A/N: Please enjoy the rescue and comfort conclusion! ^_^ Thanks persephonecats for your review! :D

"Now then, let'sZzz begin."

"I've told you," Aziraphale pretended to panic, writhing just enough in Crowley's hold for the demon to tell he was on edge. "I don't know anything! I don't know, please just get the snake off of me! Please, what do you want?"

"Ssspeak when you're ssspoken to, angel," Crowley warned with as dark of a glare as a snake could offer, which was surprisingly fairly dark for such a featureless face. He was pleased with Aziraphale's acting job, as the angel closed his eyes and whimpered convincingly, craning his face away from Crowley's serpentine head.

The demon's nerves were completely shot, though. The whole plan hinged entirely on whether or not Michael would call his bluff, whether the archangel would show up to help. If she didn't, Crowley would have to resort to plan B, of which there wasn't one.

"Are you a zzZZspy for Heaven?"

"No!" Aziraphale cried.

"Are you and the demon Crowley working together?"

"Of course not!"

"Have you ever convinced a demon to give you ZsecretszzZz?"

"Please, I've already told you, I haven't," Aziraphale insisted. "Please, please let me go."

Hastur stalked forward, black jelly eyes blinking as he raised a hand as though to hit the angel, only to realize with a furious exhale that he couldn't strike Aziraphale with Crowley in the way. Crowley internally smirked, since his mouth wasn't currently designed for external smirking.

"You aren't going anywhere," Hastur settled for snapping. "Whether you give Crowley up or not, you're coming back to Hell as our prisoner and-"

The light over the summoning circle suddenly flared to life with a faint celestial ring. All of the demons but Crowley gasped in dismay and quickly backed out of the way of the circle; Crowley hissed with only pretend dismay and slithered out, dragging Aziraphale along with him, while secretly sighing with relief.

"Keep him quiet!" Beelzebub hissed, gesturing at Aziraphale.

Crowley shifted with the intent to wind further up the angel's face, but Hastur, who had dived to the same side of the circle as Crowley, beat him to it. The demon stood behind them both, covering Aziraphale's mouth with his hand and yanking backward so both the angel and Crowley were pulled tight against him. Crowley grumbled softly with displeasure but didn't speak up.

"Aziraphale, why haven't you reported in?" Michael's voice snapped from Heaven, impatient and irate. "I do not like to be kept waiting."

"One peep," Hastur whispered to Aziraphale, who was breathing in short shallow gasps—probably from the stench of the demon so close—"and I'll slit your miserable throat."

"Aziraphale!" Michael barked, louder.

Hastur suddenly yelped in pain, leaping backwards and shaking his hand. "You bit me, you little-!"

"Michael, help!"

The resulting flash was brilliant and immediate, culminating in the form of a fuming Michael standing in the bookshop circle.

"Looks like the party's all here," she smirked, piercing gaze landing on each demon in turn. "Beelzebub, isn't it?"

"That's Zzzzzzir Beelzebub," the Lord of Hell sniffed, drawing upright. "ZzSending spieszz now, are we? Fair way to run thingszZZz, iszz it? We have every right to kill your angel. The ruleszzzZ of engagement-"

"What, you mean that?" Michael asked disdainfully, nodding to Aziraphale, who flinched in Crowley's hold. "That soft, puffy angel, a spy? He's here for minor miracles and to stay out of the way, not to spy. If you're talking about the recent information leak, we caught an imp encroaching on Heaven's territory and... convinced him to earn his release. Didn't you know? My word, what sort of operation are you running in Hell?"

Beelzebub sniffed with great affront, flies buzzing angrily. "And I should take your word for that?"

"I don't frankly care," Michael grinned with dark intent, wings appearing in obvious challenge. "You can leave or you can fight. Is the bookshop angel worth it to you?"

Beelzebub wavered; Crowley could see the sudden doubt in the lead demon's eyes. Hastur, Ligur, and Dagon looked back and forth between Beelzebub and Michael, waiting for the word. But they were in angel home territory, and if Beelzebub fought and lost then so would so much of Hell's credibility.

