Here we are at the last part! I know you have all been waiting for this one ;) Thanks to my guest reviewers!
Also, to the Guest who asked about Azi's sword-I kind of like to think that it is his flaming sword which was just randomly in the bookshop after it was 'rebuilt' post-armegeddidn't. As if someone knew it might come in handy ;)
Part Three
It had been too long since Aziraphale had properly trained with his sword and it showed.
Two seconds into the fight, Gabriel had sliced him across the upper arm. He hissed and retreated a step as Gabriel smirked, kicking one of the rotting pews out of the way to advance.
"As I suspected, you're hardly up for this, are you? If you surrender now, Aziraphale, I might just have mercy on you. But I promise that if you go on, I'll simply hack you into the ground, and then decide what to do with whatever is left of you."
Aziraphale drew himself up straighter, and glowered at the archangel. "I'm not going to give up so easy this time." And he wouldn't. Before, he had been alone against Gabriel. It was amazing the vindication you could find when you had something behind you to protect.
Gabriel chuckled cruelly. "Really, Aziraphale, you expect me to believe that? What is this, some misguided form of revenge for what I did to you?"
"I could ask the same of you, but I already know the answer," Aziraphale said and glanced toward Crowley. His friend looked terrible, and he tried to share a little strength with the obviously terrified demon. "And no. It's not for me. I'm doing this for my friend."
He lunged forward, surprising Gabriel, and they traded several blows. This time it was the archangel driven back with a cut to the wrist.
Gabriel growled. "Alright, I guess I'm not going to go easy on you."
His wings flared in challenge and he lunged upward with a strong flap, pushing forward, attacking Aziraphale from above. The lesser angel raised his sword and caught the blow, but the force drove him to his knees. He gritted his teeth, then quickly shifted, forcing Gabriel's sword to one side before he kicked out at the other angel's legs, causing him to stumble. Aziraphale swiftly leapt backwards, aided by his wings and got one of the broken pews between himself and Gabriel as the archangel renewed his advance, furious.
"What exactly do you think you'll accomplish here?" he demanded. "You can't possibly think you'll win?"
Aziraphale blocked several more blows, before he leapt, wings aiding his agility and height, and came down behind Gabriel so he was now between the archangel and Crowley. Just in case Gabriel tried something.
"I have faith," Aziraphale said simply.
"You…" Gabriel's mouth twisted, obviously failing to come up with something despicable enough to call Aziraphale and simply lunged forward. Aziraphale was ready for him this time though. He leapt forward to meet his opponent and blocked Gabriel's blow, at the same time, manipulating one of the pews so that it flew through the air and struck the archangel broadside.
Gabriel flew through the air in a mass of splinters and lay in a heap with the broken wood, unmoving.
Aziraphale huffed a sigh of relief, extinguishing his sword and hurriedly turned toward Crowley.
His heart clenched at the sight, finally getting a good look at the demon. Crowley's eyes were wide and dull with pain, and he was shaking uncontrollably, his breathing labored. Aziraphale reached out and touched his friend's cheek gently, trying to avoid the horrific burns covering most of his skin. "Oh, my dear. I'm so sorry it took me so long."
"You came," Crowley said hoarsely.
"I'll get you out of here, just a moment…" Aziraphale turned to the chains that held Crowley when he saw the demon tense, and his eyes blow wide.
"Angel!"
Aziraphale spun back around just in time, raising his sword to block the blow Gabriel aimed at his back. His own back was now pressed against the alter and he could practically feel Crowley's frustration at his helplessness, hearing the sounds of the demon weakly pulling at the chains.
"I really hope you didn't think you could get rid of me that easily," Gabriel sneered.
"Wishful thinking," Aziraphale huffed, and pushed forward, causing the flames of holy fire to flare up on his sword again.
Gabriel sneered and moved swiftly. The hilt of his sword smashed into Aziraphale's jaw, causing the angel to stagger back. Before he could recover, Gabriel stabbed toward his chest.
