Have a very long one-shot for your weekend ^_^

Also, I just wanted to say thanks to all the Guest reviewers who have left reviews on my GO fics, in case you read this one too!

This story is set post Armageddidn't and I'm using my favorite personal canon where Crowley and Aziraphale are essentially like Holmes and Watson but they take cases to help people.

Also, bonus points if you can guess what show I borrowed this plot from XD

Fatal Flaw

A Good Omens Fanfic

The kettle whistled and Aziraphale bustled happily into the kitchen, humming to himself along with the Mozart record he was playing. He was honestly looking forward to a few days off, in fact, he had planned on not even bothering to open the book shop for the next couple days. He and Crowley had just worked several grueling jobs back to back—demons making trouble—and he thought they both deserved a little rest.

And honestly the fact that Aziraphale had hardly cracked open a book in the last week was deplorable.

Yes, Aziraphale was really looking forward to his quiet time, and much better music than the bebop Crowley's Bentley insisted on playing.

He poured the water into the teapot and put on the timer to steep before turning toward a cupboard to retrieve a mug.

That was when he felt his feathers stand up, as if there was someone in the shop, watching.

Aziraphale froze and turned around but there was no one to be seen. He turned back to his tea and as the timer buzzed, he poured it into the mug.

A creak sounded in the floor out among the shelves.

"Hello?" Aziraphale demanded spinning around, and hissing slightly as hot tea scalded the back of his hand. "Is someone there?"

There was no answer, but he knew someone was in the shop. He could feel it.

He huffed a sigh. "Crowley, if this is your idea of a joke…"

He walked out into the shop, looking around. "I do not find it funny!"

The shop was silent, but he was still certain of a presence, pricking between his shoulder blades where his feathers rose insistently. "Crowley, if you're hiding somewhere in snake form again…"

A shadow flickered and Aziraphale spun around, his heart racing. Something was definitely wrong. If it had been Crowley playing some silly trick on him the demon would be snickering by now, giving himself up.

He turned toward the back room where he kept his sword, but didn't have the chance to reach it.

As soon as his back was turned, something rushed up behind him. Aziraphale tried to spin around, but something struck the back of his head and he saw stars, slamming into the floor. His mug, which he had still been clutching, shattered and hot tea spilled everywhere.

Aziraphale tried to make it to his knees and elbows, but his assailant was already on top of him, pinning him with its body. It grabbed the back of his head and pressed his face into the ground.

"It's time you learned a lesson, you and Crowley both," the attacker said in a dark, sibilant voice. "About not sticking your noses where they don't belong."

Aziraphale struggled, trying to buck the figure off of him, but that only resulted in him getting his head slammed into the floor again. Long, clawed fingers knotted themselves into his hair to hold him still, pulling his head back to expose his neck.

Aziraphale struggled weakly, for a second, certain that his attacker was going to slit his throat, but it wasn't a knife in his hand, it was a hypodermic needle.

"No, stop," Aziraphale groaned, scrabbling for anything that could be used to fight back, but again his head was slammed into the floor. Then he felt the needle pierce his neck as something was injected into him. Aziraphale gasped.

"I'll give you about twenty-four hours," the figure said and finally stood, releasing Aziraphale who shuddered limply on the floor, head aching, and feeling whatever it was that had been injected into him start to flow through his body.

"Stop!" he slurred, trying to turn, and was just able to see the back of his assailant as the dark figure was walking out the door.

Aziraphale tried to push himself to hands and knees, but the blows he had taken to his head had left his dizzy. He barely managed to crawl toward the back room where he snagged at his telephone. It clattered onto the floor and he hurriedly rang the number he needed before collapsing back on the ground as he pressed the receiver to his ear, the other hand shakily touching the needle mark in his neck.

The phone rang on the other end several times.

"Please, please pick up," Aziraphale pleaded, prayed.

Two more rings and then the click.

"Yeah?"

"Crowley…" A wave of dizziness washed over him and he blinked to clear his eyes without success.

"Aziraphale?" he heard Crowley inquiring. "Is something wrong?"

Aziraphale drew in a breath, trying to keep himself conscious.

"Angel?" Crowley was getting more frantic. "What's wrong?"

"Just…help…" Was all Aziraphale could manage as he felt the darkness encroaching.

"Angel? Aziraphale!" Crowley cried, trying to get his attention. "Look, I'll be there, just give me a minute."

That was all Aziraphale needed. He collapsed limply, eyes sliding shut as the phone slipped from his hand with a clatter.

Crowley screeched to a stop in front of the bookshop, parking half on the pavement in his urgency. He raced to the door and threw it open, realizing it wasn't even locked.

"Aziraphale!" he cried, looking around the shop. He saw a broken mug and spilled tea and hurried toward the back room.

His heart shot up into his throat as he saw the form of his friend lying on the ground.

"Aziraphale," he called again, skidding to a stop on his knees beside the collapsed angel.

There was blood matting the angel's blond curls, and Crowley gently pushed the hair aside to see how bad it was. Overall, it seemed superficial, and there didn't appear to be any other wounds on Aziraphale's body, so what had happened to his friend?

The phone lying on the ground, off of its cradle, was putting off an annoying dial tone, and Crowley slammed it back into the cradle with a curse before he turned Aziraphale over, yanking his own coat off to use to cushion his head.

The angel finally stirred, coming to with a groan as he reached up weakly to touch his head.

Crowley caught his wrist. "Easy, don't touch it, you're bleeding."

Aziraphale's eyes opened wider with relief. "Crowley."

"Yeah, I'm here. What the heaven happened?"

Aziraphale grabbed his sleeve and reached up with his other hand to touch his neck. Crowley frowned as he saw a red spot there.

"What is that? Who did this to you?"

"I don't know," Aziraphale said in a hushed voice.

Crowley fought the urge to scream. "You don't remember anything?"

"It was…I'm almost positive it was a demon. He was in here and he…he injected me with something."

