You Should Know That: There's a video connected to this story on youtube, it features one of my original songs. If you wanna take a look just search for selfxmadexstar (that's my name there).

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Warnings: The same as in part 1

Author's Note: Concerning men crying and being emotional in general, I wasn't very fond of it (I sometimes wrote it but I wasn't fond of it) until I fell in love with a Spanish dramedy called 'Paco's Men'. And then I saw how it can be done in a manly fashion without looking annoying or making the man in question look like a total emo/pansy/inserttermhere. So I'll allow it. I'm sorry if it seems mushy to some of you but that's not how I see it. *shrug* Anyway, this story is mostly fantasizing anyway. ;P

Thanks to all who put this story on their favorite/alert lists. I would still appreciate any comments you have.

Inner Angels and Guardian Demons

Part 2

Where You Stand

# 11 Blur

Crowley doesn't normally cry. He rarely even fucking blinks, blessit! He is utterly irritated at the fact that everything is blurring in front of his eyes right now. It's nothing short of selfish, really. It's not like Aziraphale would be gone forever. It's just that it's been such a pleasant evening at the Ritz and he has been looking forward to a long, silly, meaningless talk with the angel. He feels like a child whose long-anticipated play-date has been cancelled – it's not really a tragedy but for some reason it's still heartbreaking.

He should have seen the bullet, stopped it, done something. It's completely ridiculous – a supernatural being getting hit by a stray bullet. It's not even supposed to be a dangerous neighborhood. Ridiculous, unexpected and utterly unwelcome.

"Shit," Crowley whispers staring down at the blurry image of the face of his friend and the rapidly growing dark red stain on his shirt.

The angel blinks in tired surprise when a tear actually slips from behind his counterpart's dark shades.

"Don't worry, dear," he reassures "Be right back."

"Yeah." Crowley clears his throat and wipes angrily at his cheek. "I'll se ya then."

There is the sound of an ambulance in the background but it's already too late. The demon drags himself back to his Bentley and drives away.

It's a horrible, stupid summer evening and there are more to come.

# 12 Wait

It's the wait that kills you, that's what people say. Even if you're sort of immortal.

Ever since Aziraphale's discorporation Crowley had been restless, irritated, anxious and just about every other condition that makes you bite your nails. In one word, he was in a Capitally Bad Mood. He almost felt like doing things bordering on Really and Truly Evil. But Aziraphale would be Majorly Pissed if he came back and found that Crowley had been taking advantage of his absence. And indulging in acts he wouldn't normally even think of committing, demon or not. It was part of the Arrangement too – every time one of them was discorporated, the other would refrain from doing anything major until his counterpart returned.

This was not the first time the angel's body had been killed and Crowley was always nervous when he had to wait for him. The truth was, he didn't like Aziraphale mingling too much with other angels. He always returned from Heaven feeling guilty about the Arrangement and their relationship. Crowley would usually counter with 'if it wasn't for the Arrangement, I would have destroyed the town by now, while you weren't here to stop me' and 'look at the nice shape everything's in and I even kept an eye on your precious books.'

Which was why he was now hanging to control by his teeth. He mostly stayed at home and terrorized his plants to the point when they actually started dying from the plant equivalent of heart attacks. He revived them and tried to keep his temper in check, telling himself that it wasn't because he cared for the plants or the angel or whatever. And the bringing back to life thing wasn't a miracle but quite the opposite. It was just to prolong their suffering.

He didn't know what was different this time but he felt even more anxious, even more impatient for his companion to come back. He tried to tell himself it was just because he was bored. It didn't work. He knew a premonition when he saw one and this one did not bode well. Of course, he was helpless to do anything about it. So he just drank himself into a stupor and waited.

# 13 Change

Crowly had been all joy when he'd found the clumsy message on his answering machine. Finally! It had been more than six months! He had driven down to Soho at an ungodly speed (just as was appropriate) not even stopping to pick up a bottle of champagne to celebrate. Welcome back gifts could wait. He wanted to see Aziraphale and he wanted to see him now. He burst into the bookshop and only just managed to skid to a halt in front of the angel without toppling them both to the floor.

