Author's Note: Violence alert! (With minor traces of humor). I thoroughly enjoyed writing this Chapter for some reason. Hmmm.. weird. Anyway, let me know what you guys think! Reviews are always welcome.
ALL IN A LIFETIME'S WORK
Chapter 9
Airaphale's plan was simple, as simple as tying your shoelaces really: Get Out of the Chair. The only worrying thing about it actually was that it involved plenty of cunning and deceit. Aziraphale as an angel, though he could consider himself as marginally cunning if the need arose (and the need now was, by any measure, in his existence so far the most pressing of needs). However, Aziraphale knew he was no master deception, not even a paduan - as one of his graphic artists once said (giving him his one and only lesson in science fiction terminology). Aziraphale couldn't have even hoped, had he had a normal human childhood, to tell his preschool teacher how the dog ate his homework1 in any convincing manner whatsoever.
Thusly, Aziraphale knew the dangers and imminent challenge of what he was about to do. He's been eyeing the graffiti for some time now, recognizing the latin incantations and sigils that was keeping him mortally bound. They worked alright, however haphazard they were, yet even in Aziraphale's desperate mind, he was thinking that they could have been made more elegant. He could tell that the sigils were cumulatively consuming more and more raw energy and his angelic mind realized for the briefest (and weirdest) of moments that he knew the exact combinations to make the sigils more effective, consume less firmament and even decorate the place in a more pleasing manner.
"Now where were we?" John's voice shook him out of his reverie and the angel realized how close he was probably to losing it.
"Er... yes." Aziraphale cleared his throat and flexed his fingers some more, stalling for more time, waiting for some strength to return. In the back of his head, he was also holding out some hope that Crowley would come find him even if he knew that the latin on the walls took all chances of that. No celestial or infernal being can find him now, he knew. He swallowed, biting that fear down.
He brought up his freed hand to John's face and carefully brushed away the dark hair covering the eyes, mimicking something Crowley has always done for him. Aziraphale felt sick with just the thought and clenched his jaw.
John seemed to like this and leaned his cheek into the angel's palm. "Yes, I've missed you so much Aziraphale." he purred.
"M-me too, I -" Aziraphale was about to say something when without warning, John suddenly leaned forward and caught Aziraphale's lips, kissing the angel fervently.
Aziraphale gave a surprised yelp; it took all control not to push the offending face away. To bite and claw away those unwelcome lips. He felt John slip in his tongue, tasting him, taking advantage of his captive's gasp while his hands wandered down pulling at the angel's shirt. Aziraphale lost no time working on untying his left hand hurriedly, trying to clear his mind of this terrible situation. Never had he felt so violated and so angry.
Just a little more Aziraphale, just a few seconds more, he kept telling himself. The litany the only thing keeping his mind from completely shutting down.
Just - a - little - more.
*******
"Just a little more, just hold out a bit more angel." Crowley was muttering under his breath as he found himself stuck in unbelievable traffic, the red Ford slowing down to a mere crawl on Madison avenue. Crowley was already feeling the drain of firmament; he couldn't make the traffic budge nor make a way as he was so accustomed to doing. He was fiercely imagining traffic to part like the red sea before him and reality was tenaciously fighting back. Frustrated, he punched the dash viciously, and realized with a start that although he could still will the pain away, it did so only after several attempts.
It only took a second's decision before he sprang out of the car and started running, paying no heed to the honking horns and cursing. He knew exactly where Aziraphale was and he couldn't decide now if that information hurt more than not knowing at all. Now all of the things that could be happening to Aziraphale were relentlessly going through his mind. All of the bad things, and he needed no imagination for that; he was a demon after all.
It took him several minutes to reach one of the backstage entrances to the garden, panting and out of breath. Crowley didn't realize til then that this body of his might look good but needed more exercise than he was willing to admit. He couldn't remember the last time he felt really tired, he's simply gotten so used to having access to limitless firmament - or at least as much as he ever needed or wanted. Crowley pushed at one of the large double doors realizing that this must be one of the theater entrances for stage props and the like. It wouldn't budge and a blinking red light by a security panel mocked the demon.
"Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me."
