Aziraphale found himself cheered by the next village. They smiled at him and were happy for his knowledge of Vietnamese. He played games with the children, who also took to him quickly. One day, while the children ate, they decided to question him.

"Why are you so skinny like us, but you don't eat? Aren't you hungry?" The boy was smaller than the rest, but his eyes were large and filled with hope. Aziraphale liked him.

"Oh, no. Not at all." He smiled.

"You're lying," another one said. "You can have some of mine if you want."

"That's fine, dear, but thank you." Aziraphale waved away the food, hoping that the hunger in his eyes wasn't too obvious.

"You sure?"

He nodded.

"Where are you from?"

"Britain, dear."

"Why are you here? You're not dressed like the rest of them, and you don't have a gun. You don't have a camera, either. You just have that book. What's it about?"

Aziraphale took the invitation to ignore the boy's first question and answered the last. "It's about God. It's a version of the Bible that I particularly like."

"I don't have any books. Can you read it?"

"Yes, of course. Would you like to hear a story?"

The children all smiled and nodded. Aziraphale chose the New Testament to read from, picking out the most promising verses, the most loving ones.

And when Aziraphale had finished, the smallest boy broke the silence.

"I don't believe you. If your God loves us so much, then why are there so many people dying?"

It was like a punch in the gut. He faltered, before answering.

"He does, it's just that some people from far away don't understand what God wants and are letting themselves be manipulated."

The boy pondered this for a moment.

"I don't think your story is real." The other children nodded in agreement, frowning. Aziraphale was at a loss. How was he supposed to explain the ineffable when he didn't even understand it?

- _ - _ - _ -

Aziraphale felt something rip inside of him as a mother handed of the smallest of the children off to him. He checked momentarily if he was bleeding, but there was no wound. She pleaded with him to run. There were other children around him. One was on his back, one was in his arms, and three were tugging at his pants. She seemed to put all of her trust into him as she dashed back to her house in an attempt to make it seem as if no one had abandoned it. To sacrifice herself in the hopes that her children might live.

The army had already shredded the majority of the village with bullets and fire - it was only a matter of time before they reached Aziraphale. The sound of fire and cries and gunshots rang in his ears, making him deaf to everything else. He looked to the children. He swallowed hard. He couldn't carry them all.

"Run –as fast as you can – don't pay attention to anyone else – just run. I'll find you by the end of the day."

He ran with the children. There wasn't much else he could do. His mind raced as fast as his feet did, pictures of men, women, and children in ditches, pictures of soldiers and guns, pictures of them crying, the men, women, and children too.

He felt weightless for a moment before he crashed into the ground, the smallest child tumbling out from his arms. The one on his back started to run, but was stopped with a sudden jerking movement before falling. The smallest child didn't move.

It took him a moment to realize he had been shot in the back of the knee. He felt another shot enter his lower back to the side.

Aziraphale tried desperately to get up. If he wasn't able to get to those children by nightfall then…

Another shot. It missed. He realized that if he tried moving again he might be discorporated entirely. He feigned the hit, this time, slumping.

"Think he's dead?" A man shouted behind him. He spoke in English with an American accent.

"Dunno. Shoot 'em again!"

"Wait!" He cried. The next shot was dangerously close to his head.

"'The hell!?"

"I'm… I'm not…" He pulled off his nón lá and did his best to flip over.

"Hey! He's not a Cong! Wuddoaye do?"

"We had orders to shoot everyone in the village!"

"Yeah? Well Gerwin can kiss my ass! This guy's not a Cong for sure. Looks like he was trying to help some children. Maybe he's part of the media?"

"You kidding!? Definitely shoot him then!"

Aziraphale coughed. "Not a photographer. Just… here to help… Please. The children."

"Fine! Help him up. Maybe he knows something or whatever." Aziraphale felt himself being hauled up. He supported himself on the soldier and was slowly lead away. He looked back to where the children had fled, and the only one that was still visible was the small one from where he had dropped him. The boy wasn't moving.

But there-

Aziraphale's unnecessary breath hitched. The boy had opened his eyes. Slowly, ever slowly, he started to crawl away.

There were other soldiers now. Another gunshot. The boy's body slumped.