"So what's new in Heaven?" he managed, barely able to speak trough his grin.

Aziraphale offered him tea and listened to his complains about how bored he had been. Crowley was so relieved to be once again in the small back room with his tartan-clad companion that it took a full fifteen minutes for him to notice something was wrong. But it did eventually hit him. Aziraphale's smile was a bit forced and his hands were restlessly fiddling with anything and everything they could find. The demon frowned, then sighed.

"All right, get it over with."

"What, dear?"

"The speech about how we shouldn't see each other. Blessit, angel, we almost met the end of the world together, one would think you would finally get that rubbish out of your head!"

A grimace of pain crossed the slightly round features.

"Oh, Crowley, it's not my head you should be worried about."

"Well, I don't give a monkey's ass about what Michael or Gabriel or the rest of those stuck up bastards Up There have gotten into their heads! If we assume they are not just as empty as Hastur and Ligur's, that is."

To Crowly's surprise Aziraphale didn't even flinch at the bad language. That was not a good sign. The angel was just looking openly miserable now and avoided his gaze.

"Michael outright threatened that I would Fall if I didn't stop being friendly with demons," he confessed finally.

Crowley gaped. Falling? He hadn't expected they would go that far. Admonishment, yes. Some kind of unpleasant task and more paperwork for punishment, maybe. But Falling? That was a serious threat to make these days.

"But what for?" he asked incredulously, "You haven't done anything worse than what you've been doing for the last six millennia!"

"I know but they weren't paying much attention to us the last six millennia. After that Apocalypse thing… They've gotten it into their heads that you are making me disobedient."

Crowley was one step away from having smoke come out of his ears.

"For Go- For He- Fuck it, Aziraphale, I was prepared to face Satan with a tire iron justbecause you asked me to!"

"I know but they don't care. Or rather, they say this kind of behavior is not natural so it must be some evil plan."

Crowley just stared at him, furious beyond belief.

"So they condemn me in general because they say I'm evil by nature and they condemn me in particular when I do something that isn't evil because it's not natural?! Angel, this is just…" He waved his hand at a loss for words. Then with a sigh he dropped into a chair and stared at the carpet.

"Nothing changes, you know. When you Fall. Nothing changes. You don't become a different person. I'm really the same as I was when I was an angel. Whatever made me a demon was always there from the very beginning. And if you were ever to Fall, which is a ridiculous notion, you wouldn't change either. So how do they think it's going to work? A demon that walks around dressed in tartan and calls people 'dear'?"

Aziraphale bit his lip, sharing his friend's frustration but unable to pretend he wasn't afraid.

"Crowley, look, I… It… It doesn't matter. Let's just go and have lunch, shall we? I… I'm sure Michael wouldn't really… I shouldn't have even told you, I'm sorry. Let's go, come on, I'm paying."

Crowley hesitantly followed him outside and into the car.

They went to the Ritz and ordered a nice meal and even nicer wine. But as much as Crowley wanted to believe everything was the same, it wasn't. He could tell Aziraphale was scared. He could tell he didn't want to be near him right now. And the irony of it all was that the angel was as brave as they came. He had raised a flaming sword against all Hell itself just to protect a few innocent humans. But the reason Falling terrified him so much was because he couldn't imagine being anything but an angel. For all his little quirks that had allowed their friendship, Crowley knew that deep down Aziraphale was more angelic than the whole Host put together. Falling would destroy him. He would completely lose himself. How could they even suggest it? His place was not Down There. Had never been, would never be.

Crowley watched the suddenly pale plump hands drop the fork in the middle of the plate, sprinkling sauce all over the table cloth and he knew this was it. Blessit. When he had imagined things might change between them after the Apocalypse, this wasn't what he had had in mind.

Meal still untouched, he stood up slowly and reached to squeeze Aziraphale's shoulder.

"It's been nice, angel. Take care."

