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032. Sunset

Aziraphale had a feeling something was going to go wrong.

He could just feel it. He couldn't put a finger on what exactly it was, but somehow, something was wrong...

As the day began to draw towards noon, he got even more edgy. His instincts were telling him that he should be wary, ready for something, but ready for what? Crowley hadn't caused much trouble lately, and although it might be possible that he was just lulling Aziraphale into a sense of false security before striking, the angel doubted that. The demon was just as tired of pointless fighting as he was, nowadays mostly contenting himself with -- futilely -- trying to tempt Aziraphale into various sins, especially drinking and preferably with him.

However much he told his senses to shut up and let him be, though, they still kept bugging him. Something, something was wrong...

When he realized what it was it was already too late.

It must have been that tempting he'd thwarted, he thought as he broke the first demon's neck with a quick kick to the head. A mid-class demon who had definitely not been Crowley had been tempting a lord to steal his servant's wife as his own. Aziraphale had put an end to this, but the demon had promised to have revenge. Apparently he had decided to deliver it through his friends.

There was a notable absence of Crowley in the group that was attacking him. Aziraphale was vaguely happy about this, and quite a lot less surprised than he probably should have been.

Then he stopped thinking as even more demons rushed into sight, all ready to attack him. Letting his instincts take over, thanking Heaven that even out of shape he was skilled enough to beat most demons, he listened to the little voice in the back of his head sounding like Gabriel and speaking Michaelese.

'Jump, kick, turn, land, duck, hit, spin, kick, jump, wingbeat, fold and...'

The demons didn't seem to be ending any time soon...

Gabriel was very silent as he headed down to Earth. The news he had received had not been the best ones. An angel had offered to do the task for him, but he had refused. Often he had been too busy to bring Aziraphale home, but this time he would do it.

This time was different than usual, in many ways. One was the fact that Gabriel was indeed himself the one fetching his little brother -- or, depending on who you asked, his son. Another thing that made this different was that it had been a group of demons attacking Aziraphale instead of the usual sole rascal, Crowley.

Yet another thing was that this time, Michael's men hadn't made it to the battle field before the battle had been over.

They didn't know why the message hadn't got through in time. Michael blamed himself, although Gabriel knew that was definitely futile; Michael was the best in his job and should have known it. Somewhere, there had been a mistake made, and due to this Aziraphale hadn't received any help before he had been defeated. Crowley, he could handle alone -- and even if he couldn't, he would never accept help. But several demons at once were a quite different thing.

Nevertheless, the help hadn't made it in time.

A sword ready by his side, he now walked over the fallen bodies of demons. One had cracked his skull on a stone, another's neck had apparently been broken. Never let it be said that a student of Michael's couldn't fight effectively even unarmed.

In the middle of it all, he found Aziraphale's body. It was horrible to look at, slashed and mangled and torn in unimaginable ways. Obviously the demons hadn't thought it enough to just discorporate him; they had wanted him to suffer, too.

Very, very carefully, Gabriel knelt down to gather the tiny sphere of energy that was now Aziraphale's essence. Holding it on his palm, he got ready to return to Heaven. However, movement on the side of the battle field caught his eye. A second later his senses found a demonic aura there.

"What now, demon?" snapped Gabriel, drawing his sword. "Have you come to look for more angel prey? I warn you, I am not an easy opponent!" As Crowley stepped forward, his eyes narrowed further. "Oh. It's you."

"Yeah, it's me," Crowley replied, raising an eyebrow. "Why so? Were you expecting somebody else?" He kicked the nearest -- already rotting -- demon corpse and said, "Look, I don't want to fight. It'd be just a waste of both of ours time, and probably I wouldn't be the only one hurt, either. You know I'm fairly good with a sword." To punctuate his words, he picked up a demonic sword from the ground and held it up. "For your information, I just found out about this attack. I came here to help the angel, but was seemingly too late."

"A demon? Help an angel?" the Messenger spat. "Do not joke with me, demon. You will not inflict any further harm on Aziraphale, not as long as I still stand!" He now raised his sword in a threat.

Crowley, however, sighed in exasperation. "I already said I want no fight, and definitely not any harm on your dear brother," he said irritably. "Just take him Up There and fucking make sure he heals, got it?"

For a moment Gabriel just watched him. Then he slowly sheathed his sword, his other hand still held close to his chest. He then extended that hand a bit, a glowing light resting on the open palm, lighting up the scene as darkness started to fall, the only illumination besides the setting sun being the angel and Aziraphale's soul. "Rest assured that he will be healed," he said, his tone still cool but not exactly as hostile as earlier. He again brought the essence of his brother close to his heart and, without a sound, was away.

For a moment Crowley stood there, still staring at where the archangel had stood. Then he glanced around at the fallen demons, their bodies now coloured even more red by the setting sun.

A slight smirk rose onto his lips. A principality with no sword, and Aziraphale still could take down so many enemies. It was truly impressive -- but not surprising.

Then the only standing demon turned around and left the battle field invisible to human eyes, the sun low behind his back drawing a long shadow from him to the road before him. And somewhere, inside what might have been his heart had he agreed to call it that, he held an archangel's promise.

'He will be healed.'

Next Prompt: Too Much