It was the first time in recorded (and unrecorded) history that a lock successfully thwarted Anthony J. Crowley.
*******
Aziraphale felt one of the ropes unravel and he quickly started working his left arm loose. The movement however caused John to pause and he looked accusingly into Aziraphales eyes.
Had the angel had not just endured one of the most difficult minutes of his life, he would have felt the default pang of guilt built-in by his Heavenly maker. He didn't.
There was but a moment and he seized the opportunity and swung his right fist as hard as he could, hitting the stalker right-smack in the jaw. They both felt something crack and Aziraphale ignored the searing pain his knuckles were sending up to his brain. John staggered back, the force quite literally pushing him right off Aziraphale's lap and crashing down onto the concrete floor.
Aziraphale tried his best not to feel smug at hurting the young man but dismally failed - he ought to be justified this one time, he thought. He took no time trying to wring his other hand free from his bonds, taking a few agonizing seconds, and quickly set to work to free his ankles.
John was beginning to stir groggily and Aziraphale could feel his heart hammering loudly in his chest.
*******
Unfortunately for the triumphant lock it success would only be short lived; breaking and entering was, and always will be, one of Crowley's many talents - with or without demonic powers.
The demon ran for all that he was worth down a narrow hall clutching a crowbar tightly in his hand. It had taken all of his concentration and most intense imagining to will the tool into reality. He figured he'll need to hang onto it, Crowley didn't know when or if he'll be able to pull off that trick again until the sigils are removed.
It was quite literally a maze of corridors and halls visitors to the famous Madison Square Garden never see - a confusing series of interconnected utility and endless storage areas, backstages and greenrooms. Some employees still claim to find navigating this warren of passages and rooms a challenge, but Crowley was no mortal. He took a series of lefts and rights, and taking to the utility stairs moving slowly down into the lower level of the building as if he designed the building complex himself.
He had to give credit to this Jonathan Skims, genius little bugger he is, hiding where none of them would ever think to look first. Not only that, it allowed Skims all the stalking hours to learn the easiest route to take Aziraphale. Only he would know then that the angel would be left alone for a good 5 minutes in a less frequented basement area before he appears onstage. Crowley's mind all too easily surmised how easy it must have been to sneak up on the all-too trusting angel and the demon's gut wrenched at the thought that Aziraphale must have already been taken those precious minutes he was watching the light show.
Crowley always knew how evilly creative humans can be - Skims didn't even need his tempting - but this one took the cake. He's seen countless murderers and killers over the millenia, more heinous than the other, enough to make his stomach turn, but this one - this one dared touch his angel.
This was fucking personal.
*******
"Hurry! Hurry!" the girl was whispering in a shrill voice, watching in horror as John tried to shake his head clear of the pain. "Mister angel, he's getting up!"
"I know." Aziraphale said, teeth clenched as he struggled to loosen his ankles, his hands were shaking.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
His mind was cursing nonstop, he could nearly feel tears forming at the corners of his eyes - out of fear and frustration. By the time he freed his left leg, John had managed to dazedly pull himself up.
"Mister angel!"
Aziraphale had barely tugged his other ankle free when he looked up just in time to find John glowering down at him. His mind barely registered the moving fist and it hit him with blinding pain. He staggered forward, now free of the chair, scrambling to get to his feet.
"You sneaky sneaky angel!" John shouted and Aziraphale felt a kick right into his midsection knocking the wind out of him.
Aziraphale coughed and spat out blood, breathing heavily. It was only by tremendous force of will that he kept himself from fainting.
John grabbed him by the hair and pulled Aziraphale into facing the terror stricken girl. "You fucking angel. Now its going to be your fucking fault sweet little Catrina would have to die." he grabbed for his gun and aimed right between her eyes.
This close, Aziraphale knew in horror that he wouldn't miss like the first time.
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1 Of course, had Aziraphale grown up a normal human child, he wouldn't have had the problem of explaining missing homework in the first place since he's already worked on next week's lesson just to be the pious student he's expected to be. Although on the other hand, for the sake of argument, he may still have had to explain missing homework had Crowley grown up with him as one of the brattiest human children preschool teachers have ever known.