*blows trumpet* Marching Onward! (Ngk 8)
Another update. And we're approaching the end. *breathes sigh of relief along with everyone else* xD
So. Here's the next bit of my first Good Omens fanfic, "Angelic Lies, Demonic Truths."
For a really crappy summary as well as the first part of this fic, go here: http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/788452.html#cutid1
The second part is here:
http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/788994.html?view=9445634#t9445634
The third is here: http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/791111.html#cutid1
The fourth is here: http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/792139.html#cutid1
The fifth is here: http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/793462.html
The sixth is here: http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/795170.html#cutid1
The seventh is here: http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/798436.html#cutid1
Blah blah: Still rated 'T', still semi dark with violent bits and some language grammarians wouldn't approve of. Still has humor. A little. xD And this still might/probably will eventually get double posted to stjamespark and gaimanfanfic.
BTW, because I wrote this chapter by candlelight--long story--I was convinced it was a bit off so I recruited several lovely betas. Thank you to bakaknight, todd_fan, and goneshootin. I tried to link to you guys here but it wouldn't work so sorry for my incompetence. (I faaaiiiiil at html faaaaiiiiil even on the simplest things. I really am like Newt!) You were all a bunch of help and just great at beta-ing.
I edited my candlelight written rough draft, helped by their good advice, and so here's next chapter.
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Chapter Thirteen
Anthony J. Crowley was trying to doze in the armchair he’d miracled up next to the bed, but he couldn’t manage to drift off. Aziraphale, on the other hand, who supposedly never slept, was curled up on his side slumbering deeply with his wings wrapped around himself. The room was silent except for the occasional snuffly-sleepy noise from the angel.
Instead of falling asleep himself, Crowley ended up studying the sleeping Principality. His red streaks had continued to fade, though Crowley knew it would take awhile for Aziraphale to fully recover. His face was still drawn, his coloring paler than usual, but it was apparent he was improving. Good. The sooner Aziraphale was well again the better-Crowley wanted his apartment back to himself, after all. (1)
Really, the situation was ridiculous. The Arrangement was one thing, but having a weakened angel entirely at one’s mercy was enough to make any demon antsy. Aziraphale shouldn’t trust him like that! For that matter, Crowley ought to be betraying that trust. Any minute now…
Crowley sighed. He might as well admit, at least to himself, that he wasn’t going to betray the stupid angel’s stupid trust. Somehow, he just couldn’t. Really, over the millennia, the both of them could’ve damaged each other in so many different ways, but by and large they hadn’t. Some things other than the Plan are ineffable, after all. (2)
The demon was torn from his musings when a sound came from the living room. Crowley stood quietly, glanced at Aziraphale, who hadn’t stirred, and then extended his claws. He was skulking down the hall like a professional (skulking required more finesse than lurking, but it wasn’t as fearsome) before he realized what he was doing. He really needed to work on that whole acting-reflexively thing. Especially since most of his reflexive actions seemed to involve the angel.
The Serpent slunk the rest of the way down the hall and sprang into the living room, but there was no one there. And then he noticed his flat screen television was on, showing static.
CROWLEY?
The demon started. Any momentary relief he might have felt that there wasn’t a physical presence in his apartment was washed away by his normal paranoia. Why was Hell calling him? Hell hadn’t contacted him since the Armageddon-That-Wasn’t.
“Er, hi. It’s been a while.” Crowley thought quickly. He didn’t need official involvement right now, not with a still-recovering Aziraphale in his apartment, but he didn’t want to get himself in more trouble than he already was either.
CROWLEY. It definitely wasn’t Dagon or any of the usual contacts, but the voice did sound somewhat familiar. HAS ANYTHING UNUSUAL HAPPENED LATELY?
“Unusual?” Crowley asked, his voice deceptively calm. They know. They know about Hastur. But what else do they know? He hoped they knew nothing about Aziraphale.
WE BELIEVE THERE IS AN UNAUTHORIZED DEMONIC PRESENCE ON EARTH. (3) DUKE HASTUR.
“Really?” Given that demons shouldn’t be able to sound anywhere near innocent, Crowley was doing a good job of radiating blamelessness with his tone. Had he been any more blatant about it, he’d have been whistling a tune with his hands in his pockets in attempted inconspicuousness. Crowley knew exactly how the unauthorized demon had been taken care of and he feared that Hell knew how the unauthorized demon had been taken care of, but there was an unauthorized angel in his bedroom that was also vying for equal-reason-to-panic rights. Things could get bad so very quickly. They generally did, in Crowley’s experience.