Not giving the other time to react, he was out of the restaurant before his eyes started burning treacherously. He slammed the door of the Bentley and stepped on the gas. The Apocalypse might have gone on and happened for all he cared.

# 14 Command

People's general impression of Aziraphale was indeed 'British, intelligent and gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide'. If you asked them for something more on the matter, they might say that he was friendly when you're not a book buyer and he liked tartan a bit too much. Words like 'frightening' or 'powerful' would definitely not pop up in their minds. And yet he could be those too.

He wouldn't normally have performed something as big as this without asking first. But right now he was both pissed off at the people Up There and trying to prove that he was still a real angel. He usually preferred politeness and requests but that, as Crowley had often said, was the very reason why people usually ignored him. The trick was to make it a command. To leave the person no choice to disobey. He could do it, if push came to shove. He had originally been a warrior after all, although even his fellow angels often forgot about that.

"Rise up!" Aziraphale said in his most commanding voice, only letting the dying woman at his feet see his wings and divine aura. The woman gasped in fear and wonder but her feet moved of their own accord. There was no question of disobeying that voice. Had Aziraphale commanded her to stand on her hands and tap-dance, she would have done that too.

Now he was telling her she was perfectly unharmed and even her body believed him.

Aziraphale for his part quickly delivered a short message about God's love and hurried to disappear in the commotion of policemen and paramedics trying to get people out of smashed cars. Even as he got back to the bookshop, his whole body still tingled with the aftereffects of unleashing his full power. He wished Crowley could have seen.

He wondered briefly if the demon had caused the accident in the first place. It wasn't his style but who knew. The Arrangement didn't exist anymore, did it?

On the other side of town Crowley closed the door of his apartment and dropped on the couch. He had indeed caused the accident, although he hadn't meant it to get so out of control. Well… all the better, right? He had been feeling a lot eviler lately. And judging by today, Aziraphale was in top do-gooder shape. So both Heaven and Hell had gotten what they wanted after all.

In fact, the whole accident had just been an excuse to get closer to the angel. Even if he refused to admit it even to himself. The figure he had seen surrounded by divine light among the wreckage had been familiar and yet strangely foreign. And that voice! Why couldn't Aziraphale have used it when he was back in Heaven? With that voice, Crowley was sure, he could have made even the Archangels swallow their own halos.

But then again, it wouldn't have been worth it, would it? Not for some silly Arrangement with a demon.

# 15 Hold

Earth was nothing but a small rock amidst a raging inferno of flames. A tornado was rising up to Heaven, trying to pull him up with it. But something else was keeping him there.

"Don't let me go!"

Golden eyes stared up at him and Aziraphale tried to tighten his grip on the hand in his. It didn't work. His fingers were slipping.

"Don't you dare! Don't you dare leave me here alone! Hold on!" he shouted.

Crowley shook his head sadly.

"You're the one who isn't holding on."

At the next moment, contrary to what he wanted to do, the angel let him go and the flames consumed him at the same time when the wind picked the lone figure on the rock up, sending him skywards. The rock burst and disappeared.

Aziraphale jerked awake and looked around, disoriented. He was alone in an armchair in his back room. What had happened? Why had he fallen asleep? He didn't normally, so why now? And because he didn't normally sleep, he wasn't used to nightmares either. What was that all about? He hadn't been there when Crowley had Fallen so it couldn't have been a memory.

His first instinct was to call the demon to see if he was okay. That was before he remembered he wasn't supposed to. His hand froze over the receiver and he bit his lip. Should he?

# 16 Need

After ringing the bell for the third time and getting no answer, Aziraphale tried the door. It was unlocked. The uneasy feeling in his stomach increased to the point of almost-panic. Crowley hadn't picked up his phone or his cell phone either. He could be avoiding him on purpose, of course, but that didn't explain the door. The lock wouldn't have stopped the angel but it did stop everyone else so it was normally used regularly.

"Crowley?" he called softly.

Nothing. The angel walked trough the neat apartment, looking around worriedly.

