Trigger warnings: PTSD, nightmares, coping mechanisms
"Angel!" Crowley bellowed, hauling the broken angel into the flat and kicking the door shut behind them. "Aziraphale!"
It had been a risk to bring Aziraphale to his flat after he'd escaped but the only ones who knew about it were him and the other demons of Hell. He doubted they would get involved with Heaven again after the last time. Aziraphale getting away wasn't Hell's problem so they agreed it would be safe for a time. Safer than the bookshop, anyway.
Aziraphale bolted around the corner—once more dressed in his comfortable cream coat, vest, slacks, and loafers—and sucked in a gasp, making to step forward only for Crowley to hold up a hand for a half second; stopping him.
"You can't," he warned, glancing at the small flames still working up the angel's wings and back. "It's Hellfire. Angel, we need Holy Water."
Aziraphale's gaze was stuck on the bloodied head of white hair though, his throat tight with tears for the poor angel he'd dragged into his mess.
"Angel!" Crowley snapped, knocking him out of it. "Please. You need to hurry."
"Right. Right, yes." Aziraphale nodded and snapped his fingers, vanishing from the flat and disregarding the minuscule miracle for now.
It wouldn't be obvious enough to draw Heaven's attention. He was just going to the nearest church which was less than a block away.
Meanwhile, Crowley was muttering curses under his breath about Heaven, Metraton, angels, and even God. He was carrying one of his only other friends in his arms who was well on their way to death if they hadn't found his flat. He wasn't sure how they did and honestly didn't care. Every one of those people had abandoned Nithael. No one had come to their aid and Crowley felt a familiar sense of camaraderie as he got them to the bed and took in their injuries. They had been tortured, beaten within an inch of discorporation—They purposefully left them in a body to do it. Those goddamn—No curse would satisfy the rage Crowley felt for the poor angel now lying in his bed.
He carefully reached out and pulled off tattered bits of their clothes, vanishing those that were starting to catch fire and wishing he could do the same with the flames curling up their shoulders. He had to wait for Aziraphale for that though, and was forced to watch the unconscious Nithael sweat and dig their hands into his bedcovers as the flames scorched their skin.
"Come on, come on," Crowley bit out before he whipped around as Aziraphale hurried in with a bucket of Holy Water.
"I-I'm sorry, Crowley," he muttered as the demon shifted away from both angels. "I had to find a second church. We'll need to be more cautious if they notice the minor miracles."
Crowley grunted, not caring right now as Aziraphale sat the bucket down and dipped a rag into the water. It made Crowley anxious, wishing they could just throw the bucket onto the angel to stop the flames but they were too spread out and they might not have time for another trip. Aziraphale wished much the same, having to be cautious of the flames himself as he spread the rag over Nithael's shoulders first. There was a hiss as the flames under the cloth fizzled out and he went about wetting the rag and running it over their tattered wings as well. Crowley helped where he could, stretching the wings out so Aziraphale didn't risk getting burned should he have missed an ember. After several agonizing minutes, they confirmed they'd put the Hellfire out and Crowley sank heavily into a chair as Aziraphale continued to wipe Nithael with what water was left.
"This is our fault," he muttered so softly that Aziraphale wondered if it had been him or his own thoughts.
"No, Crowley. It's mine," he lightly argued, wishing the Holy Water could wipe away the burns wrapping around Nithael's shoulders and not just lightly soothe the pain. "I should have never involved them in our mess. If I hadn't, then maybe they'd still be…"
"They're not Fallen, Angel," Crowley reassured and Aziraphale turned to him in disbelief, tears welling up in his eyes.
"How? How are they not? Crowley, look at them!"
"I am, Angel. Look at their wings."
"Crowley—"
"Properly look," he urged, knowing that the tattered remains could hardly be called wings right now, but there were still hints of their previous grandeur.
Aziraphale lightly ran the wet rag over one of the limbs, tears falling down his cheeks at the tattered and burned remains. Very few feathers were left; only the smaller ones up near the joints, but what Crowley had pointed out was that they hadn't changed. They were gray with soot but with a wipe of the damp cloth, they revealed their true color.
"They're still white," Crowley breathed in reassurance to Aziraphale as he bowed over them with a choked sob. "Nithael didn't Fall, Angel. For one, they'd be in Hell if they had and the Holy Water would have done more harm than good."
"H-How is this much better?" Aziraphale choked out, throwing a hand at their battered friend. "Look at them, Crowley! How is this any better? It's been a month," he said, voice cracking. "They've been doing this for a month a-and for what? What did Nithael do to deserve this?"
Crowley wasn't sure what to say that they didn't both already know. Heaven was and had always been just as cruel as Hell. This was proof of that. What's more, they both blamed themselves for this. Crowley had grown friendly with Nithael and Aziraphale had done the same. As a result, Nithael was lying half-dead before them. The one thing they both knew though, was that Heaven shared the blame. Metatron, the archangels, even God. They were the ones truly at fault and even Aziraphale couldn't disagree. He had mixed feelings about God and Her will but seeing this made him question everything.
"What do we do?" Aziraphale breathed, dropping the bloodied rag into the now-tainted bucket. "What are we supposed to do now, Crowley?"
"We take care of them," he replied, lifting his gaze to the distraught angel in front of him. "We help them and we make those assholes pay for what they did. Second Coming or not, they won't get away with this."
For once, Aziraphale wholeheartedly agreed, feeling his own anger at the ones who did this boil to the surface.
"Yes. Yes, that's something even I can get behind." His eyes softened then, drifting to Nithael and over to Crowley. "I'll take first shift then?"
"If you want," Crowley murmured, getting up and stretching his neck back as he dragged a hand through his hair. "Mm, I'll grab something for dinner. Make sure you get rid of the sheets and things."