Crowley hurriedly pried Aziraphale's hand away from his neck and inspected the red mark more closely, seeing that it was indeed a needle prick.

Crowley felt suddenly sick. He had no idea what was going on, only that someone had attacked his friend, and he was very angry about that.

"Angel, please, do you remember anything else? Did he say anything?"

Aziraphale pressed a hand to his forehead. "I…yes. Yes, he said something about…about teaching us a lesson. Not to stick our noses where they don't belong—very cheeky."

"Extremely," Crowley deadpanned. "Is that it, angel?"

Aziraphale's eyes opened fully then and he said, "Well, for some reason he said he would give me twenty-four hours, but…"

Crowley was bending over him, a terrible feeling in his gut, as he sniffed the needle mark then, very tentatively, stuck his tongue against it.

"Crowley! What are you…?!" Aziraphale demanded squirming away as Crowley spat violently, terror washing over him.

"Angel, you've been poisoned," he said quietly.

"B-but I…I don't feel bad, aside from my head…" Aziraphale protested, looking somewhat confused.

Crowley took his face between his hands. "Listen to me, Aziraphale! Whoever it was that attacked you has poisoned you and I would assume meant that you only have twenty-four hours before it takes effect. Before…" He clenched his teeth, unable to say it.

"I discorporate?" Aziraphale breathed.

"Before you die!" Crowley snapped. "Angel, if this is something a demon used…this could kill you permanently."

Aziraphale's face was pale too, and he finally struggled into a sitting position. Crowley grabbed his shoulders.

"Hold on, you should stay still."

"Crowley, I'm fine, really, just a headache, and if I'm dying anyway—"

"Don't say that!" Crowley snapped. "Heaven, angel, don't say that. We'll find the cure, we just have to think. You have all these books, there must be something…"

"Exactly," Aziraphale said, placing a calming hand on Crowley's arm, and how the angel was still so calm, he had no bloody clue. "Let's think about this logically, dear. And we'll do it together. Now, help me up."

Crowley helped Aziraphale up and over to the couch. He bustled around for a couple minutes, grabbing a cloth to clean the wound on Aziraphale's head and then set the cloth on the table.

"We can run a couple tests on your blood," Crowley suggested as Aziraphale came over to join him. "See if we can figure out what this is."

Aziraphale nodded. Crowley manipulated the blood from the cloth and watched it bead in the air before he started to disassemble it. Despite its appearance, it was not at all human, just sharing the same form. Like Aziraphale's body, the blood was purely angelic.

Except it wasn't, not anymore, not entirely. There was something else there that Crowley couldn't quite place even when he isolated it, dropping it into a small vial.

"I've never seen anything like it," Crowley murmured. "Have you?"

Aziraphale took the glass tube and inspected the isolated poison for a long moment before he shook his head. "No."

Crowley ran a hand over his face. "Okay, okay, we'll just have to think about this. Have any books on demonic poisons?"

He started to stride out of the back room but Aziraphale called his name.

"Crowley."

As he turned back around he saw a small amount of something that was like pity in Aziraphale's eyes, mixing with an even smaller amount of fear. "I don't think we're going to find this in any of my books, dear."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Crowley demanded.

"I've been thinking," Aziraphale said. "That perhaps the only way to figure out what this is, is to find the demon who attacked me."

Crowley was pacing, fists clenching at his sides. "Oh, I'll find him…" he growled.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said firmly and the demon finally turned to his friend and stopped pacing. "Think about it. This was someone who wanted revenge on us. Or wanted us to stop getting into their business. I would be willing to bet that it's somehow related to a job we have worked recently."

"Well, that could be anything!" Crowley said helplessly. But he had to admit that it was the best idea they probably had. Providing they were able to find the demon in time and also get him to tell them what the antidote was.

"There must be something particular," Aziraphale insisted. "Something we're missing. We just have to think."

Crowley sighed, but nodded. "Okay, we'll do this."

"Brilliant," Aziraphale gave him a small smile and stood up. He wavered slightly and Crowley was off like a shot to grab his elbow. Aziraphale huffed. "I'm quite all right, dear. Just a little woozy from the hit to the head."

"We really need to teach you the meaning of 'all right'," Crowley grumbled. "Please, just let me help. Whatever I can get you."

"Tea would be nice," Aziraphale said, gazing sadly at his shattered mug that still lay on the floor. "I never got to have any earlier."

"Then I'll get tea," Crowley said, "Sit tight!"

He went over and snapped his fingers over the mess to clean it up, reassembling the mug, then went into the kitchenette where he put the kettle back on the stove. As it sat over the burner, Crowley slumped, gripping the edge of the counter to keep himself upright as he hung his head down between his shoulders, trembling.

His best friend had been poisoned and he didn't know how to help. He wasn't sure Aziraphale truly seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation. Or perhaps the angel just didn't want to alarm Crowley, which almost made it all worse. Crowley just knew one thing and that was that he couldn't lose his friend. They had survived Armageddon together, they couldn't be separated by something so paltry as a demonic poison…

The kettle whistling startled him and he took a deep breath and snapped his fingers to turn off the stove before pouring the hot water into the teapot.

He refused to lose his friend to this. He would take the twenty-four hours and hunt down every bastard in Hell if he had to, but he was going to save his friend.

And until then, he was going to do everything he could to help Aziraphale though this.

It was the only thing he could do.

The minute Crowley left, Aziraphale slumped at the table, clasping his hands in front of him to keep them from shaking.

He was honestly terrified, and he hadn't felt that often. In fact, the only other time he had felt this terrified had been when they had faced down Satan together and even then, he hadn't really had time to think about how terrified he was.

Now he didn't have the luxury or adrenaline to keep him going.

What was worse was that he didn't even feel bad. Not yet, anyway. His head still hurt a little but he was healing the bump. He wasn't feeling the effects of the poison yet but he was sure that it was only a matter of time before he did…

No matter how he looked at it, it had all gone wrong, and he was in a lot of trouble.