He finally found him in the bedroom. Or at least he found a demon-shaped lump on the bed.

'Oh, you lazy slob,' Aziraphale thought, his features relaxing into a relieved smile.

But then he frowned again. Crowley's breathing was too uneven for normal sleep. He stepped closer to the bed and yelped in surprise when a hand caught his. He almost pulled away - the demon's skin was very dry and burning hot. Instead, he ended up gripping back as if his life depended on it. Or at least someone's life. The dream from the night before coming back to him in detail served to turn his worry into true fear. He quickly sat on the bed and pulled the covers a little bit to reveal Crowley's face, eyes shut tight and features twisted in a grimace of pain. Whether it was real pain or just a nightmare, Aziraphale couldn't tell without waking him up. But with such high temperature, chances were something was seriously wrong. Crowley was a former snake after all - his skin was normally slightly cool.

Aziraphale pressed his free palm to his forehead.

"Crowley, my boy, can you hear me?" he whispered, "Wake up, dear."

To his relief, golden eyes fluttered open.

"Huh? A- Aziraphale? What are you – Where did you- Wait, am I awake?"

"You are now," Aziraphale assured him, particularly pleased at that fact. For a moment he had imagined he wouldn't be able to wake him.

"Oh, um… Then why are you here?"

"I think the proper question is why wasn't I here earlier." Aziraphale sighed. "What did you do to yourself? I didn't know you could get sick."

Crowley ignored the question in favor of asking his own.

"But what about Michael?"

Michael? Aziraphale had momentarily forgotten all about Michael and Falling. He just now remembered that Michael was the very reason he had no idea what was going on with Crowley. He took a deep breath.

"Well, Michael can shove his opinions up his ass along with the rest of the stuff he keeps in there to make him such a stuck-up bastard."

Crowley who rarely ever blinked did it three times. Then he gathered his jaw from the floor and burst into peals of laughter. He was joined by the angel as soon as Aziraphale managed to overcome his own shock at what he had said. It felt good to laugh. It felt especially good to laugh together again. Eventually though Crowley's laughs turned into a coughing fit and Aziraphale was reminded of the matter at hand.

"So where on Earth did that fever come from?"

Crowley slumped back into the pillows and avoided his gaze.

"My own fault. I did something stupid."

"You silly demon, what did you do?"

"I sort of… Well, I went Up There to talk to Michael. He wasn't very pleased. And the guys Down There weren't pleased either. So all of them in turn made sure I couldn't do it again."

The angel's eyes went as big as saucers.

"You did what?! They did what?! But I don't under-"

Before he could finish, Crowley turned his back to him and slowly spread his wings.

Or what was left of them. Aziraphale recoiled in shock.

"Oh my – " he swallowed heavily and pushed down the sudden desire to kill someone in order to take a better look at what was in front of him.

The white feathers were matted and stained with both dry and fresh blood and big parts of the wings had been chopped off by flaming swords or burned in hellfire. Aziraphale's heart clenched along with his fists. This was wrong. Crowley being a demon did not make it right at all.

"Oh, dear… I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. It's all my fault…"

"Oh, don't you start now!" Crowley waved a hand in irritation. "Fault's my own. You didn't make me go. I just… That separation of ours, you know… I guess I'm not handling it well. I mean, there used to be periods when we didn't see each other for much longer than this but I knew that we would eventually…"

He trailed off, embarrassed.

"I should have gone Up There, not you." Aziraphale said softly.

"Look, forget about it. It's not like I was using them anyway…" was Crowley's lame attempt at nonchalance but his voice shook.

Just like with angels, a demon's wings were part of him. Losing them was like losing a limb. Aziraphale hoped with all his heart that the damage wasn't permanent but it was obviously bad enough to cause the fever. He miracled a soft cloth and a basin of warm water and started gently cleaning the blood. Crowley was quiet, shivering slightly at the touch. He almost felt like pushing the angel away and pretending he was fine. But after six thousand years what was the point of being embarrassed in front of each other?

