Things changed after that night. Not in a bad way. In fact, rather the opposite. Nithael had woken up in Crowley's spot and upon heading downstairs and returning to their comfortable turtleneck sweater, Muriel informed them that Crowley was going to take them out to lunch. Nithael had been suspicious at first, concerned about leaving the bookshop and having a repeat of the last time but two o'clock came around and Crowley walked in completely calm.

"Come on," he grunted, nodding toward the door. "Won't go far. Just across the street."

Relieved, Nithael had gone with them with only minimal issues from the people outside and inside Nina's cafe. They'd already met her which helped and the cafe wasn't as crowded as it could have been. Nithael could ignore the low murmur of voices here and their only issue was trying to choose something to drink. Eventually, Crowley sighed and picked something for them to go along with the simple sandwiches they would eat. Nithael watched him cautiously from across the table though—Crowley's long limbs sprawled over the back of the chair and stretched out around the table legs—expecting him to question them about the night before.

The funny thing was, Crowley was half expecting the same in return. He'd just read a very… personal letter and had a subsequent meltdown in front of them. They'd then carried him to the sofa upstairs and it all seemed a bit… intimate for someone he'd only met a few months ago. He had questions—the scar hidden under their hair being one—and he was sure they did too, but neither wanted to encroach. Two months wasn't long enough for them to be comfortable sharing and as cautious as they both were, they knew the other felt the same. The experience they had the night before was an exception. Crowley kept seeing Aziraphale in Nithael, making him lower his walls in his pain, and Nithael had been noticed for the first time in existence.

They'd both exposed things they wouldn't have in normal circumstances and knowing that, they knew they needed to take a step back and restore the distance between them. So, neither asked. Crowley didn't question Nithael's scar, their feelings about being used by angels and Heaven, or why they were helping Aziraphale. Nithael didn't ask about Crowley's letter, his feelings about Aziraphale, or why he was willing to teach them about humanity. It was a silent agreement they both stuck to in the passing years and it was a welcome change to both their lives.

Three times a week Crowley would take Nithael out to eat lunch or dinner. Sometimes at the cafe and other times, they'd go somewhere else. He showed them what he could about humans. He let them try whatever food they wanted and watched as they began to find their preferences. Aziraphale always enjoyed the fancier things; sushi, wagyu steaks, seafood. Nithael though, leaned more toward simple things; deserts, breads, and snacks. The more he got to know them, the more he was able to fully separate them from Aziraphale.

Nithael had almost pure white hair compared to Aziraphale's more blonde, curly locks. Their eyes were different too. Aziraphale had light blue eyes, near gray with flecks of gold around the center while Nithael's were a deeper blue around the iris that lightened further away from it. They were fundamentally different people and now that he'd had the time to see it without his past trauma muddling things, it felt so obvious. Nithael was quiet, withdrawn, but their eyes would light up when something caught their interest. They would have the smallest quirk to their lips when they were pleased about something. Their eyes told him everything whereas Azirphale was visibly open, showing his joy with wide arm movements, a bright grin, and cheers.

Nithael had gotten to know Crowley as well. As Aziraphale had said, he often spoke sharply with harsh words and foul language but it was all a bit lackluster. He played at being the demon, the bad guy, but in reality would be the least likely to hurt anyone if push came to shove. He was quick to voice his displeasures though and would still do small demonic things for the fun of it or as petty revenge for something. He'd once used a small miracle to trip a man into a puddle after he'd run harshly into Nithael's shoulders making them drop their umbrella. Crowley was loyal to those he liked and would check up on them as he pleased. He was also supportive without being nosy, even when he didn't like things.

He didn't like Nithael's monthly visits to Heaven, for example. He understood the gist of what they were doing and appreciated when they would bring back tidbits themselves. Despite what he often said about Aziraphale, he was still worried, so Nithael always made sure to bring something back for him. The whole thing made Crowley uneasy and displeased but it was… nice that every time Nithael left, they returned to find the demon waiting for them in the bookshop. It was the first thing Nithael actually asked about; why Crowley waited for them to return.

Depending on how things were going when Nithael showed up in Heaven, it could take days for them to come back. They told Crowley as much when the demon waited for two days for their return. Nithael occasionally had to stay around in Heaven to ensure no one was suspicious about them not being there; often leading to a few days of sitting at their empty desk. Crowley had shrugged it off at first, but when it had taken nearly two weeks for Nithael to come back the following month, he admitted that he was worried for them.

"And don't go getting any stupid ideas, Nithael. This doesn't mean we're friends or anything. Got it?"

He was lying of course. Demons do that. Nithael had never had someone look forward to seeing them though. It warmed them in a way that they couldn't quite understand. Crowley had been trying to help them work out various feelings as well. Called Nithael "emotionally stunted" because of how things worked in Heaven. They took no offense of course. They were lacking in a lot of areas, it seemed, and as they grew more comfortable with Crowley and learned more about Earth and the people who lived there, they improved.