And yet all he could think about was Crowley and how if something did actually happen to him—permanently—than his friend would be all alone.

That hurt more than the thought of whatever was to come involving the poison.

So Aziraphale had to make sure he looked like he wasn't terrified, because even though he was the one poisoned, he was sure Crowley was the one who needed the most support right now.

Crowley returned, still looking pale, and thin without his dark glasses on. He set two mugs of tea down on the table and Aziraphale took his and clutched it between his palms, feeling the warmth.

"Thank you, dear," he said.

Crowley grunted and sat as well, tense, not at all in his normal, comfortable sprawl. One foot was twitching. Aziraphale sighed.

"Okay, let's start thinking then. Fetch my diary on the desk there—thank you, dear." He picked up his spectacles and opened his book, flipping through the notes he had made on their recent jobs. "Let's start with the last couple months."

"Sussex," Crowley murmured.

"Decidedly not demonic," Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

"Well, we haven't really gone up against demons recently, angel, even Hastur has left us alone for a couple months!"

"But Sussex was just a haunting, a cut and dried case, as they say. We put that spirit to rest, I see no reason why anyone would want to come after us for that."

"The landlord wasn't exactly happy about the mess," Crowley muttered. "And will probably have a drop in business considering people would stay at the hotel for the haunted aspect."

"Still," Aziraphale said and flipped his page. "I think that's the least of our worries. Now, that job we worked in Belgravia, that might be something to look into…"

They spent the next couple hours looking through every job they had worked for the past three months, but ultimately came up with nothing that seemed demonic, nor like something anyone would particularly want revenge on them for.

Crowley groaned, slapping several papers down on the table and rubbing his eyes. "This is hopeless."

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a thin line as he reached for his tea. "There must be something we're missing." The tea was cold and he sighed, raising his hand to perform a miracle to heat it but nothing happened. "Ah…"

Crowley looked up instantly. "What?"

Aziraphale swallowed, trying not to be too worried. "Er, my powers seem to be…not cooperating."

Crowley stared at him as Aziraphale set the teacup down on the table with a slightly shaking hand.

Crowley got up. "You should lay down, rest…"

"Crowley," Aziraphale sighed and shoved the cold tea away from him. "Aside from…that…I'm not feeling any ill effects. Please. Stop worrying about me for a minute and let's—"

"Stop worrying? Angel, this is all about you!" Crowley cried, reaching up to grip his hair. "You're poisoned and we have no bloody clue what to do about it! Do you remember anything else about the thing that attacked you?"

Aziraphale sighed tiredly, reaching up to massage his temples. "No. No, like I said, I was struck over the head before I could really see anything, after that, most of it was fuzzy. I just remember him holding me down and…" He trailed off helplessly and Crowley looked even more pale.

"Right," the demon muttered to himself as he continued to pace. "Right, there has to be something we're missing. Some job we've forgotten. What else have we done this last month?"

Aziraphale put on his spectacles and flipped through his diary as Crowley turned back to shuffling through papers from Aziraphale's once neatly filed cases. Aziraphale scanned his own neat handwriting before stopping, and with a frown, flipping back to a previous page.

"Crowley, do you remember that stalker case we worked?"

Crowley looked up blankly. "Stalker?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "Well…not stalker exactly. That woman who claimed things kept being moved around in her house when no one was there, or sometimes apparently while she slept."

"Ah, yeah, her. But I thought we just wrote her off as bonkers. There was no sign of haunting, or break-in that we could see."

"Yes, and you said she was sleepwalking, only…" Aziraphale looked around. "See, I knew I had locked the door, and anything of a supernatural persuasion could have opened it, correct?"

Crowley shrugged. "Well, yeah…"

"And there's this…" Aziraphale grabbed a scrap book from the table that he kept newspaper clippings in and flipped through it. "See? Several burglaries have been reported around London and yet, aside from things being moved around and some things missing, there has been no sign of a break-in in any of the cases."

Crowley frowned. "Okay, slightly odd, yes, but why would this be something someone would want to kill you over?"

"I don't know, that might be what we're missing," Aziraphale said and stood up.

Crowley was on his feet instantly, rushing to his side. "Where are you going?"

Aziraphale sighed as he went over to his coatrack and retrieved his overcoat. "We're not getting anywhere here. I think we need to go talk to the people who were burgled. If we find out exactly what was stolen, find a connection between these people, then we might be able to figure out why I was targeted."

"You can't just go waltzing around London! You should be resting in bed!" Crowley demanded, grabbing Aziraphale's shoulder.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said and gently extricated himself from the demon's grip, in turn resting his hands on his friend's shoulders. "At the moment, I'm still able to get around and function. I can hardly sit around doing nothing while you're out there trying to find the cure."

"But we have no idea what this will do to you!" Crowley protested. "You already can't use your powers—what happens next?"

"Exactly, which is why we should go as soon as possible," Aziraphale said and smiled. He turned to grab his notebook and a pen. "Now come on, we really have no time to waste."

Crowley slumped, running a hand over his hair before grabbing his own jacket and his sunglasses, putting them back on. "You really are bloody stubborn, you know."

Aziraphale smiled and followed the demon out to the car.

The closest house was the most recent victim and they stopped there first. Unfortunately, there really wasn't much to find out.

"As far as I know, nothing was stolen, at least nothing I've missed," the man said with a helpless shrug. "It was really just a bunch of stuff in my office that was moved around and messed with. Files and such."

Aziraphale frowned at this. "Files? And what do you do for work, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Er, I'm an accountant," the man said. "Work from home. That's why I was so worried, I have a lot of confidential client information."

"And none of that was stolen?" Crowley asked, eyebrow raised above his sunglasses.

"Not that I've noticed."

"Well, thank you, let us know if you remember anything else," Aziraphale said, handing him a card.

"Well, that was nothing," Crowley muttered, tense, as they got back in the car.

"We don't know that," Aziraphale said. "After all, we've only just started our investigation, thus we have no pattern yet."

