Aziraphale was in a bit of a jam. It was his own fault really. He should've paid more attention to how much time he spent with Nithael while they were reporting back. He should've noticed how… frequently Metatron walked by to offer small greetings and check up on him. That second year of planning should've been the biggest tip-off. Nithael had told him that Metatron was there claiming to be getting paperwork but when Aziraphale had returned from the meeting he was in, Metatron claimed otherwise. From that moment on, the Metatron had been watching, listening, waiting.
Azirphale felt terrible for Nithael mostly. The angel had been such a great help but every return trip to Heaven was grating on them. He could see it in how they acted. Paranoid was one word for it. They were jittery and uneasy, less likely to speak, and easily lost in their thoughts. They hadn't been like that before he'd brought them into this mess and it made guilt well up in him for what he did. It made him think something was… off about Nithael though. Something he and Crowley had missed.
He shook his head, knowing that he couldn't think of that now. He needed to find a way out of Heaven and quickly. The elevator wasn't an option and angels were already looking for him. He'd gotten lucky that he noticed something was off when he emerged from his most recent meeting on the Second Coming. He'd been doing well to stall it this long but today the room had been quiet—deathly still—when he was asked to say his part. So, the moment it was over, he didn't return to his desk to sort through his paperwork like usual. No, instead he'd kept the papers about the plan handheld them close as he attempted to find a way out.
It was unfortunate that they'd expected this and more so that he'd been forced to hand over his phone every meeting and hadn't gotten it back. He had no way of getting a hold of Nithael now, no way of warning them or Crowley about what was happening. He felt a lump form in his throat at the thought of what could happen to him without being able to say anything to Crowley. Not being able to say goodbye or apologize or anything. He won't even be able to see the demon before the end. If this was the end. He closed his eyes with a shuddering breath, gripping the papers close before a hand clapped around his mouth and he let out a muffled scream.
"Sh!"
He stared in shock at the white-haired, blue-eyed angel he'd grown close to over the last three years, stunned that they were there. Nithael's hand fell away from his mouth as their eyes—cold and sharp, very unlike usual—scanned the area around them.
"H-How did you—" Aziraphale breathed.
"You didn't answer your direct line," they explained quickly, eyes flicking over him briefly before returning to their cautious search outward. "I used your summoning circle assuming the elevator was being watched."
"A-And Crowley?"
"Drugged in your bookshop," they said matter-of-factly, stunning him. "I left a note for Muriel should she stumble across him after her grocery run."
"You… You drugged Crowley?" He squeaked, shocked, and honestly amazed they'd managed to do something to the always cautious demon.
"I don't have time to explain," Nithael muttered, shooting him a mildly annoyed look. "There are angels guarding the elevator but I can make a distraction."
"What?" He croaked, his own eyes looking around before he lightly grabbed Nithael's arm. "You can't! What about you?"
Nithael turned away, lightly pushing his hand off them. "Once you're gone they won't care about some scrivener. You just need to worry about what you'll do once you're out of here. Crowley still isn't happy with you."
"Nithael!" He pressed, not liking how they were speaking but always having known that they thought so very little about themselves. "Please. We can come up with another plan. You can come with me."
Nithael took a steadying breath but shook their head. "There's no chance, Aziraphale. If you want to stop this, then you need to get out. I…" They pursed their lips in a way that reminded him of Crowley when he was holding back something he didn't want to say or know how to say. "I-I really did like Earth," they murmured, glancing at him with a small hint of a smile. "And it was nice to be noticed for a while."
"Nith—Nithael!" He called out as they pulled away and begrudgingly, he hurried after them.
They weren't far from the elevator to begin with but there were only so many pillars to hide behind before he'd be out in the open. There were at least two archangels—Michael and Uriel never did like him—and two other guards standing near the elevators in wait. Azirphale would have never stood a chance trying to get past them alone but Nithael rushed out into the open to give him his one. Aziraphale couldn't hear what they were saying but he was impressed with Nithael's acting. They looked frantic with worry and unease, pointing in the direction opposite of where Aziraphale currently was. Seeing the group start to head away, Aziraphale took this opportunity to head for the elevator unnoticed, breathing out an apology to Nithael, when everything went wrong.