Aziraphale twisted at the last moment so that the blade pierced his shoulder instead of his heart. White hot pain tore through him and he screamed.
Gabriel kicked him in the chest and Aziraphale flew backwards to smash into a pile of pews, the wood breaking under him as he fell into a tangle of limbs and wings. His sword flew out of his hand and extinguished.
"Aziraphale!" Crowley cried.
Gabriel was already on top of him, straddling Aziraphale's hips and pressing his sword to his throat. "Looks like check-mate, Aziraphale."
Aziraphale snarled and tried to get his wings up to batter at Gabriel, but the archangel grabbed one of them and twisted until Aziraphale felt something pop and numbing tingles exploded down the appendage in accompaniment with his strangled scream.
"I'd say it's been fun, but…" Gabriel shrugged. "We both know it hasn't."
Aziraphale's eyes darkened with the pain, but he was reaching for his sword and as Gabriel pressed his chin upward with the sharp blade to his throat, he saw it only inches from his left hand. He took a breath, and stretched, fingers grasping…
The sword met his palm and flared to life and he lashed out almost blindly at Gabriel, catching his wing with the flame.
Gabriel reared back with a cry and released Aziraphale for the moment to batt at his feathers as they burned and smoked up the room with a dark, cloying scent that made Aziraphale want to gag.
"You little bastard," Gabriel snarled as he spun around while Aziraphale rolled out of the way and climbed to his feet. "You'll pay!"
He lunged, but he was past furious while Aziraphale was keeping his cool. He simply waited, then stepped to the side, closing his eyes as he thrust with his sword.
Gabriel stopped as Aziraphale felt the jarring of his wrist and finally looked down. The sword had skewered the archangel through the side.
Both of them were still and silent. Gabriel's feathers were still smoldering and Aziraphale breathed a short sigh as he withdrew his blade with a wince.
Gabriel fell to his knees, astonishment on his face. His sword fell from his hand and Aziraphale kicked it to one side, before pointing his own blade, still blazing very close to Gabriel's throat. The archangel gulped, leaning back to avoid the flame.
"I believe I won the fight," Aziraphale stated, his injured arm pressed tightly against his chest to minimize movement. "You had best go back to Heaven. See that wound taken care of before you discorperate."
Gabriel blinked, and then nodded slowly as he began to climb to his feet again, his face reddening with fury. "Oh, I'll go back to Heaven. But don't think I won't leave without a parting gift. I'll leave you alone after this, Aziraphale. For good. Because you will be alone. For good."
Aziraphale saw what he meant a second later. He was already moving as Gabriel reached behind him and grabbed a jug that had been sitting beside the alter Crowley was chained to.
"No!" Aziraphale leapt forward, just as Gabriel sent the arc of water toward Crowley.
Aziraphale slammed across the alter and his injured friend, a second before the holy water hit his back and wings which he had brought up to protect Crowley.
He lay there for a long second, dazed and shocked as water dripped from his feathers onto the floor harmlessly as if his wings were an umbrella in the rain.
Funny, that. He'd shared his wing as an umbrella the first day he and Crowley had met. Some things never changed.
But the demon underneath him was non-responsive, and Aziraphale eased himself upright, carefully miracling the water from himself so that it evaporated safely and didn't drip on Crowley.
The demon was pale as death and looked unconscious. Aziraphale looked around quickly but Gabriel was gone. That was one thing to be thankful for at least. He turned gratefully back to his injured friend and forced the chains apart to free Crowley.
"It's over now, my dear. Oh, just look at you…" He swallowed hard and wet his lips. "Don't worry, I'll get you taken care of. Oh, Crowley, I'm sorry."
"s'not your fault," Crowley murmured.
Aziraphale huffed slightly and ran a hand briefly through the demon's hair to soothe him. Of course he would choose to hear that. "Just hush, dear. Let me take care of this. It might hurt a little…"
He closed his eyes and raised his hands, manipulating what holy water was left in Crowley's wounds out of his body and into the air. Crowley gasped and his back arched against the pain, reaching out and grabbing hold of Aziraphale's coat with one hand.