But they found little else to go on at the next three houses and by then, both Aziraphale and Crowley were feeling more anxious.

Aziraphale was also feeling rather warm. He reached up and tugged at his collar with some discomfort.

Crowley noticed his fidgeting and turned to him with a furrowed brow. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just…do you have the heater on, because it's rather warm…"

"It's not on, angel," Crowley looked over at him again and reached out, pressing the back of his hand against Aziraphale's forehead. "You on the other hand are burning up."

He made to pull over, but Aziraphale reached out and settled a hand on his wrist. "Don't bother, just keep going. We still have Miss Duncan to question."

"I should be taking you home," Crowley growled.

"You can, as soon as we finish here," Aziraphale smiled, trying to be reassuring, even though he wanted to find someplace cool. He felt a strange sensation and finally realized he was sweating under his clothes. He had never done that before as far as he remembered.

Apart from that, he was starting to feel a little odd all over.

Crowley grunted and sped up, driving more quickly to Miss Duncan's house.

She answered the door tentatively at their knock, but opened it eagerly as she saw who it was.

"Oh, Mr. Crowley, Mr. Fell, have you found any new information about the burglar?"

"Er, not exactly, but we think we might be onto something," Aziraphale said. "That's why we came back to ask some more questions, if you don't mind."

"Of course!" She invited them in and they sat on a couch in her parlor as she made tea.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and tugged again at his bowtie as he felt sweat drip down his face. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his face as Crowley watched anxiously, expression tight.

"What did you want to ask me?" Miss Duncan said as she came back in with the mugs of tea, handing them out. She paused as she looked at Aziraphale. "Oh, Mr. Fell, are you all right? You're sweating quite a lot."

"Er, I think perhaps I have caught a cold—fever, you know."

She clucked but swiftly added honey and lemon to the tea. Aziraphale thanked her but the thought of drinking anything hot right now made him queasy.

Crowley ignored the tea completely. "Look, this is very important. Do you remember anything at all about the burglary? Anything. Did you see someone around your house? In the neighborhood? Anyone come to the door that week?"

She sighed, slumping in her chair. "If I remembered anything like that, I would have told you before."

"Think!" Crowley snapped, leaning forward and startling the woman before Aziraphale grabbed his arm to hold him back.

"I'm sorry, Miss, it's only, we're on a tight schedule. We're just looking for clues. We think this might be related to other burglaries that have happened around the city."

Her eyes widened. "Yes, I have heard of those! You really think so?"

"It's a theory." Aziraphale dabbed at a bead of sweat that was dripping into his eye and grimaced.

"I'm really sorry I don't remember anything. I will call you if I do, though," Miss Duncan said.

"Thank you," Aziraphale said with a short sigh as he made to stand up, staggering slightly as a wave of dizziness overtook him suddenly.

Crowley caught his arm and Miss Duncan said, "Do get some rest, Mr. Fell. You could have the flu."

"Yes, perhaps," Aziraphale said weakly, and felt Crowley practically hauling him out the door before a thought struck him. "Oh, er, Miss Duncan. What is it that you do for work?"

"Oh, well, I'm a fact checker at the paper," she said. "You know, I check the articles for accuracy."

"The paper," Aziraphale said. "What stories have you been working on this last month?"

"Oh, a lot, Mr. Fell, I don't know if I could even tell you all of them."

"Do you have a record of them?" Aziraphale asked.

"Well, yes, I do have a file of all the ones I've worked on this month—my research and such…"

"Could we see that?" Aziraphale asked.

She hesitated. "Well…I don't know, not all the stories have been published yet."

"Miss Duncan, we're consultants with the police," Aziraphale said firmly. Not exactly true, they only had private licenses and had never been called on by the authorities, but it seemed to hold weight.

"Right, just a moment."

As she hurried into her office, Crowley turned to Aziraphale. "What are you on about, angel?"

"Look, perhaps this is a case of there being something someone doesn't want to get out. Some scandal or such."

"That demons would be interested in?" Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale pressed his lips together but didn't reply because Miss Duncan had come back with a thick binder. "I will need this back…"

"Don't worry," Crowley said as he snagged it from her. "If we don't figure this out by tomorrow it will already be too late."

"Um…"

They left the confused woman standing by the door as they exited the house and went back to where they had parked the Bentley. Crowley's grip on Aziraphale's arm tightened as they continued on and Aziraphale was rather glad for it. He was feeling a little dizzier than he had before.

And he was still sweating terribly.

He sighed, leaning against the Bentley before he got in and peeled the overcoat off, then reached up to fumble with his bowtie.

"You look terrible," Crowley said grimly. "How do you feel?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "Not quite as bad as I probably look?"

Crowley shook his head and they got into the car. The demon handed Aziraphale the binder and the angel started to look through it as Crowley started driving.

"Right, looking for something like a scandal…" he mused, flipping through the pages.

He nearly went through the windscreen as Crowley slammed on the brakes.

"Crowley, what—?"

"There, look!" Crowley shouted and pointed, already getting out of the car.

Aziraphale glanced up at a house and saw a figure dressed in dark clothing slipping out the window, glancing around as he stuffed something into the pocket of his coat.

"Wait! Crowley, be careful!"

Crowley was already out of the car and over the bonnet, dashing after the figure in black who had caught sight of them now and had started to run. Aziraphale scrambled to get out of the car and join him, but Crowley had already tackled the figure and had materialized ropes to tie him up.

"Get off me! You're mental, mate!" the figure was screaming.

"Is he a demon?" Aziraphale asked as he joined them, leaning against the side of the house and breathing more heavily than he should have been.

"No," Crowley said, and snagged the thing the figure had been stuffing into his pocket. "What's this?"

Aziraphale leaned over so he could see what it was as well and frowned. "This is a receipt for an airplane ticket."

"What is this?" Crowley demanded, sticking it in the young man's face. "It's not yours is it?"