"I've been itching to get another trophy," Michael goaded. She tilted her head and shouted, "Gabriel, Uriel, now!"

"Retreat!" Beelzebub shouted, mind made up, already sinking down through the floor. The other three scrambled to do likewise, scattering in their terror, while Crowley shifted back to his human form and crashed to the ground in a scramble to get away.

Michael was on him in seconds.

"Not you, serpent!" she seethed, grabbing him by the coat and slinging him around hard enough for his head to hit the nearby shelf, raining books down on him.

By the time Crowley's head had cleared from the resulting daze, the demons were gone and Aziraphale was watching him with wide, panicked eyes from where he'd been left. His gaze flicked to Michael and back in questioning, so Crowley nodded and stood with a groan.

"Was that necessary?" he grumbled.

"Don't speak," Michael snarled, wings disappearing though her sword remained pointed at Crowley. "I kept my end, now you will keep yours. You will make it your personal mission to make sure no one ever suspects a thing about me. And if you give Gabriel stronger cause to believe there's any fraternizing going on between you, you're on your own. I won't protect you."

Crowley supposed that was the best deal they were ever going to get anyway, but still shrugged with what he hoped was a carefree air.

"Yeah, good, fine. Like I said, it's nothing but a mutually agreed upon ceasefire between us." Hopefully Aziraphale would get that message and not say anything to contradict it, but the angel remained silent. "So we're in agreement. You keep that secret, and we'll keep yours. I'd hate for anyone to suspect the great archangel herself-"

And as he was so very good at doing, he'd pushed it too far. Crowley grunted in pain as he was slammed back into the shelf once again, Michael pinning him in place with her sword at his throat. The touch of heavenly metal made him hiss with discomfort.

"Let me make this… perfectly clear," she said, voice low and dangerous. "The only reason I stepped in is because Aziraphale is still useful. If you ever… ever… try to blackmail me again…" Michael's voice dropped even lower, sword pressing in. The silence lingered as she let him imagine whatever exquisite punishment she could mete out against him, before finishing, "You will find yourself living in my office in a blessed cage as my pet snake, praying it's normal water I've put in your little dish each day instead of the holy variety. Until I finally tire of you, and then I will crush you under my heel."

Michael smiled viciously, brushing off a speck of lint from Crowley's jacket.

"Do we understand each other?"

There had been a time when Crowley was afraid of the archangel.

The time was still now.

Gulping, he muttered a strangled agreement. "Mm-hmm."

Her eyes flashed. "Good. Now, I expect you'll have to tell them you barely escaped an archangel. Let's make it convincing, shall we?"

Crowley got not even a second of warning before Michael reared back and punched him so hard that his head once again cracked the shelf and he slumped down to the floor. When he looked up, she was gone and Aziraphale was still kneeling where he'd been left, eyes wide, in chains. Michael hadn't even bothered to set him free or take care of his obvious wounds or, as far as Crowley had seen, acknowledge him at all.

The pure unfairness made him want to scream, still utterly incapable of comprehending how Heaven could look so unfavorably on such a genuinely good angel. Fine. He'd just have to put Aziraphale back together himself.

"She's a real doll, isn't she?" he grumbled, rubbing his jaw as he pushed himself upright. That would leave a mark. Which would be helpful when he returned to Hell, but still.

"Crowley," Aziraphale gasped, scrambling towards him. "Michael- Michael knows? Hurry, get up, perhaps there's enough time to-"

"Angel," the demon shushed him, looking down at Aziraphale's wrists when the manacles clanked against his arm. He sighed, covering the metal with his own hands and imagining them gone. They disappeared. "I had to tell her," he murmured. "Only thing to do, really. I don't expect she'll give us away though, not unless she wants me to spill the beans about her and Ligur."

"Her and- but surely you can't be serious?"

"What, you think even I could make that up?" Crowley snorted, then winced as he finally had a chance to assess the damage done to Aziraphale up close. "Ngh, they really did a number on you." The tone was light but only because admitting how scared and furious he was would be unbecoming of a demon.