"Ah, the scrivener was it?"
A chill ran down Aziraphale's back at the sound of Metatron's voice and despite how close he was to freedom, he looked back to see the older-looking man step up toward the group with Nithael at the center of it.
"You've done well, up until now," he praised with a smile that held no actual joy. "Exceptional really, though for the wrong people."
"I don't understand, sir," Nithael said, voice tight with that false fear they'd been using to fool the others. "W-We need to go. Aziraphale is—"
"Aziraphale is being helped," the Metatron cut them off, his smile falling. "By you."
"W-What?"
"Don't play coy, scrivener. You'd do well to remember your place."
Aziraphale grimaced as the Metatron allowed some of his power to edge forth. It was stifling to him, much less to poor Nithael who hunched slightly with a grimace, being forced to bow their head as they struggled to catch their breath. Aziraphale almost moved away from the elevator, wondering if there was something he could do to help, but he froze. Nithael's gaze shifted to him instantly, hidden by their posture as they mouthed a single word.
"Run."
Aziraphale swallowed thickly, feeling regret and gratitude as he forced his feet to move and stepped into the elevator. Metatron saw the movement and whipped toward him, making the others turn as well.
"Get him!" Michael ordered, but suddenly large white wings snapped out and slammed into the guards as Nithael turned and bellowed at Azriaphale who'd frozen in shock.
"Go!" they shouted and he hastily hit the button as Nithael turned their heated glare and snarling face toward the Metatron, who simply frowned.
Nithael sat tied to a chair with the archangels and Metatron standing before them. Their face was blank, clear of emotions but their eyes burned with anger and annoyance, and—they wouldn't want to admit it but… the tiniest bit of fear. Metatron was the first to step toward them, sighing lightly as though disappointed. Can't be disappointed when you had no expectations in the first place, Nithael idly noted, staring back at him coldly as he spoke.
"Nithael, the 7th scrivener, once a proud warrior during the war with Hell. It took some digging but I found your past exploits. They were… impressive, to say the least. It's a shame you didn't accept the promotion you were offered or you might have avoided this whole mess."
Nithael didn't say a word. They felt wasted on him when he expected them to say something foul in return. By saying nothing, Nithael got to enjoy the slow-building frustration as Metatron attempted to get under their skin.
"I take it that traitor of an angel and demon managed to get to you then?" He questioned idly, already knowing the answer to such a thing. "Yet another angel with promise tainted by those who don't understand God's Great Plan."
Nithael wanted to scoff but swallowed the action back. For one, it was blasphemy to scoff at God's plan. For another, it would've been a reaction to what Metatron said. They wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Angel with promise, he says. He didn't even know my name. Nithael inhaled slowly from their nose and let it out, completely calm as Metatron continued to frown.
"What does Aziraphale plan to do next?" He asked, getting no answer. "He can't ruin this plan. Not even with his demon friend. What does he think he can do?"
Nithael blinked painfully slow, seeing the buildup of anger ripple under Metatron's hateful gaze. He couldn't rightly show it with the archangels here. He had a reputation to maintain. Nithael didn't. Nithael didn't matter really. They were just a pawn used in someone else's game. The Metatron had hoped to use that, to get answers, but this wasn't going anywhere. No, they needed to step things up. He turned to the archangels with a smile.
"Has our guest showed up yet?"
Michael nodded with a smile, glancing behind Nithael as a figure approached. "He's just arrived."
The stench of sulfur and fire followed in the wake of Hastur as he scowled, strolling into the blinding bright room with a bag at his side. His pitch-black eyes rolled over the gathering before him before his gaze settled on Nithael tied to the seat, making him smirk.
"This the one?" He asked, revealing rotten teeth to match his moldy, damaged appearance. "They've got good eyes."