"Look, I don't get paid to ask questions," the man said.

"What do you get paid to do then?" Crowley growled, reaching down and gripping the front of the man's hoodie. "Rob people?"

"Basically?" the young man cried. "Look, it's just a gig, I need the money. And it's not even valuable stuff, just weird things like paperwork."

"And you never thought to question why that was?"

"Not my problem," he said stubbornly.

"Alright," Crowley growled. "Were you in Soho today?"

"What? No," the man frowned.

"Not anywhere near a bookshop?" Crowley asked, shaking him. "Answer me!"

"Do I look like the kind of guy who hangs around bookshops?" the man scoffed.

"And you've never seen him before?" Crowley jerked him around to face Aziraphale.

"What? No," the man shook his head. "I swear I haven't."

The honest confusion in his face told Aziraphale that he was telling the truth. And he was also pretty certain this hadn't been his assailant. "It's not him, Crowley," he said simply.

Crowley growled and shook the man again. "Your boss. Who is he? Where does he live?"

"I don't know! I get a message with an address and what he wants, then I deliver it at a drop, then pick up my money at another one. That's it. I swear!"

Crowley snarled and finally released him, letting him collapse on the ground.

"Are you gonna arrest me or what?" he demanded.

Crowley spun back around and briefly flickered into his snake form. The man was so terrified he passed out cold on the ground.

Aziraphale sighed and Crowley cursed under his breath.

"Another dead end," he snarled and looked at his watch. It's already been almost twelve hours what with all our research and running around."

"And we still have twelve to go," Aziraphale reminded, trying to force a little optimism into his voice. "Come now, dear, we do have something of a lead now, perhaps—"

He suddenly felt pain tear through his body, his stomach and intestines cramping so violently that he couldn't breathe. Aziraphale folded, reaching for Crowley as he collapsed.

"Aziraphale!"

Crowley was on his knees beside him, pulling him into a somewhat upright position but Aziraphale could only double over against the pain, clutching at Crowley's coat.

The demon pulled him across his lap and braced him tightly, helpless to do anything else.

"Easy, angel, easy," he murmured.

Aziraphale let out a choked off sob, as he curled into himself, pressing his face against Crowley's side as he fought off a wave of nausea.

"What can I do? Aziraphale? What can I do?" Crowley was asking, sounding frantic as his hands were gripped tightly in Aziraphale's clothes.

"Just…one moment…" Aziraphale gasped.

After a second, the pain subsided and he sagged, raising his head before simply leaning his forehead against Crowley's shoulder, unable to go farther.

"I'm fine," he whispered. "Just another moment."

"You're not fine," Crowley growled darkly, arms wrapping protectively around the angel as he hiccupped past another wave of nausea. "I'm taking you home."

Aziraphale didn't have the energy to protest and simply allowed Crowley to get him to his feet. He leaned on the demon on the way back to the Bentley and then slumped against the door once it was closed, pressing his cheek against the cool window.

Crowley drove them back to the bookshop and then held onto Aziraphale tightly as he helped the angel inside and deposited him onto the couch.

Once he got his breath back, Aziraphale fumbled for the binder he was still holding, and started to look through it.

"I don't understand," he murmured. "I know we have to be missing something, I just don't know what. How are all those people connected? I'm sure if we figure that out, we can—"

"Forget it!" Crowley snapped suddenly, causing Aziraphale to look up so quickly he got dizzy.

"Crowley?" he asked.

"Just forget all of it!" Crowley shouted. He snagged off his glasses and rubbed his eyes as he paced. "Forget the information, I'm going to do this the easy way. I'm going to go to Hell and demands answers."

"Crowley, you can't!" Aziraphale breathed.

"I can, and I will!"

"They could take you captive or kill you!"

"And they've already nearly killed my best friend!" Crowley shouted. "I'll take the risk if I have even the chance to save you!"

"Well, I don't agree!" Aziraphale snapped, pushing himself upright shakily and grabbed Crowley's sleeve. "Crowley, please. Don't do something stupid. The information we need is here, I know it is. We just have to look at it from a different angle."

"We've already tried! And we're running out of time. You're running out of time, angel!"

"But still, it would be suicide, Crowley!"

"And how do you think I feel about even the possibility that you could die and leave me behind all alone?"

Aziraphale felt his heart clench. "How do you think I would feel knowing you had gone and gotten yourself killed to save me?"

Crowley buried his face in his hands again, turning away, but Aziraphale was beset by another wracking bout of pain and cried out as he collapsed.

"Angel."

Crowley caught him and lowered him back onto the couch where he knelt in front of Aziraphale, keeping him from falling on his face by bracing his shoulders.

Aziraphale reached out and grabbed a fistful of Crowley's jacket, choking on a sob, the pain so bad he didn't even care. "It hurts…please don't leave, Crowley. Please."

Crowley caught him in his arms and squeezed tight. Aziraphale thought it helped counteract the pain slightly.

"Fine. Fine, I'll stay," Crowley whispered. "Bloody stubborn angel."

Aziraphale gasped something between a laugh and a sob of pain. "Too stubborn to die like this. Trust me, dear."

Crowley buried his face in the top of Aziraphale's blond curls and he was trembling now, and Aziraphale knew Crowley was trying to keep his emotions in check. It was fine with Aziraphale, though, because the cramping had started again and he couldn't move.

Finally, the pain released him and he slumped further. Crowley gently maneuvered him down onto the couch, propping him up with pillows and yanking the afghan from the back of the couch to wrap over him. Aziraphale seemed to be chilled now, despite the fact he was still sweating.

Crowley dashed a hand across his face and sniffed as he stood up.

"Right, okay, right. We need to start over. See what we missed."

He took up a seat beside Aziraphale's hip, and bent over the coffee table with some of the papers while Aziraphale did his best to sit up and look through the others, though concentration was getting harder and harder.

The hours passed, Aziraphale was struck with more and more frequent bouts of cramping pain that was now accompanied by a stabbing headache and all the time he could feel himself slipping farther and farther.