Nithael left the bookshop occasionally now, though mostly to get vanilla lattes from Nina's cafe. They spoke slightly more to people, especially those they were comfortable with—Nina, Crowley, Muriel, and Aziraphale mainly. They didn't always have to look to Muriel when a customer approached to ask questions, and Crowley prided himself on the fact that he saw them smile and express themselves far more often. Perhaps their new friendship was the reason why Crowley was the first to notice when something was wrong.

It had been almost two years since they had started meeting for lunch. Nearly five since Aziraphale had gone back to Heaven. Crowley had stepped into the bookshop to offer Nithael another meal—he thought a night at a pub would be a fun change of pace—only to find them rather frantic. Frantic in his eyes, anyway. To anyone else, they may have appeared to just be searching for something in Aziraphale's desk. Crowley, though, could see the way their hands shook, how they spread papers across the desk instead of stacking them neatly, how unfocused they were about everything around them.

Nithael was borderline obsessive when it came to organization. Everything had its place and was treated delicately. They wouldn't need to search for anything and if something had to be moved it would be done systematically. Nithael was also overly sensitive to their surroundings. It was part of why they had such issues leaving the bookshop. The noise of the crowd, the dozens of people present, the sights and smells and sounds. It was all very quick to overwhelm them and send them into a panic, but it explained how hypersensitive they were to what they considered their space.

They knew the second someone was in the bookshop with or without the bell above the door announcing them. Crowley had tried slipping in once before to spook them for fun but failed before he could take two steps across the carpet. He suspected it was some sort of lasting issue Nithael had due to something they hadn't shared, and he simply helped the angel work around it as best they could. Everyone had their secrets and Crowley wasn't going to pry when Nithael respected his privacy just as much.

This all meant that something was seriously wrong though, and Crowley felt his stomach fill with dread. There wasn't much that could do this to Nithael and one of the things that could, would be a problem with Aziraphale and his plan. Immediately, Crowley was across the room with his hands on the desk to alert Nithael of his presence.

"What is it? What's happened?" He demanded.

Nithael didn't say a word, just growing far more panicked and unknowingly letting out a small whine until Crowley grabbed them by their shoulders.

"Nithael!" He said sharply, forcing their uneasy blue eyes to latch onto his. "You have to tell me what's going on. What's happened? Is it Aziraphale?"

Nithael opened their mouth, wincing, before abandoning their words to just nod. Crowley stiffened, tightening his grip slightly and forcing himself to keep calm. Nithael didn't do well with added panic and would shut down if he wasn't careful. They already were, given their lack of words, but he was hoping he could coax something out of them. Aziraphale was in trouble and Heaven be damned if he didn't find out why.

"What happened?" He asked, lowering his voice and speaking as calmly as he could. "Take a deep breath."

Nithael did, inhaling deeply and holding it before shuddering and letting it out. Crowley stepped around the desk as they sank into the chair behind it and managed to get their voice to work.

"I-I tell him when I'm going to show up for a report," they explained, Crowley knowing that they had planned on dropping into Heaven this weekend. "He always answers. It's a-a direct line."

"He didn't answer this time? Could he have stepped away or something?"

Nithael shook their head. "He keeps it with him. He couldn't risk…" They took another long shuddering breath, trying to keep in control. "Even if he was being watched, h-he would answer the phone. He swore he would so I could listen in and ensure nothing happened. We agreed to, just in case."

Crowley grimaced, grinding his teeth as he started to pace. "Okay. Okay, so he's not answering. You were searching the desk. Is there something we can do? Do you have a plan?"

Nithael turned away, a telltale sign that they didn't want to answer him but he couldn't be patient with them for that. He had to know.

"Nithael," he growled, and the angel winced before slowly answering.

"I was… looking for the flaming sword."

Crowley's brows furrowed and he stopped pacing, feeling a rush of suspicion well up in him for the first time since Nithael had first shown up.

"How did you—"

"Aziraphale told me."

Okay, he could see that. Nithael had mentioned to him before on one of their outings that the newly dubbed archangel had spilled how they first met and what led up to the failed Armageddon.

"Why are you looking for it?" He questioned next. "How is a flaming sword going to help Aziraphale?"

He wanted to give Nithael the benefit of the doubt. They had become almost friends in the last few years. Surely that hadn't been a trick or a lie. He'd walked Nithael through actual panic attacks. Could they really have been faking everything this whole time just to get their hands on the flaming sword?

"I… I don't know. He told me to get it if anything were to—"

"You're lying," he accused, feeling that building ache of betrayal start to settle in his stomach like a lead weight.

"N-No! No, I'm not! He really said—"

Crowley slammed his hands down on either side of the armchair they were in with a shout. "Stop lying!"

Nithael went quiet as Crowley's nails dug into the fabric of the chair and he forced himself to calm down. There was the slimmest chance that they weren't lying but Crowley didn't believe it. For one thing, Aziraphale wasn't so stupid as to keep the sword in his desk disguised as a letter opener or anything else. For another, Crowley had seen the weapon delivered back to Heaven through the postal service after Armageddon. It shouldn't be here so why was Nithael so insistent that it was and they were searching for it?

