Whatever Nithael had been expecting to hear from Aziraphale, it hadn't been that. Him getting to know a Fallen Angel—Does that still make him a demon? He was one of us, wasn't he?—being tempted and educated and loved. Aziraphale hadn't said that but it was something Nithael had read about over and over again in some of his books and fictional or not, there was something there between him and Crowley. Nithael would have to look into it more, perhaps while learning what they could back on Earth.
The planet changed people, it seemed. Or humanity did at the very least. A once pure angel and a devilish Fallen One had become… soft, malleable in a way Nithael didn't quite understand. They'd grown and experienced so many things that after some time, they became neither beings of Heaven nor Hell. They became… them. Just two beings trying to live how they wished, questioning everything, enjoying everything, loving everything. They grew to love so much that they teamed up to go against the very creators of the universe and, for God knows what reason, they went unpunished.
Perhaps it was also a part of God's Great Plan. Perhaps God just didn't bother to get involved in their affairs, or anyone's for that matter. Nithael began to wonder as they got into the elevator to head back to Earth whether God was paying attention at all. Things had changed in Heaven since the war and Nithael wasn't oblivious to it. Yes, there had always been the whole question of whether Heaven or Hell had won but honestly, the Armageddon thing was horribly planned out. This Second Coming that Azriaphale was being forced to work on felt similar, though Nithael was certain the angel was purposefully making a mess of it any way he could. His story put heavy doubts into Nithael's mind, dangerous ones.
Nithael was questioning God and that was the last thing an angel wanted to do.
The elevator stopped and they stepped out, wincing when chilled rain splashed over them. Their eyes drifted up toward the darkened sky, remembering the first time they'd stepped out of the elevator; what they'd thought back then, and how quickly it had changed. They closed their eyes, taking a deep breath, and letting it out before crossing the road. The bell above the door chimed when they entered and Nithael latched it behind them only to jump when a towel was thrown. It landed over their head and they hesitantly lifted it to see a scowling Crowley standing there in the dark.
The fallen angel didn't say a word and Nithael shifted uneasily on their feet as they started to dry their hair. They could feel his eyes running over them, checking them for—What? Injuries? Weapons? Then, he turned away and made for an armchair nearby, tossing sharp words over his shoulder.
"So? When should I expect Heaven's light to strike me down? Tomorrow? In a few minutes? An hour?"
Nithael opened their mouth but he spoke louder.
"I know you went up there to report back, Nithael," he snarled, practically spitting out their name as he glared at them from over his sunglasses. "So, what did you tell them? What sort of bullshit did you say to them about me?"
"I-I didn't—"
"Don't lie to me!" He bellowed, whipping back around and tearing off his sunglasses as he stormed over to them angrily; his yellow serpentine eyes sharp as daggers. "Don't you dare lie to me. I was going to—"
He ground his teeth, feeling that aching betrayal tearing through him again as though he were right back where he'd started. Aziraphale was standing in front of him, telling him the supposed good news. Calling him a demon, one of the "bad ones", trying to tempt him into going back to Heaven where nobody wanted him, least of all God. Now here he was trying to lie to him, trying to trick him when he just wanted to help, wanted them to be a team again.
"Crowley—"
"Don't," he spat, though his throat was tight with emotion. "You don't deserve to… to…"
Hands grabbed him by the arms and he stiffened, but between one blink and the next Azriaphale's face was gone and Nithael stood before him once more. Their blue eyes searched his face for signs of understanding; that he was finally seeing who really stood in front of him. Seeing he'd once again allowed his heart to blur their images together, he jerked out of their hold and turned away; swallowing back an apology for the mistake and twisting the end of his glasses between his fingers as he debated putting them back on or not.
"He misses you," Nithael muttered, making his jaw clench so tightly he wondered how he didn't crack a tooth.
"Good for fuckin' him," he bit out, keeping his gaze pinned to a section of the wall across the way.
Nithael was quiet for a moment before continuing. "He… He sent me to check on you. To check on Muriel and the shop. He's trying to help."
Crowley whipped back around angrily. "Well, he can fucking stop! I don't need his damn help! I don't need him!"
His own words cut into him but the anger was too much. He needed to let this out before he burst open at the seams and exploded. Nithael was just a good replacement for the angel he really wanted to yell at.
"He wants to stop the Great Plan," Nithael continued, not deterred in the face of his rage. "The next part of it. He's trying to protect Earth, the humans, you."
"I don't need his damn protection," he ground out. "He's the one who left. He decided that Heaven was better than anything we ever had. Six thousand fucking years thrown away because he wanted a damn promotion! This was never about me! It was always about Heaven with him! God this! Ineffable plan that!" He threw up his hands in frustration. "Never mind about us! Never mind what we had! We could've gone anywhere! We could've been us but he thought, oh no! Let's go be angels together, Crowley! Nothing lasts forever! I'll for-fucking-give you! Well, guess what, Aziraphale!" He shouted up at the ceiling. "You can take your damn forgiveness and shove it right up your ass! And take your stupid, anxiety-ridden intern with you! I don't need you! I never needed you! I never—"
He still couldn't do it. He couldn't say that he never loved him. The mere thought of saying it made his throat close, choking the air out of his lungs and drawing tears into his eyes. His tense body shuddered and sagged as he fell back and sank into the armchair behind him; dropping his head into a hand as his glasses hung from his fingers between his legs, nearly touching the ground. Nothing made a sound as he sat there trying to pull himself back together but he could feel those soft blue eyes on him; burrowing into his skull.