"I'll be quite alright," Aziraphale said, but he looked away, rubbing his bruised wrists where the manacles had been. The burns stood out livid and reddened on his face, but also, Crowley could now see, on his forearms, his chest and stomach all the way through his layers of clothes, his hands… It must have been awful. And he'd been alone.

Crowley sucked in a breath. "Come on, then. Let's get you taken care of."

He forced himself to his feet and took Aziraphale's arm, helping the angel to stand as well and guiding him in the direction of the worn, cozy couch in the corner. Aziraphale was limping, leading Crowley to note another burn through the leg of his trousers. Burns, that would be top priority, but then there was also the way the angel was hugging his middle and continuing to wheeze when he breathed, which probably meant broken ribs as well. Likely the pain from the hellfire was keeping him from fixing the other more mundane wounds.

Aziraphale's jaw was clenched but as Crowley got him onto the couch, the angel choked on a cry and had to stop for several raspy, shallow breaths before he could lean back any farther. Crowley's heart stuttered then jolted to a stop as a horrible thought struck him.

"Angel," he said as gently as he could. "They didn't… the fire, they… your wings?"

"No, no," Aziraphale assured him, though his reassuring smile was more of a grimace and wasn't actually reassuring at all. His face fell, and he looked down, biting his lip. "I- I don't suppose you might… well, I mean I can't make you of course, but… I wonder…"

"Am I supposed to read your mind?" Crowley grumbled. "Spit it out."

Aziraphale shrank back a bit, still holding himself stiffly, still looking away. "It's nothing," he whispered. "It might be a good idea, in fact, much less suspicious if they know you still have it. After all the trouble you went through to get it."

"Still have what- OH!" Crowley smacked his forehead, cursing his own stupidity with a swell of guilt. "Don't be ridiculous, angel, I'm not going to keep your feather. Wait here, I left it in the car for safekeeping." Muttering more low oaths to himself for having forgotten and therefore scaring Aziraphale, Crowley hurried to grab the shining white feather from the glovebox. He held it almost reverently, returning it to its angel.

"You'll have to bring your wings out if I'm going to fix it," he mentioned vaguely before pausing. "Did any of the others take…?" He tried not to imagine it, remembering what it was like to be held down while his wings were ripped apart by multiple enemies and praying his angel hadn't gone through such a nightmare.

Aziraphale shook his head, still not quite meeting Crowley's eyes. "No," he answered softly. "They wanted to but said they would wait until… until they'd finished with me. That they'd have every demon in Hell get one. Not just the trophy feathers but... all of them. Would have- would have looked rather silly, I imagine."

The attempt for humor fell woefully flat in the presence of his glistening eyes, face taut with fear. There was a ripple of light behind him but the beautiful white wings were slow to unfurl. Only one gap showed among the feathers where Crowley had ripped the primary out, and suddenly the demon had to close his eyes against a wave of nausea.

"Crowley?"

"This is my fault," he muttered hopelessly. "I got you into this. All of it. The Arrangement, everything, it was my idea, my fault, my- you would have never gotten in trouble if I hadn't… All I've done is get you hurt. First in Turkey, now this…"

"Oh, my dear."

A gentle hand found his shoulder, and really that just made it worse. Now Aziraphale was comforting him even though he was the one who'd been beaten and burned and threatened with being ravaged by the entire horde of Hell.

"I'd never let it happen," Crowley told him, anxious for the angel to know it. "I'd never let them take you."

"And you didn't. Crowley, you saved my life. I… thank you. Someday you'll have to tell me how in the world you got Michael to agree to all this because I must admit myself to be quite stymied."

Crowley growled low in his throat that the angel was thanking him instead of condemning him as he deserved. He studied the wing, noting the follicle looked undamaged. He almost reached out to slide the feather back in, but remembered in time to stop and look at Aziraphale.

"So is it alright then, if I, you know?"