They finished the third look through of this information and Crowley threw the papers up in the air, screaming as they fluttered to the ground.

"This is hopeless!" the demon screamed, slumping until he sat on the floor, back pressed against the couch. He glanced at his watch. Aziraphale knew the time, they had something like four hours left now.

Crowley buried his face in his hands.

Aziraphale sighed and un-tucked a shaky hand from under the afghan, settling it on his friend's shoulder.

Crowley reached up and put his over top, squeezing Aziraphale's fingers.

"Don't blame yourself, dear," Aziraphale said, his breathing labored—he had to breathe too. It was almost like he was simply human, and he supposed without his powers, he was.

Crowley let out a scoffing sound that ended in a sob. "Don't talk like that. It's not over yet."

Aziraphale sighed and closed his eyes as he rolled onto his side so he could better see the demon. "I know. But if it doesn't work out and I…well, please. Just don't think it was somehow your fault."

Crowley used his free hand to cover his eyes, drawing his knees up to his chest.

Aziraphale started coughing and couldn't stop until his eyes watered. Crowley was sitting on the couch next to him, propping him up as he gasped for breath.

"Easy, Aziraphale," Crowley murmured, grabbing a wet cloth he'd kept on the coffee table and using it to bathe Aziraphale's brow. "I'll get you some water."

He gently lowered the angel back against the pillows and Aziraphale watched as the demon got up to fetch a glass of water.

He groaned and closed his eyes, shifting.

Something rustled against his elbow and he frowned, plucking a paper from where it had almost gotten lost between the couch cushions.

He blinked to clear his blurry vision and fought to focus on the words.

He gasped, an epiphany coming over him.

"Crowley!" he called weakly.

The demon came dashing back in, sloshing the water onto the floor. "What's wrong?" he demanded.

Aziraphale handed him the paper. "That cult we broke up!"

"The one that was drugging and raping girls in Satan's name?" Crowley snarled, snatching the paper. "What about those bastards?"

"The leader swore he would get to us."

"He's in jail, angel," Crowley said.

"Yes, but not all of them were! Some of the members got awa." Aziraphale fought to sit up, failed and sank back against the couch, clutching his chest. "And he almost got off because there was no proof. Hardly anyone came to testify."

"But what does that have to do with the burglary…? Wait…"

Crowley scrambled through the mess on the coffee table, throwing papers left and right until he found the scrap of paper they had written the names of the burglary victims on. "That's it! That's the connection, these were all people who had something to do with getting them put away. Either testifying against the cult because they knew the victims or…" He scrambled in his pocket and produced the ticket receipt they had taken off of the thief. "…because they were part of it."

"Trying to get out of the country," Aziraphale nodded. "Someone from the cult must be trying to start it up again now that the leader is in prison. But who?"

Crowley's face changed to something dark and dangerous. "The demon who started it in the first place."

Aziraphale blinked, having a hard time following all of this. Crowley sat on the coffee table, leaning toward him.

"Angel, are you certain it was a demon who attacked you?"

Aziraphale thought back though his muddled head and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I'm sure. I felt his presence. Thought it was you at first. Definitely demonic."

Crowley looked a little insulted at first, but nodded. "There's one demon I know who goes in for that kind of thing, but I didn't think he was in town, otherwise I might have thought of him back when we worked the case originally."

He turned to grab his sunglasses and coat, pulling it on.

"You're going after him," Aziraphale said softly.

"I'm getting you a cure, angel," Crowley told him firmly as he turned back around and reached out to clasp Aziraphale's hand. "You just hold on, okay? I promise I'll be back."

"I should go with you…" But he couldn't even sit up. Pain ripped through him and he collapsed against the pillows again with a whimper.

"No, angel," Crowley said, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Just hold on. And when I come back I'll have the cure, and then it will be—what's that annoying thing you say?—Tickety-boo."

Aziraphale smiled slightly as Crowley tucked the afghan around him more tightly. "I know you will."

Crowley tried a smile and turned before Aziraphale called him back.

"Crowley? You know you have always been my best friend."

Crowley's eyes shone with tears and he tugged his sunglasses out of his pocket to put on. "Same to you," he murmured.

Aziraphale smiled, but knew it didn't reach his eyes.

"I'll be back before you know it, angel," Crowley said. "I promise."

Aziraphale nodded and Crowley dashed out of the bookshop.

Aziraphale slumped back against the pillows, feeling disconcerted for a reason he didn't entirely understand. What if they were missing something else? Why couldn't he get that feeling out of his head.

And then he realized exactly what it was.

That demon had said "I'll give you about twenty-four hours." It was as if he was expecting something to happen before the time was up.

Expecting them.

Crowley was walking right into a trap and he was only thinking about getting the cure for Aziraphale.

That demon would kill him.

Aziraphale frantically pulled himself to his feet, grabbed his coat and pulled it on clumsily as he staggered over to the wall where his sword hung. He grabbed it, slipping it into his coat as he somehow managed to make it to the pavement outside his shop.

A cab was coming down the road and he hailed it frantically.

It stopped and he practically collapsed inside of it, breathing heavily.

"You alright, gov?" the cabbie asked, looking worried and wary of his passenger.

"Quite all right," Aziraphale gasped. "But please, I'm in a hurry. I'll pay extra."

He gave the address of the disbanded cult, figuring that was as likely a place as any.

The cabbie shook his head but drove quickly. Aziraphale simply tried to keep hold of himself and consciousness, hoping he wouldn't be too late to save his friend.

Crowley screeched to a halt in front of the abandoned building, only giving one second of thought that this might not be the place.

But he didn't think Agares would fly far from the coop, especially if he was trying to recruit again.

Crowley burst through the doors. The place had been torn up when the police had raided it but Crowley remembered the back room where he and Aziraphale had originally stopped a terrible 'ceremony' from happening.

He strode in that direction, admittedly without much of a plan other than getting what he came for.