Finally, Aziraphale dropped the cloth and ran his fingers along the lines of some of the deepest cuts, trying to determine what was severed and if it could be fixed. He'd rather not try his divine healing powers. They might hurt instead of help.

The feathers were soft beneath his touch, absolutely the same as any angel's.

"You'll be fine," Aziraphale concluded finally, part of the weight that had settled over his heart lifting, "They mostly just cut the feathers that allow you to fly. They'll grow back with a little time."

The figure in front of him fell forward on the bed in exhausted relief. Staying upright had taken an effort. Now he gratefully buried his face in the pillow the angel pushed beneath him. For one scary second Crowley thought he would break down completely. He had been certain he would have to live without his wings. He had also been certain he would have to live without Aziraphale. Now both seemed within reach again and he almost felt like crying.

It took every ounce of will he had but he managed to get some of his composure back. A moment later the pillow was lifted along with his head and placed on the angel's knees. A clean cloth, dipped in cool water this time, was pressed gently to the still hot skin on the side of his face and neck. Crowley unconsciously leaned into the touch. He felt a bit like burning paper. But the cloth helped. He wanted to fall asleep again but he didn't want to wake up and find the room empty.

"Aziraphale?"

"Hmm?"

"And what if God really doesn't want you to associate with me?"

The angel paused as Crowley had known he would. Michael's threats were one thing (though a very serious thing) but Aziraphale's love for God was above all else. One poofy hand set the cloth aside and this time Crowley was sure the angel would get up and leave.

But then the moment was gone. The hand came down again, fingers running lightly trough the demon's hair.

"He'll understand," Aziraphale answered finally, "He doesn't really need me. You do."

Crowley literally forgot to breathe. God would 'understand'? But would he really?

Well, it was true that God wasn't in dire need of this particular Principality. God didn't need anyone in particular, did He? He was God after all.

"And you?"

The question was so quiet it was easy to miss but the angel heard it and laughed softly. It was a reassuring sound.

"Of course I need you, you silly serpent. Would I be here otherwise?"

And that was all Crowley needed to hear. He drifted off without a worry in the world.

Well, he still ached all over but who cared.

# 17 Vision

"But sir, your vision is fine!" the confused optician insisted. "Why are you buying new spectacles if you didn't even need the old ones?"

The tartan-clad gentleman smiled as he inspected the various models of reading glasses.

"My good man, you are missing the point. They are not for my vision. They are for someone else's."

"You are giving them as a gift to someone?"

"No. They are for somebody else's vision of me. They sort of… complete the picture of being British, intelligent and gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide. I know you were thinking it."

The optician's jaw dropped.

"Don't worry," the gentleman laughed, "I don't mind being seen as gay, British and smart. I would just like to be seen as gay, British, smart and at least mildly good-looking. And these don't do the job."

He waved his old glasses.

"Er… right."

The optician shrugged and moved to show him some of the more popular models.

'Crowley, you damned snake, you are well on your way to corrupting me!' Aziraphale thought to himself. 'Since when have I ever cared about how stylish my glasses are?'

But when later that afternoon Crowley had the grace to notice the brand new shiny spectacles on his nose, a little vanity seemed worth it.

# 18 Attention

Aziraphale gulped. Everyone was throwing him curious glances. Principalities, Virtues, Archangels, everyone. It always happened when he visited Heaven because he never bothered to change his attire. And in the middle of a crowd that consisted of pristine white robes and divinely beautiful but slightly featureless faces, his cheerful tartan looked indeed very out of place. He tried not to crumble under all the attention he was getting.

He shouldn't have been called back so soon. After all, he had been back for a new body not long ago. But the little stunt he had pulled during Crowley's traffic accident had gotten his superiors' unwanted attention. He wasn't technically supposed to do stuff like that. In his defense, he mumbled something about the demon being discouraged from trying anything too evil since then. It was true enough. Crowley was too busy drinking and chatting away with him.

"Or maybe the vile creature has not yet recovered from his visit here," Michael remarked.