Aziraphale opened his eyes and saw the beads of water floating in the air above Crowley. He waved his hand and they fell harmlessly to the floor. Crowley slumped back onto the alter with a soft whimper and finally seemed to fall unconscious, his hand slipping limply from Aziraphale's coat.
"There now, dear, I'll get you out of here." He was still furious, if not surprised, that Gabriel had set up in an old church. Of course he would want to make this as uncomfortable for Crowley as possible. And the longer they were here, the longer it would take Crowley to heal.
He slipped his arms under the demon's shoulders and knees, and gritted his teeth as the action hurt his shoulder abominably, but he didn't have much choice. He couldn't make Crowley walk out of here, even if he were conscious. It would just cause him further injury. He was just glad he had parked the Bentley outside.
Then a rumbling began and Aziraphale felt the obvious presence of angels. His breath caught in his throat, and he clutched Crowley to him as one of the windows began to crack.
He had only seconds to think and decided to miracle their escape. He closed his eyes and opened his wings, and summoned his power just as the windows blew open with thousands of shards of colored glass…
They crashed onto the floor of the bookshop. His haste and exhaustion had made the landing rough, and he winced for himself and Crowley. He was dizzy, and pushed himself onto his elbows as he crawled to his friend, his shoulder and wing aching terribly.
"Crowley?" he tried, seeing his friend lying on the floor, completely still, clothing half burned off from the abuse.
Aziraphale couldn't exert another ounce of energy, however, even for his friend. He slumped, one wing lying across Crowley in a protective gesture, as he collapsed beside him, cheek pressed against the floor as he thought how glad he was that he had put up that warding.
No one would be able to get to them here.
That was the last thought he had before he drifted into darkness.
"Angel?"
Aziraphale started awake and instantly felt his body sing with pain. He gasped, realizing he was lying on his injured wing and it was doing him no favors.
"Angel," the croak came again and Aziraphale finally blinked his eyes open again, coming face to face with the demon lying next to him on the floor.
Crowley's face was pale and covered in burns, his eyes wide and worried, as well as dulled by pain. Aziraphale's good wing was draped across him protectively and the angel pulled it back, instantly regretting the action as he watched Crowley shiver.
Aziraphale forced himself up into a sitting position, folding his good wing across his back. His injured one hung awkwardly at his side. He didn't think it was broken, but had the suspicion it was dislocated.
"Crowley, my dear boy…" he said before stopping and just shaking his head. "Don't worry, I'll get you taken care of."
Crowley didn't say anything, but his chest spasmed and he started to cough, rolling weakly onto his side with a wince. Blood came up, and Aziraphale's brow pinched in worry. It seemed Crowley's body had been damaged in more ways than he could tell from the brief examination he had made before they'd had to escape the church.
"There, there, dear," he murmured, reaching for his pocket handkerchief, but finding it was soaked in blood from his own wound, so he used the corner of his coat to wipe Crowley's mouth instead—he would have to clean it anyway. "I'll have you right as rain very soon, you'll see. Just wait a moment while I fetch some supplies and I'll get you settled."
He somehow pulled himself to his feet, suppressing a groan, his bad wing dragging uncomfortably on the floor because he couldn't tuck it against his back. He didn't bother to put them back on the ethereal plane however as it would just make the injury even more uncomfortable.
He went to the washroom to pull out the first aid kit he had taken to keeping around—never knew when they would need it—and realized with a sinking feeling that he was still dripping blood on the floor.
The wound in his shoulder was still bleeding apparently. And because it had been from an angelic weapon, it would take a while to heal.
He wanted to get back to Crowley quickly, but there was really nothing to be done about it. He couldn't help his friend if he was bleeding all over the place.