"Oh yes, it's quite alright. Thank you." Aziraphale stretched the wing out a bit further and leaned against the couch, wincing again with evident pain.

Crowley wanted to get to healing the rest of the wounds, but having his wings intact would probably do the most good for Aziraphale's state of mind. The demon stuck his tongue between his teeth and glowered in concentration as he fumbled to get the feather quill back into the follicle. He leaned in, blowing gently; his power fused into the space and clung to the feather to hold it there. The wing immediately pulsed with light that hurt his eyes, already starting to knit back around the feather.

"Oh, that tingles," Aziraphale said with a wriggle.

"Ngh. Hold still, this is going to take a minute." Crowley waited until the glow had died down a bit, then blew again. It took a lot of power, fixing wings. The demon felt himself tiring, but he kept at it until the top of the follicle closed around the feather quill, and the rest the wing could do for itself.

Pleased with the work, Crowley turned back to Aziraphale with a sharp nod.

"There. No trophies between us, that's that done. Now for the rest." He swallowed. "Hellfire?"

Aziraphale shuddered, replying with a wretched sigh, "I'm afraid so. I can't seem to heal them. I was trying, while you were taking care of the wing, but… well it just isn't working."

"No more than I could heal from holy water. It's a miracle it didn't kill you."

"It would have," the angel said quietly. "He never touched me with it, or I'm sure I would have burned to ashes. He only…" Aziraphale held his hand out to demonstrate, mere centimeters from Crowley's face. His eyes were distant.

"Hastur?"

Aziraphale nodded. "He scares me, Crowley, I hate to admit. Not as badly as Michael and Gabriel, but he is the most horrid demon I've ever come across. Do you know, I really think he didn't care whether I answered his questions or not?"

"He didn't," Crowley replied, taking Aziraphale's hand and turning it over to examine the burns marking the soft skin of his forearm. "If you'd told him all about us, he would've kept going. Only there wouldn't be breaks for him to get his questions in. You didn't know that, but you still didn't give me up."

He didn't phrase it as a question, but the angel seemed to hear one anyway, the question buried deep down within the statement. Aziraphale bristled indignantly, or else it was just a twitch of pain when Crowley brushed his hand over the burn.

"Of course not. Crowley, my dear, we may be on opposite sides, but… well, don't you know, I do consider you my friend, and if I had confirmed his suspicions, it would have been you they burned. I could never have forgiven myself."

But it would have been worth it, Crowley wanted to scream. If one of us lives, it should be YOU, the angel, the good one, the one who's worthwhile even if the others will never see that properly…

"Crowley? What are you thinking?"

The demon cleared his throat. "That I might not be able to fix these completely," he said. "What else is there, angel? If I try healing these now, I won't have the energy for the rest, so let me take care of everything else first."

"You really don't have to-"

"What," Crowley overrode him, eyes narrowing, "did they do to you?"

With a sigh, Aziraphale looked down at his hands, growing small again. "The burns were the worst," he said softly. "And the threats for the things they never got around to, really awful things, Crowley. They- they hit me a little, but it wasn't bad."

"Oh- oh, just a little beating, was it. Yeah, nothing to it. For hell's sake, Aziraphale, you're not breathing properly."

"Ah, right, they, ah… Ligur may have cracked a rib or two. Dagon mostly just threatened to turn me into a pincushion. It's just some bruises, dear, I've had cans of caviar do more damage while trying to open them than those two. My poor coat, on the other hand…"

Of course he'd be more worried about his clothes. Crowley tried not to grin, not wanting to encourage that sort of ridiculous behavior, but only just managed to sigh in exasperation instead of snicker in amusement. Nevertheless, the bruises disappeared with a wave of his hand, and then he was free to focus on the burns.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Crowley asked, a little belatedly, as he resumed studying Aziraphale's arm while trying to decide how to best go about this. "At the end there. Sorry there wasn't time to warn you. Tried not to squeeze too tight, but you know I had to make a good show of things."