Nithael ground their teeth tightly, silently questioning why the demon was here as Hastur dropped his bag on the ground with the muffled clang of metal inside. The archangels didn't look pleased he was there but the Metatron hummed with a forced smile.
"Hastur, the Duke of Hell," he introduced to Nithael. "I do believe you two will be well-acquainted with each other shortly."
Nithael glanced at the demon as he chuckled and dug through his bag, feeling a hint of uneasiness roll through them. Heaven and Hell didn't get along usually. The last time they'd worked together was with Aziraphale and Crowley's punishment and Nithael wasn't sure how they managed that one. They had honestly expected to Fall or be removed from the world by Hellfire. Why bring a demon into it?
"You see," Metatron explained, having caught the hint of confusion on Nithael's face. "Only God has the power to make an angel Fall, otherwise I would have sent Aziraphale down to Hell ages ago. Not that you should worry much. Hastur has promised to bring over some Hellfire for your end. Can't have another infected angel running around."
"We still need answers though," Michael huffed, folding her arms over her chest as she wrinkled her nose at Hastur in disgust. "Who knows what that angel has been doing and what he took with him?"
"Exactly," Metatron hummed. "So, given your penchant for silence, we thought it best to give the… experts a go. Hastur was more than willing to offer his services once he heard about your connection to the demon Crowley and the traitor Aziraphale."
"Oh, I'd have a go at them if I could," Hastur growled, holding a sharp-looking blade that he stabbed into the table he'd conjured up. "Tear out their spines and stuff them full of rats to gnaw on their insides and—"
"Yes, yes, well," Metatron interrupted, waving a hand at him. "Do enjoy yourself with this one. I will check in at some point. Anything they say—"
"Yeah, I know," Hastur grumbled, his inky black eyes roaming up and down Nithael as a cold sweat rolled down the back of their neck. "I'll call you."
"Excellent. Enjoy your stay, Nithael," the Metatron hummed, walking to a door with the other archangels. "The room is yours."
Aziraphale was quick to enter his bookshop after escaping, nearly running into a fuming Crowley who'd been pacing back and forth since the drug had worn off. The two had stared at one another for a moment, lost in what felt like a thousand years of words they could and should say to each other. Had it only been three years?
"Crowley, I—"
A hand covered his mouth, stopping him from speaking as Crowley stared at him with a snarl on his face. Aziraphale felt a hint of worry and hurt at the sight but the snarl wasn't firm. It wobbled and shook as Crowley tried to control the billions of feelings and thoughts that suddenly ran rampant through him. He wanted to yell at the angel, curse him for what he did, and kiss him senseless for just being okay, for being safe. Then, he would remember the words they'd said to one another the last time they were face-to-face, remember the letter he'd cried over, remember all those memories that they'd been through. He didn't want to hear apologies now. He didn't want to forgive him or be forgiven. He just wanted to go back to when everything was good but instead, they were standing there with nothing and everything to say all at once. So, Crowley did what he's done best.
He avoided it.
"You told Nithael to drug me," he accused and Aziraphale's eyes widened as he reached up and pulled his hand off his mouth.
"I most certainly did not! I was stunned he managed to do it!"
"They cheated!" Crowley snapped in both annoyance and embarrassment at having been caught off guard. "And they lied!"
"My word," Aziraphale muttered. "They've always been so quiet."
Crowley scoffed. "Quiet? They're an anxious mess and they've always been hiding something."
"You noticed that too, then?"
Crowley nodded and they settled into silence once more, both needing to say something to continue avoiding their issues.
"You… You got my letter?"
"Ngk," Crowley grunted, turning away and really wishing they weren't discussing this now.
"Then… Then, you know my feelings on what happened," Aziraphale muttered, clearing his throat. "B-But at the moment, we have other things to worry about."
"Nithael," Crowley replied, earning a nod as Aziraphale looked at him, determined.
"I do believe we owe them. The Second Coming must be stopped."