So he gingerly pulled his coat and waistcoat off, the process difficult and painful. His shoulder did not want to move very well. He peeled the ruined shirt from his shoulder, the blood sticking to the wound, and winced at the damage. Gabriel's sword had gone all the way through—no wonder it was still bleeding.
He took a deep breath and opened the kit. He pulled out some of the butterfly bandages and used them to close the wound as best he could, then packed it with gauze and taped more gauze over top of that. It was a messy job, but it was the best he could do one-handed.
His wing, he realized grimly, Crowley would have to help him with as there was no way he could manage that by himself. So he was just going to have to live with that for a little longer until Crowley had the strength to help.
He swiftly gathered his supplies, put on a clean shirt, and hurried back down to Crowley.
He spread a sheet over the couch and then hurried to the library where Crowley still lay on his side, motionless except for the jerky rise and fall of his chest from his labored breathing.
"Alright, Crowley, I just need to move you to the couch and then I'll begin to tend your wounds," he reassured his friend.
Crowley barely mumbled a reply, but his eyes flew open and he cried out as Aziraphale bent to heave him up again.
It was still not pleasant for his shoulder, and he could feel it starting to bleed again before he deposited Crowley, a little more heavily than intended, onto the couch.
He huffed a breath, then gently comforted his friend as Crowley had another coughing fit, leaving him wheezing and clutching the sheet underneath of him for support, more blood dripping from his lips.
"Shh," Aziraphale hushed. "Now just bear with me, Crowley, because I'm sure this won't be pleasant."
He began to undress Crowley to access his wounds. He tried to do it as gently as possible, but the process was very unpleasant since the fibers were sticking to the wounds everywhere the holy water had left its mark.
Crowley fought against him weakly. "Hurts, angel…" he groaned.
Aziraphale felt his heart clench in his chest. "I know, dear. I'm so sorry." He didn't bother to lie and say it would be over soon. There was no way this would be over soon. He realized this with a sinking feeling as he saw each inch of Crowley's tortured flesh revealed. Crowley met his eyes and seemed to see what he wasn't saying, but he gave a small nod instead, as if grateful for the truth. Then he clenched his jaw and braced himself for enduring it.
As each new injury was revealed Aziraphale felt more and more fury toward Gabriel. He had never hoped more that another creature was in pain right now, but he genuinely hoped that the wound he had given the archangel smarted something awful.
It wasn't just the small holy water burns that peppered Crowley's skin, it was the large patches on his back and feet that had blistered, evidence of where he'd touched the holy ground in the church.
But the worst of it all, where the spots on Crowley's stomach and around his throat that were in the obvious shape of Gabriel's hand, as if the archangel had held him down with his hand coated in holy water, burning into the demon's flesh. Aziraphale realized then what Crowley must have felt when he saw the bruises of the same shape across his face after the demon had rescued him from Heaven.
Once he had assessed the damage, he healed what he could—which wasn't much in his current state, and for the obvious fact that healing a demon wasn't entirely easy. But he was able to heal most of the internal damage, thus aiding Crowley's breathing, and also to force the handprint burns to fade to almost nothing.
After that, the worst part came.
He went to fetch a bowl and cloth and added a little soap before taking up the painful process of cleaning the wounds as gently as he could.
But the first few drops of water than landed on Crowley's skin had him nearly flying off the couch, eyes wide with terror.
"Crowley, my dear, it's just me!" Aziraphale said, nearly spilling the bowl as he reached up to grip Crowley's shoulder to calm him. "I'm just cleaning your wounds. Only a little soap and water."
Crowley shuddered and let out a small choking sob as Aziraphale eased him back onto the couch, resting a hand gently on his head until the demon settled again.
He continued debriding the wounds and every whimper that passed Crowley's lips or flinch that ran through his body sent a pang through Aziraphale's heart. Why couldn't Heaven and Hell just leave them alone? They only wanted to help people here on earth. What was so bad about that? Why did they have to suffer so?
Finally, the horrid task was through and Aziraphale set aside the red-tinged bowl and picked up the first aid kit.