"Agares!" he cried. "I know you're here, you bastard!"

He tore aside a curtain and stepped into the back room.

A figure dressed in dark robes was standing there with his back turned to Crowley.

"Ah, there you are, Crowley. I was frankly expecting you a lot sooner." He turned and lowered his hood, revealing a slightly less-than-human face. "Tell me. How is your angelic friend? Not doing too well by now, I imagine. Thus why you're here."

Crowley growled, stepping forward. "I don't know what game you're playing, but you're going to give me the antidote or—"

"Or what?" Agares asked, raising a mocking eyebrow. "It doesn't look like you came very well-equipped. In fact, you seem to have failed to see my whole point."

He snapped his fingers and Crowley suddenly found himself stuck to the floor, runes glowing red in a circle around him. He tried to get out of it, but couldn't.

"You bastard! Let me out!"

Agares tutted. "No, not yet. Not until you are willing to serve me. You see, you and that pesky angel ruined my cult. I had a lot going up here. Finally got a field position from Hell now that you're no longer working for the home office, and really had a good thing going here, and then you and that bumbling halo stumble in and sabotage my entire operation!"

"You were hurting people! Innocent people!" Crowley snarled.

"Exactly. I'm a demon. That's what I do." Agares strode toward him, taking something from the back of his robe. It was a whip. Crowley gulped and eyed it warily as Agares used the handle to lift his chin. "In only a couple more hours, your angel will be dead forever. But, if you swear your fealty to me, to act as my slave, gather more adoring followers to my fold, then I will send the antidote as a gift. I would, of course, never allow you to see the halo again, but he would be alive."

Crowley snarled. "If you think for a minute that I will go along with that, you are insane."

Agares shrugged. "Well, there's always the second option if you want to be stubborn. I can kill you now and your angel will die alone and in terrible agony."

Crowley's stomach twisted and he looked away, but there was no way he could agree to what Agares was asking. He knew what the runes were he was standing it. A very powerful binding spell. If he were to make any agreement in his current position, he would have a bugger of a time breaking it—providing he was even in his right mind to do so. No, he would have to come up with another plan. If only he hadn't been so stupid as to walk in without one.

"So, Crowley?" Agares asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's it going to be?"

Crowley glowered and him and hissed. Enough of an answer.

Agares sighed. "Very well then. Though rest assured, I will take my time with you. A blood sacrifice will be good for my new church."

He raised the whip, and Crowley ducked his head.

But just then, the sounds of staggering footsteps came through the doorway.

"Get away from him!"

Crowley spun around, eyes wide, to see Aziraphale standing there, or, rather leaning against the doorway, breathing heavily and looking like he was going to fall down.

"Angel," Crowley called half in warning, maybe a little in relief, though he didn't really know why.

Agares stepped forward. "My, you are a resilient one, aren't you? I should have upped the dose."

Aziraphale raised an arm and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. "I think you did well enough, thank you."

"I don't really see what your plan is here. After all, you can barely stand. What do you think you're going to accomplish?"

"I came more prepared than my partner," Aziraphale said and before Crowley had time to be offended, he whipped his other arm up from where it had been hidden in his coat and revealed his sword. With a flourish, it burst into flame.

Agares actually stepped back.

"I'm not finished yet, you foul fiend," Aziraphale said firmly, planting his feet as well as he could.

Agares lunged at him with the whip, but Aziraphale got his sword up in time to hack off the tip of it. The demon snarled and jumped back, leaving Aziraphale to make his way toward Crowley.

"Are you all right, my dear?" he asked as he glanced down at the runes.

"Fine," Crowley said. "How are you even on your feet?"

"Frankly, I don't know," Aziraphale admitted and slashed at the runes with his sword. Crowley felt their power break and was across the room, slamming Agares against the wall in an instant.

"Where is it?! Where is the antidote?" he demanded, pressing his face close.

Agares snarled and tried to shove him off, but Crowley slammed him back against the wall.

"Tell me!"

Agares held up his hands. "Fine. I'll show you, it's right over there."

Crowley eyed him warily as he pointed to an alter on one side of the room. "Aziraphale, cover him."

Aziraphale stood by menacingly with the blade, practically swaying on his feet. Crowley shoved Agares away from the wall and he made his way over to the alter.

"Just one thing," Agares said before he spun around and looped the whip around Crowley's neck. The demon was yanked backwards, choking, grasping at the unforgiving leather. It must have runes worked into it because it was actually doing some damage. He couldn't breathe and he was feeling like his windpipe was going to be crushed. His glasses fell off, falling to the floor with a crack, and as they did, he saw the fiery glow approaching from the side.

Agares screamed in pain and his hold on Crowley suddenly gave out. Crowley collapsed to the ground, choking for a breath, yanking the whip from his throat. He spun around to see Agares falling to the floor while Aziraphale pulled the sword from his middle.

Crowley staggered to his feet as Agares hit the ground.

Aziraphale watched him for a second, before the sword slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground and extinguishing. A soft gasp escaped him and he started to collapse.

"Angel!" Crowley croaked, dashing forward and catching Aziraphale as he slumped.

Aziraphale was shaking uncontrollably and Crowley cradled him tightly.

"Why'd you have to go do that?" he asked, but gently. "You've completely worn yourself down now!"

"Had to save you," Aziraphale whispered. "Walking into a trap…"

Crowley ran a hand through Aziraphale's curls before he gently lowered him to the ground, ripping his coat off to pillow the angel's head. "Hold on."

He crawled to Agares's side and grabbed the demon by the front of his coat. He was still gurgling.

"The antidote," Crowley growled. "Where?"

He dug his hand into the wound, making the demon groan. "Where I said it was."

Crowley was on his feet and racing to the alter, looking through the boxes sitting on top of it. A small wooden one had two bottles and a syringe in it. He raced back over to Agares.

"Which is it?" he demanded.

The demon just smiled. Crowley shook him hard, causing his head to slam against the floor.

