple, pure bastardness had formed an alliance that easily overrode the rational thought, making him continue his insults. "At least now I know you're not only a bed warmer to Michael – he has to have somebody else just to keep him from freezing to death in your bed!"

Uriel, who now had turned completely away from him and towards Aziraphale, froze for a moment. Then, with a voice that spoke of no emotion, he said, "Leave, while you still can."

"Crowley," Aziraphale said with a warning tone. He didn't say anything else, but he didn't have to, either. The 'Get-the-Heaven-out-of-here-if-you'd-like-to-live' tone in his voice said quite enough.

Crowley spread his wings and took off, wondering which one of them had truly changed more, Uriel or he.

After Crowley had left, Uriel turned to look at Aziraphale. "Is he always like that?" he asked. "And if he is, how can you not kill him?"

"That was about the worst I've heard from him in ages," Aziraphale replied. "But then, he hardly hates me as much as he hates you."

"Indeed," muttered the archangel. His gaze wandered to the direction Crowley had disappeared to. "I truly don't know him anymore," he said quietly. "I had wished that perhaps, there was still something of my brother left within him... But I was mistaken."

"I could have told you as much," Aziraphale replied, his eyes, too, drawn after the demon. "There is no Carowiel anymore, Uriel... There is only Crowley."

"That I see," said Uriel. "And that is why I grieve."

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