There was a small tube of burn cream—probably not enough for all the spots that covered Crowley, but he decided to use it on the worst ones at least. He wasn't sure it would work on a demon, but it was worth a try.
As he worked, the cream seeming at least to not cause Crowley any more pain, the demon finally opened his eyes again.
"You 'kay…'ngel?"
Aziraphale met his friend's concerned eyes with a small smile. "Oh, nothing too bad, dear. Don't worry about me right now."
Crowley didn't look convinced, but couldn't really do anything about it in his current condition. Aziraphale hoped he wouldn't distress himself with his condition.
"'Zira? Wha' did'e want?" Crowley slurred.
Aziraphale paused before returning to a nasty spot on Crowley's belly. "It's not important, dear. He didn't get it. You don't need to worry."
Crowley reached out and grabbed his wrist, making Aziraphale turn back to meet his eyes.
"Terr'ble liar, 'ngel," he accused.
Aziraphale sighed and finally turned to him. "I promise I'll tell you everything when you're feeling better. I don't really have the energy right now."
Crowley seemed to accept that for now at least, and let his eyes fall to half-mast again.
Aziraphale finished up and taped gauze over the burns, before tucking a blanket around Crowley. He was worried. Just because Gabriel hadn't gotten his hands on that map, there was no telling if he, or Hell if they caught wind of what Gabriel had truly been planning, would try again. And to what end? Mr. Wulf was just a human after all, even if he did seem to know more than most.
But then, Aziraphale and Crowley had come to understand that you should never underestimate humans, and John Wulf was from the bloodline of the great warrior Beowulf himself. Perhaps everything would work out after all. Perhaps he would find some place to keep the map where it would, hopefully, never see the light of day again.
Aziraphale looked down at his sleeping friend and Crowley stirred and whimpered, reaching up from under the blanket. "'Zira…?"
"I'm here," Aziraphale said, patting his hand as sudden exhaustion overcame him. He took one look at Crowley's pleading eyes and shifted the demon a bit on the couch so he could sit at his head and position his injured wing over the side at a more comfortable angle; the other one he curled around and over his injured friend. Crowley seemed comforted by this and rested his head in Aziraphale's lap as the angel pulled the blanket tighter around him before he lay back against the couch and closed his eyes.
He wondered when Heaven and Hell would finally decide to leave them alone.
The recovery wasn't pleasant. After a couple days of rest that Aziraphale hadn't really meant to take but his body obviously demanded, Crowley at least was able to sit up and had enough energy to help Aziraphale with his wing. It was rather bad off, having been dislocated this whole time, but it felt a lot better once it was popped back into place, though he would need to rest up for a while before using it again. His shoulder also still smarted, and forced him to keep it in a sling, which hampered his ability to help Crowley, who's feet were still painful to walk around on, not to mention the strain on the rest of his body.
The demon especially had a difficult time of it, as his entire body was covered in wounds and it was hard for him to find a comfortable position to rest in. But at least the burns were healing, albeit slowly. He looked a bit less ghastly after about a week of recovery at least, even if the wounds were still in the process of fading.
They were also on edge, because there was no telling if Heaven or Hell would try anything. So far, there had been nothing but some rumors that Hell's relationship with Heaven was no longer completely simpatico. But they didn't really have time to worry about what that meant for them at the moment and they should be safe within the bookshop's warding, but at the same time, they would eventually have to venture out. They did have a job to do, after all.
But today Aziraphale was waiting for a visitor, and as he was in the kitchenette making tea a bit awkwardly with his arm in a cast, he heard the bell to the door ring.
He huffed in annoyance and simply snapped his fingers to boil the water and flicked his wrist to let the kettle pour itself into the teapot before he went to answer the door.
He grabbed his sword before he did. If he were paranoid, he didn't necessarily see it as a bad thing.
But it was his expected guest at the door instead of one of their enemies.
"Mr. Wulf, please come in," Aziraphale said with a smile, inviting the man inside and setting his sword back in the umbrella stand by the door.