"Okay," Nithael muttered, willingly backing down from their lie. "I wasn't searching for the sword. I was… I was looking for Holy Water."

That was worse, somehow, and Crowley took a solid step back, cautious of the angel far more than before.

"In Heaven… after the war, it became a habit for a lot of us to… to keep a vial of Holy Water hidden in our desks," Nithael murmured. "It was a… a sense of protection, of safety. I just needed… I-I needed something."

"Something to keep you safe from me," Crowley concluded sourly as Nithael's head snapped up and they stood quickly.

"No! No, that's not—"

"You just lied to me, Nithael!" He snapped back, making them wince. "You lied and now you're saying you needed to feel safe with the one thing that could wipe my existence from this world? And you expect me to believe that you're on our side?"

"I-I am!" They urged, taking a step forward that he matched going backward. "I didn't want to tell you because of this! I just needed something to feel safe!"

"I could have kept you safe!" Crowley argued, hating how the words were ones he felt should've been said to another angel at another time.

Nithael shook their head with a sad, crooked smile. "N-Not if Aziraphale was in trouble."

Crowley bristled as though the words were a threat but Nithael continued.

"I know my place in this world. It's not beside anyone. I-It's behind a desk up in Heaven on my own. No one would come to my side, Crowley. Not Aziraphale, not you. No demon or angel o-or even God would risk anything for 7th class scrivener Nithael." They choked on their next words. "I-I needed something."

Crowley didn't know what to say. Guilt took the place of the suspicion that had rolled in his gut. Trust couldn't be built in a few years, he realized. Hell, it took him and Aziraphale centuries to get that worked out and they weren't exactly communicating properly themselves. And here he was expecting Nithael to trust him and rush off to save Aziraphale from whatever danger he was in like they'd been proper friends for ages. A part of him wished they had been. He got on with Nithael far better than anyone he'd met, aside from the obvious angel he'd been pinning after for centuries. Now, he understood that he and Nithael never truly knew each other. They hadn't gotten that far.

Crowley closed his eyes and swallowed past a lump in his throat. He couldn't do anything to help Aziraphale without an angel. Nithael would've been best but it was obvious he couldn't ask this of them. If anything, they were far more at risk.

"Go," he muttered, drawing Nithael's gaze to him as he threw a hand toward the door. "Go. Get out of here."

"Crow—"

"If something's happened to Aziraphale then they'll come after you next. You'll be easily found here. It's the first place they'd search," he explained, though his tongue felt heavy and thick in his mouth. "So get out of here. Go… I don't know. Go anywhere. But you can't stay here."

Nithael watched him for a minute before slowly nodding. They dragged their feet as they rounded the desk toward him and he stiffened when they stopped and grabbed him in a hug. He never expected such a thing from them. It was so surprising that he didn't know how to react.

"I'm sorry," they murmured in his ear and he went to tell them to shut up and go but suddenly, he couldn't move. "I can't do that."

His legs gave out first and Nithael held him up, hauling him toward the nearest armchair with a strength unexpected from the slim angel before they pulled away. Crowley felt pure rage and anger at the sight of the syringe they had, the betrayal making his blood boil. Nithael just stared back at them with cold blue eyes but there was a hint of sadness that Crowley wasn't seeing. It was hard to see when his vision was red.

"It's a paralytic," Nithael explained, turning away and placing the empty syringe on the desk and writing up a quick note. "It'll wear off in an hour. That's what I was looking for in the desk."

Oh, how Crowley wanted to shout and spit Hellfire all over Nithael and himself for being so stupid as to trust them.

"Aziraphale asked me to prepare it in case of the worst," they continued, though Crowley wasn't about to trust anything they said now. "He said he didn't want you trying to get involved. Said you would tear Heaven down to Earth if you could." They cracked a sad smile. "Wish I knew what that was like. Having someone so worried for you, they'd make you hate them just to keep you safe."

A garbled jumble of threats escaped Crowley's lips, unable to actually form the scathing words he wanted to. Nithael wasn't bothered though, tipping their head back and taking a deep breath.

"Thanks though, for caring as you did."

They lowered their head and moved toward the rug in the center of the room, pulling it off the summoning circle Aziraphale had left drawn onto the wood floor underneath.

"Two years ago I would have probably done as you said. Run off and hope that Heaven wouldn't find me. Losing a scrivener would hardly make a dent in things. Dime a dozen and all that, but…" They sighed again as they placed the small electric candles around the circle. "You two noticed me. Made me feel like something more than some low-rank paper pusher. I know my place in the world though, so you should count yourself lucky."

Crowley wasn't sure what to say now, not that he could say anything. There was something off about this. It stopped feeling like a betrayal and more like… a goodbye.

Nithael glanced over at him with one of those small smiles that he'd gotten the pleasure of seeing the last few years. It was sad though, tinged with guilt and reluctant acceptance.

"I am 7th class scrivener, Nithael," they declared with a shuddering breath. "And I am far more expendable than either you or Aziraphale."

And with a flare of light from the circle, they were gone.