"Why?" He finally murmured quietly, wearily waving his glasses toward Nithael. "Why did he bother with you? Why send you here when he's the one who left? He ended things so… so why?"
Nithael was silent, saying nothing. He almost choked out a laugh until he heard their soft footfalls making their way across the carpet toward him. He lifted his tired yellow eyes from the ground as Nithael knelt in front of him and went to speak, choosing their words carefully.
"I think… he made a mistake. What he said, what he did… and now he's just trying to… to hang on because he doesn't know how to fix it or get back to fix it." Nithael's eyes ran across the ground, searching for some way to explain their thoughts before lifting once more to meet his. "You are all he has and… he doesn't know what else to do."
"But you…"
Nithael shook their head, gaze falling as they got back onto their feet. "I am no one. The 7th scrivener of a billion others. He chose me because I was available and willing."
I am replaceable, went unsaid but the thought was still there, hanging in the air like a thick plume of smoke. The worst part was that Crowley couldn't even argue. Anything he said would've fallen on deaf ears anyway. Nithael was well aware of their position in the universe and it was nowhere near as important as Crowley and Aizraphale's or anyone else's. They were a means to an end. That's all.
Crowley watched them for a minute as they walked over to the desk nearby and deposited some paperwork into the appropriate folder, silently. Then, their hand paused on something and they let out a soft breath before bringing it toward him. They offered the envelope to him and his eyes latched onto the familiar scrawl of his name in the center. His gaze snapped up to Nithael's as they edged it close to him.
"He asked me to give it to you when… when you asked about him. I haven't read what's inside, just held onto it as I was asked until the appropriate moment."
Crowley reached out and took it, staring down at his own name before looking back at Nithael as they started to head for the stairs. His heart clenched at the sight of their back after what they'd just talked about. For once, they didn't shift into Aziraphale but instead into the slim dark shoulders of himself. They looked… lonely.
"Could you…" His voice cracked slightly as Nithael stopped; a hand on the railing of the stairs. "Would you stay?" He asked, feeling a little ridiculous for doing so but—"I just… don't want to be alone for a minute."
Nithael nodded and slowly came back. They moved to sit at Aziraphale's desk and pulled out some paperwork to work on, perching a pair of small-framed, rectangular glasses on their nose. Crowley opened the letter and the two of them sat in silence as he read, neither saying a word as eventually tears fell and he bowed over the letter with a choked sob. The torrent of rain outside drowned it out though, leaving the only one who knew being the lonely angel who worked quietly at the desk beside him.
And Nithael wouldn't say a word. Not to anyone.
Crowley woke up the next morning sprawled across a sofa in an upstairs back room. His memory was foggy and he couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. He sat up and brought a hand to his head as it lightly throbbed, his eyes going wide when he realized he wasn't wearing his sunglasses. He twisted on the sofa as a tear-spotted letter fell from his chest, instantly relaxing when he spotted his sunglasses settled on the nearby end table. Once he grabbed them, his gaze shifted toward the letter only to stiffen.
Leaning up against the sofa, head bowed, and breathing softly was Nithael. They still wore their glasses from when they'd been doing paperwork the evening before and they'd removed their outer coat to leave them in a partially unbuttoned white dress shirt. Their arms were folded over their chest and there was the slightest of furrows to their brows, but otherwise, they were fast asleep. Crowley was surprised and even more so when he found he'd been covered in a blanket too. Had they carried him up here? Used a minor miracle? Why were they on the floor while he had the sofa? Did they not have a bed here or…
Or was it because I asked them to stay? Crowley wondered as he eyed the sleeping angel solemnly. While he himself was feeling a bit melancholy thanks to the letter he'd received from Aziraphale, he felt equally as bad about Nithael. Whether Aziraphale had intended to or not, Nithael had been caught up in his mess and then used like a tool. Crowley knew that the last part wouldn't have been something Aziraphale did with the intention of being cruel but it certainly wasn't something he did out of kindness. Nithael got nothing out of this other than risking their entire being for the sake of two heartbroken souls. It couldn't be something they truly wanted.
Yet, here they are. Crowley settled his chin on his arm that he draped over a knee, his other hand reaching down and lightly brushing Nithael's hair from their face so he could take off their glasses. He hadn't expected to see the pale line that went from the edge of their left eyebrow across their temple and down toward the base of their ear. It had been hidden with how they always styled their hair to cover part of their face and when his fingers had brushed across it, Nithael had shivered; expression shifting into one that was pained.
Crowley lightly created a miracle of his own, calming whatever nightmare his touch may have created as he set their glasses aside and stood to switch their places. Once settled on the sofa, Crowley covered Nithael with the blanket and stared down at them with a light frown. There was more to them than anyone could have thought. Another bright soul lost in the sea of angels that we're constantly being ignored and brushed aside. Well, no more. Not this time. Crowley put his sunglasses back on and left the room, heading downstairs and being unsurprised to see Muriel up and at the till.
"Oh, Mr. Crowley. I didn't know you were here. Is everything alright?"
"Yeah. Yeah, everything's great," he lied as he started for the door; pausing just as he grabbed the doorknob. "When Nithael is up, tell them I'm going to grab them for lunch."
"Lunch?"
Crowley nodded. "I think it's about time someone teaches them a few things, is all. That… and I reckon I owe them one."