"Of course, dear," Aziraphale agreed, vanishing anything the Holy Water touched and replacing what was needed.
It was going to be a long night.
Nithael's fingers dug into the sheets, breathing hard as a cold sweat rolled over their body. They felt as though they were on fire and for a moment, they could feel the sting from the Hellfire crawling up their back. Their eyes snapped open and they sucked in a gasp, arching their back and pulling their battered body up onto their elbows. A hand whipped to their mouth as the taste of sulfur, ash, and blood coated their tongue and they twisted to vomit off the side of the bed. Their body sagged at the effort it took just to do that, every in of skin burning and every bone throbbing with a deep ache that still held the painful remnants of their previous torture.
Fear trickled through them like the rain splashing on the pavement outside. They didn't know where they were, who they might be with, whether this was a trick or a trap. Their breath hitched with anxiety, eyes whipping to the door as it morphed into the pure white room from Heaven. Hastur would be back soon. No, maybe the Metatron to ask more questions. They needed to get out. It was their only chance. They had to run.
Nithael stumbled out of bed, legs quivering like a newborn foal's as they fought to hold onto what strength they had and ignore the constant rippling of pain rolling through them. They expected more white walls when they stepped out but their mind twisted out of their mental pain at the sight of tall green plants. The plants quivered at the sight of them as their mind momentarily blanked and a hand reached out to brush over a large, hanging leaf. The plant they touched went still, uncertain whether to expect pain or love from the battered angel when there was a clatter of glass shattering. Nithael whipped to the sound with tense shoulders to find Aziraphale standing there and what were the remnants of a tea set scattered across the floor.
"Nithael," he breathed, voice a soft breathy whisper choked with oncoming tears before a soft smile slipped onto his face. "My word, I'm so glad you're up."
He took a step forward, breaking the glass on the floor with a grimace before snapping his fingers to repair the tea set; missing the way Nithael flinched. He set it aside for the moment and smiled at Nithael as he started forward.
"We were beginning to worry about when you'd wake up. Crowley especially. I was just about to bring him some tea and check on you. He may not seem the type but—" Aziraphale cut himself short as he realized something was wrong. "Nithael?"
The angel had backed up from him when he'd walked toward him, skin pale and eyes still wide with fear. Perhaps it was the show of strength, the miracle Aziraphale performed, that snap that sounded vaguely like the weapon that had once cracked along Nithael's back. Perhaps it was just the fact that Nithael was still very dazed and confused, mind still trudging its way through the nightmare they'd had—memories they vaguely remembered—and they hadn't quite yet settled into what was reality and what wasn't. All they knew was that they weren't sure they were safe. They couldn't trust anyone and right now, Aziraphale was just a powerful archangel making his way toward them, and they were terrified.
"Nithael?" Aziraphale questioned again, reaching out and taking one step forward only for Nithael to backpedal right over the edge of a planter.
They fell to the ground, spilling compost as the plants around them quivered in fear; feeding off Nithael's own terror as they backed themselves into a corner. Aziraphale opened his mouth but his view of Nithael was abruptly blocked by Crowley.
"Crowley," he breathed in relief, grateful that he was there to help. "I'm not sure what's wrong. They've only just woken up and—"
Crowley kept his arm up to keep Aziraphale back when he'd started to take a step forward, glancing at him solemnly. "Just give them a minute."
Aziraphale hesitated but nodded, taking a step back even to give them more room. Crowley would handle this better than him; a surprising thing to think when he was a demon but Aziraphale trusted he could handle this. Help, even. So, Aziraphale stood back and wrung his hands anxiously together watching as Crowley took a single step forward and crouched in front of Nithael.
"Nithael," he muttered, voice quiet, calm. "I won't tell you it's okay because it's not," he said bluntly, silently hating how dull and far off those deep blue eyes were now. "You might think it's never okay after this and that's alright, but right now, you need to settle yourself. You're not there anymore, Nithael. You got out. You escaped."
Nithael had calmed somewhat, just listening to him. They weren't breathing as hard anymore and weren't as stiff, just sitting there eyeing Crowley as he took his sunglasses off to properly face them with a soft, sad expression unbefitting for a demon. But I understand. I've Fallen and I remember what it's like. This isn't the same but… but it might as well be. Crowley held out a hand, an offering to Nithael to help ground them.
"You're safe here, Nithael. I told you, didn't I? I can keep you safe." He offered a small quirk of his lips. "Though, I'm not exactly happy you managed to get the one-up on me and drug me."
There. A hint of recognition. Crowley stretched his hand closer.
"Come on, Nithael. Aziraphale's over there being an anxious mess and we'll need your help with this Second Coming nonsense. Can't do it without you."
Slowly, Nithael lifted a hand, reaching out and hesitating right before their fingers could brush the skin of his palm. He closed the distance, equally slow, and grabbed a hold of their hand. Immediately, Nithael's grip tightened, confirming it was solid; that Crowley was actually there and real and safe. Their expression crumpled instantly as Crowley lightly tugged them forward and for once, he didn't mind the embrace. Nithael gripped him tight enough to hurt, digging their fingers into his back but he got it. He understood what it felt like to finally find something really real and the need to cling to it desperately as if it would fade through his fingers if he let go. So, he reached around and held Nithael back, reassuring them and helping them ground themselves as they sobbed into the crook of his neck.
Aziraphale smiled softly at the sight, relieved that Crowley had gotten through to them, and leaned over to squeeze the demon's shoulder and get his attention.
"I'll remake the tea."
He nodded and rocked slightly as his hand cupped the back of Nithael's neck and he murmured quietly in their ear. They wouldn't be okay for a long while but this was a start, and he owed them so much for what he had now.