With all eyes on him, Aziraphale had to fight hard to keep his expression neutral and not indulge in his suicidal desire to tell the Archangel that he was a bastard. He merely shrugged.

They let him go only with a recommendation to try and keep from open displays of holiness unless really necessary. But he could feel Michael's suspicious gaze on his back as he walked out the gates.

Once he was back on Earth he sighed with relief and calmly walked down the street to his shop, mostly unnoticed by the passers-by. He liked it this way.

# 19 Soul

Humans were actually quite a bit luckier than angels and demons, even if they didn't realize it, Crowley thought. Because humans always got another chance. And another. And another. Contrary to popular belief, souls didn't stay in Heaven or Hell for all eternity. This could only happen to angels and demons because angels and demons did not reproduce. But human souls needed to be recycled and the energy used for the new babies that were being born. Crowley had often wondered if a soul was predestined to be good or evil. And if it had been to Hell before becoming a newborn, did it make a bad person again? Or did it as a rule make a better one because it had learned its lesson? Or was there any logic to it at all? But if a soul that had been to Hell could then go to Heaven, that was really a bit unfair. Because no fallen angel had ever been accepted back There. At least not to his knowledge.

Crowley didn't dream of going back or anything like that. He was fairly happy with the way things were now. But there had been a time… There had been a time when he had felt so angry! He knew he didn't fit well in Heaven so it only made sense for him to become a demon, even if he hadn't really meant to. (Well, come to that, he didn't exactly fit in Hell either but he still managed better there.) But he didn't understand why Falling had to be such a horrible experience. After all, it was simply making a better career choice. But no, it had to be painful and humiliating and everyone you ever knew pretended you were dead or considered you scum just because you were something else now.

Sometimes he tried to remember what Heaven had felt like when he had been an angel, when the very aura of the place didn't hurt his senses. Just like Aziraphale sometimes wished for a perfect world although he knew he wouldn't like it, Crowley sometimes longed for the one thing he couldn't have. Just for a moment, just out of curiosity to really feel Heaven again. Then he would know for sure it wasn't for him and he would walk out of there instead of being thrown out as a punishment.

Blessed lucky humans. Sometimes he really wished he was a human soul. They had good and evil in them in equal amounts. They weren't missing anything.

If A.J. Crowley could see himself clearly, he would know that he was no different in that aspect. And had never been.

#20 Picture

"Crowley, why are we in an art gallery?"

"No particular reason," the demon shrugged "but I thought you liked art."

"Well, yes. And I know you do too. It's one of those borderline things, isn't it? I see these pictures as a triumph of human genius and you see them as…"

"A lot of naked people, mostly. Looking quite obscene occasionally."

"Maybe to your eyes. Nakedness in itself is not a sin. Actually, I find most of these almost divinely beautiful."

"Mhmm. What about this one?"

"Well, yes, this one in particular illustrates what I was sa-"

Aziraphale did a double-take on the picture.

"Crowley, dear… Is that… you?"

Crowley was already doubled over in a fit of barely restrained laughter at the angel's expression.

"Divinely beautiful, huh?" he taunted.

Aziraphale attempted to glare at him and pretend not to be interested in the picture all that much.

"So you dragged me here just to brag about how well you look naked?"

"Well, you were the one going on about nakedness being perfectly all right. Does that suddenly change when you happen to know one of the models?"

"Well… I didn't know you were making an effort."

"Why, aren't you?"

"Well, eh, yes but…"

"It's kind of like with Adam's dog, isn't it? The form shapes the nature. Don't try to tell me you don't think of yourself as male. And I keep getting blamed for going native anyway, might as well really earn it."

"Huh. Well, you have definitely earned it."

The angel was blushing furiously now and the demon dissolved into chuckles again.

A few days later a large flat package was delivered to Mr. Fell's bookshop. Aziraphale guessed what it was even before he opened it.

"Why, you shameless, vile creature," he muttered shaking his head. But he couldn't keep an amused smile from creeping to his lips as he looked at the indeed very nicely done picture.

End of Part 2