"Not at all. Dare I say it, the cold was rather a relief. And we did do a marvelous job fooling them, didn't we?"

Hmm. That would work. Crowley couldn't fix the burn itself, but he could certainly ease the pain. Shifting just the palm of his hands into naturally cold snakeskin, bringing more of his power to centralize there in an icy coating, Crowley wrapped his hands around the red marks. Aziraphale immediately sighed with relief.

"That's divine."

"Wrong direction, angel."

For a good moment, they were silent. Crowley moved one hand to a brutally angry welt on Aziraphale's chest and the angel wriggled a bit.

"Hold still."

"Michael knows."

Crowley paused. Then finally he nodded. "Yeah."

"We'll have to be terribly careful, you know. We can't keep getting in these pickles. It's only a matter of time before… well, before I'm not… useful enough to make it worth Heaven's time. I don't think she'll help us again-"

"Wait, wait, wait, just stop it, angel." Bless it, Crowley would love to give Michael a piece of his mind, if she wasn't so terrifying. He'd asked the archangel to come and scare Beelzebub away, after Aziraphale had laid the groundwork for a perfect alibi that she'd be checking in anyway.

He had not even hinted that she ought to say the things she'd said about him. "Michael was pissed off because of me, that's all. Didn't like that I'd figured her out. What she said, it isn't true."

"Oh, Crowley. But it is, my dear. We both know it. Heaven knows it. I'm soft and ridiculous and they only let me stay here because it keeps me out of their way. Of the important things, you know."

"You're important, too." Crowley moved his ice cold hand to the burn across Aziraphale's cheek—trying not to imagine them pinning him in place so Hastur could taunt him with the flames burning him by proximity alone. And then of course not being able to stop imagining it.

Aziraphale had gone still finally, so Crowley sighed and added, "You're the only one, angel, the only one here, on Earth, every day, loving these stupid little things running around. The important things- what does that even mean, the important things? Like what you do isn't important? The- the miracles, the saving people, the absolutely absurd way you shoo flies outside, flies, Aziraphale! You actually care about this whole ridiculous place, don't you? All of it, even the flies. After everything we've seen, you still love it. You protect it."

Crowley snorted, raising his other hand to cup Aziraphale's other cheek, soothing away the hurt.

"You ask me, that's a hell of a lot more important than whatever the archangels are up to, up there," he muttered.

If nothing else, it brought a soft smile to Aziraphale's face. Probably somewhere out there, it brought one to God's, too. Not that She was watching any of this. But if She had been, She would have been drinking it in like that bottle of Montrachet that She happened to know was in Aziraphale's private collection.

"You're right on one thing, though," the demon conceded. "We shouldn't make a habit of this."

"Dreadful business, really."

"Ngh. Right, that's settled, we'll both stop being caught and beaten up, yeah?"

Aziraphale chuckled lightly. "I suppose we can only do our best. Oh that really does feel marvelous, dear, thank you." He winced, though. "I'm just so horribly tired."

"Close your eyes, then."

Aziraphale's eyes darted around the shop, expression falling a bit. More than anything, Crowley hated that it had been the bookstore, the haven that Aziraphale had made for himself. This was his safe place away from everything, and Crowley had brought danger right into the middle of it. That the angel had gotten hurt was bad of course, but that they'd hurt him here was the worst.

"I'm going to stick around and make myself at home," Crowley said without a 'by your leave'. "Keep icing the burns. Can't concentrate with you yammering so why don't you just rest?"

Some of the tension slid away from the angel as Crowley took his hand to concentrate on one of the cruel burns left across his palm. The softness returned to Aziraphale's gaze.

"Thank you, dear. And you know… you're important, too." The angel lifted a shoulder. "To me."

"Go to sleep, angel."

But his heart lifted a bit, and when Aziraphale closed his eyes and almost instantly fell slack in sleep, Crowley finally smiled.

In the distance, a roll of thunder rumbled deeply over the city.

It was going to be a dark and stormy night. But they were both alive and safe for the moment, so that suited Crowley just fine.