"Which one is it, damn it?!"

"Crowley…" Aziraphale breathed, then started coughing, curling up on the ground as it looked like another bout of pain was ripping through him, a moan escaping his lips.

Crowley was torn between his friend and the demon who was quickly discorperating. He gritted his teeth.

"Look, you've been had, you bastard. We won! What does it matter now?"

"It matters because of the look on your face," Agares said, then discorporated, crumbling to ash in Crowley's grasp.

The demon snarled. "No!" He lashed a hand through the ash, scattering it across the floor.

He grabbed the box and opened both the vials, smelling them. They were both the same. There was no antidote.

He felt numb, slumped on the floor with the sound of Aziraphale's labored breathing beside him. He had failed his friend. He was going to lose him.

"Crowley," Aziraphale managed to whisper again, and his hand found the demon's knee.

Crowley turned back to him, grabbing his hand tightly and just holding on, as if that would somehow keep his dearest friend there. As if something unholy like him could keep an angel alive.

Unholy…wait…

Crowley reached for the box again and shut it tightly, before he tucked it into his pocket and turned back to Aziraphale. "Hold on, angel. Hold on just a little bit longer. I have an idea."

Aziraphale was mostly unconscious as Crowley heaved him up and over his shoulder, carrying his trembling body back to the Bentley. After that, it was only a very speedy drive back to the bookshop.

Once there, Crowley deposited Aziraphale back on the couch, covering his shivering form in blankets as he ran to the kitchen.

He knew Aziraphale kept a jug of holy water for emergencies under the sink with the cleaners. He grabbed a pair of rubber gloves and tugged them on, then grabbed the holy water, carrying it carefully back out to the angel.

"Just hold on a little longer," he pleaded with the unconscious figure of his friend and set the holy water on the table, opening the box with the poison.

He grabbed one of the vials they had been using earlier and dribbled a little of the poison into it. Then he took the holy water and carefully, carefully dribbled some of that into the vial as well.

The reaction was immediate. It glowed almost bright enough to hurt his eyes, but as soon as the light died down, Crowley could feel that it was no longer dark and demonic.

He prayed this would work and hoped that Someone was listening.

He took the syringe and filled it with his new concoction then returned to Aziraphale's side, and sat down on the edge of the couch reaching under the blankets to pull the angel's arm free.

"This had better work," he muttered, perhaps still praying. "I can't…I can't lose him. So please…"

He took a deep breath and injected the mixture into Aziraphale.

For a long moment, nothing happened and then the angel twitched, then jerked to one side, then the other, distressed sounds coming from his throat, before he cried out and writhed violently on the couch.

"Aziraphale?!" Crowley cried, terrified that he had killed his friend. He grabbed the angel tightly, trying to keep him from hurting himself and Aziraphale twisted and turned in his grasp, crying out in what seemed to be agony.

"Please, no," Crowley practically sobbed. "Please!"

Aziraphale suddenly fell limp in his arms, and for a moment, Crowley stared in horror, before he realized that the angel was breathing more steadily, and some color had returned to his face. He also didn't feel like he was burning up anymore.

"Angel?" Crowley whispered, cupping his friend's face.

Aziraphale's eyes fluttered briefly. "Crow—ly," he murmured before they slid shut again.

But this time he just looked like he was sleeping. Crowley sagged and buried his face in the angel's curls for a moment in relief. And perhaps he even mumbled a prayer of thanks.

They really needed to stop getting into these sorts of situations. It might cause him to discorporate someday.

"Here you go. Tea and your favorite pastries from that place down the street."

Aziraphale smiled at the demon, but was also feeling a little annoyed. Crowley hadn't left his side hardly at all the last few days during his recovery, and though he understood it, it was starting to become a little claustrophobic. The demon really was a terrible mother hen when he wanted to be.

"Thank you, dear," Aziraphale said, clearing a spot on the table for the tea. He had been spending the first day out of bed cleaning up and reorganizing all the files he and Crowley had torn through during their search for Agares.

"How are you feeling?" Crowley asked anxiously, standing to one side, hovering.

Aziraphale gave a small sigh. "My dear boy, I promise you I am fine."

Crowley's shoulders slumped and he finally sat at the table. "I know, it's just…" He trailed off and looked away.

"I know," Aziraphale told him kindly. Honestly, he was just as shaken. He'd never been so close to death before, especially when he knew he wouldn't get the chance to get another body. It was terrifying.

But he was well again now, thanks to Crowley's quick thinking, and even if he was still a little weak, he could feel himself getting stronger and his powers coming back by the day.

To test it out, he performed a tiny miracle to warm the pastry.

Crowley glowered at him. "I told you to stop that! You're still recovering."

"And I need to work my way back into miracles again," Aziraphale said. "I promise I will not over tax myself."

"Good." Crowley shifted slightly, then got up. "Look, I ah, might need to run an errand…"

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, just a thing, you know…"

"Crowley, have you found a new job?" Aziraphale asked him.

The demon stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Er, no."

Aziraphale tutted. "You are a terrible liar, dear."

Crowley looked down. "Yeah, well, there's no way I'm letting you back out there yet."

Aziraphale pinned him with a look. "I've been in bed for a week, dear. And, honestly, I'm not thrilled with the idea of you going alone anywhere right now."

Crowley opened his mouth to protest, but then he slumped back down in his chair and tentatively took a pastry and a cup of tea. "Well, I suppose I could give it a couple more days…"

Aziraphale smiled and sipped his tea. "I'm sure it will hold. In the meantime, I do really need help cleaning up this mess…"

Crowley groaned but Aziraphale felt good that they both seemed to be lighter now. He knew this certainly wouldn't be the last time one of their lives was put in danger, but he also knew that as long as they stuck together then they had a much better chance of surviving whatever came next.

It was good to know that you had someone to count on like that.

Next Friday will be the first chapter of the sequel to "Above and Below" so if you haven't read that one yet, check it out in time for the sequel :)