The man nodded and stepped into the shop, taking off the hat he had been wearing.
Aziraphale led him to the back room where Crowley was waiting, not a little suspiciously. Wulf eyed him with the look of a man who could see right through him.
"I take it this is your business partner then?"
"Yes, this is Crowley," Aziraphale said.
"You two look like you've been through it," Wulf commented.
"We have," Crowley snipped. "Though you look like you've got some scars yourself, old man."
Aziraphale blanched at his friend's rudeness, but Wulf smiled and reached out to shake the demon's hand. "It's a hard life we live."
Aziraphale sighed. Unfortunately, that was becoming more and more true. "I have tea ready, would you like some?"
Crowley instantly headed toward the kitchen. "I got it, angel."
Aziraphale looked down at his sling regrettably as Crowley limped slightly on his way to get the tea but it was better than spilling everything on the floor.
He motioned for Wulf to sit down at the table and the man took the messenger bag he had been carrying off his shoulder and set it carefully at his feet.
Crowley came back in with the tea tray and set it down as Aziraphale started handing out cups and pouring the comforting drink.
Once they had all settled, Aziraphale turned to Wulf. "Well? Is it safe?"
The man nodded, reaching for the sugar and stirring a cube into his cup. "Warded, locked away…hidden. All but forgotten."
Aziraphale nodded, admitting he felt a little relieved, yet at the same time, still somewhat on edge. He never condoned destroying artifacts, but at the same time—if there ever was a reason…
But then, you never knew if it might come in handy someday.
"Aziraphale says you have something to help us," Crowley spoke up after a few seconds.
Wulf nodded and reached into his bag, pulling out two small velvet pouches. Aziraphale and Crowley both took one and looked inside.
The angel pulled out a small medallion with old sigils of a Celtic origin.
"It's for protection and concealment," Wulf explained. "My family have used them during rough times. They will make it so you slip from the minds of your enemies. They don't work if you meet face to face, but as long as you avoid them they shouldn't have reason to come looking for you. I don't know if it will work on powerful beings such as yourselves, but…"
"It's worth a try," Crowley said and looped the pendant around his neck.
Aziraphale did the same, tucking it beneath his collar. "Thank you again, for bringing us these, Mr. Wulf. Let us know if there's ever anything we can do for you."
The man smiled as he stood and grabbed his bag. "I can handle myself. From the looks of it, you two might be the ones who need assistance. Call if you need anything."
He left the shop and Aziraphale and Crowley sat in silence for a moment, before the demon ruminatively stared into his tea, fingering the pendant around his neck.
"You think it will actually work, angel?" he asked quietly.
Aziraphale sighed. "There's no way of knowing, really. We can only hope, I suppose."
Crowley sighed and slumped in his chair, lines of pain and weariness showing heavily on his face. "It seems all we do is hope anymore, Aziraphale. It was supposed to be different. Now that we're free. But it's almost worse. Now we're suddenly public enemy number one."
Aziraphale understood. It was hard trying to do good while being hunted down by the people they used to work for.
But in the end, as long as they stayed true to themselves, what did it really matter what anyone else thought.
"I know it can seem a bit hopeless at times," he said with a gentle smile toward Crowley. "But we also stopped an Apocalypse with an eleven-year-old boy. We're not entirely helpless, and eventually they'll realize that."
"When we're dead, maybe," Crowley muttered.
Aziraphale reached across the table and rested his hand over Crowley's wrist. "Don't fret, dear. We'll figure this out too. After all, it's possible we might have to stop another Armageddon in the future."
Crowley groaned. "Hopefully not too soon. I don't think I can take another one for a few decades."
Aziraphale smiled. "Oh, I think it will take them at least that long to organize it."
Crowley shook his head, but stared directly at the angel. "Let's just promise to always be on our side, okay angel?"
Aziraphale nodded firmly and raised his cup of tea. "Always."
They clinked cups and drank to hopefully a brighter future.
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