YES. A pause. CROWLEY, DO YOU KNOW WHO THIS IS?
“Hell.”
I MEAN SPECIFICALLY.
“Ah.” The voice still seemed slightly familiar, but Crowley hated guessing games unless he was the one making someone else play them. “No.”
THAMUZ. I’M WORKING FOR THE COLLECTION AGENCY NOW. (4) WE REALIZED DUKE HASTUR WAS MISSING WHEN HE DIDN’T REPLY TO OUR MEMOS.
Thamuz. Crowley remembered him as a tetchy and low-ranked prat that had briefly been given possession rights and had originally been called something inane like ‘Ted.’ (5) He’d tried to get credit for the Spanish Inquisition (a purely human-made fiasco) after he’d possessed some cardinal or another, though Crowley had received the credit instead. As far as Crowley recalled, Thamuz’ main demonic ability was to make humankind torture each other (which they did on their own). Other than that, he could change into his avatar, (he only had one) which was an ugly scorpion-crab looking thing.
“Long time no hear. How’s the old lady?” The last that Crowley had heard, the lower ranking demon had taken up with a succubus.
THE SAME. ALL SHE THINKS ABOUT IS SPAWNING AND ALL SHE TALKS ABOUT IS HOW I SHOULD HAVE BEEN PROMOTED FOR MY WORK IN SPAIN.
“You did some g-bad work there,” Crowley replied noncommittally, knowing Thamuz was trying to start a fight.
HM. There was a moment of silence in which Crowley gazed warily at the bedroom door hoping a certain angel was still asleep. I MAY CONTACT YOU LATER, CROWLEY, AS I CONTINUE MY INVESTIGATION. UNTIL THEN, BE WARY. I WOULD HATE FOR ANYONE ELSE TO SHED YOUR SKIN BEFORE ME. A beat. MERELY JOKING, OF COURSE.
“Ha ha.”
The screen went black and all traces of demonic connection vanished. Crowley gave a relieved sigh, looked down, noticed he still had his claws out, and sheathed them. He’d just dodged a bullet. He hoped he could keep dodging it. (6)
Turning, Crowley went back to his bedroom. He walked in to find Aziraphale, still mostly asleep, trying to push himself into a sitting position.
“What’re you doing?” Crowley snapped, hurrying over to shove him back down.
“…you were gone…” Aziraphale mumbled.
“What, am I supposed to stay with you all the time? I’m not your nursemaid, angel.”
Aziraphale colored a little, looked hurt, and then indignant all in the matter of a few seconds. “I…thought something might’ve happened.”
Crowley gave a put-upon sigh. “Go back to sleep and don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
The smile he received in reply from the drowsy Principality was so radiant that Crowley had to shove down the return smile that threatened to surface. The demon hurriedly added, “I have to keep an eye on you when you’re in my territory, after all.”
And Aziraphale, feeling rather sensitive because he was still healing and sore, said stiffly, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” The effect of his tone was partially ruined by a yawn. “I…think I can manage…t’ make it back to the shop.”
“You’re not going anywhere. Didn’t you hear me? You’re staying put until I say otherwise. Now shut up and go back to sleep, Aziraphale,” he said, in a voice less gruff than he meant it to be. “You need the rest.”
Aziraphale stared at Crowley and the demon shifted. Finally, no doubt after translating what Crowley had really meant beneath his tone and that glare, Aziraphale smiled. “Crowley-” he started.
“Shut up, angel.”
Aziraphale kept smiling, but he held his tongue. Crowley would know what he’d meant to say, anyway, and the angel didn’t want to push his luck with the demon, who tended to become defensively vicious after he acted his nicest.
“‘Night, m’dear.” Aziraphale said after a moment, already nearly asleep again. (Humans aren’t the only species for whom sleep is healing, and anyway, Aziraphale was currently inhabiting a human body.)
Crowley watched as the angel fell asleep. Funny, but it really was true nearly all humans looked more innocent when they slept. (7) In Aziraphale’s case, Crowley thought he looked more angelic, like more of his inherent goodness exposed itself. Honestly, it made Crowley want to do something at least slightly mean, if not actually evil, to him. Like draw on his face with a magic marker or put whipped cream in his hands and tickle his nose so he’d itch it and get the stuff all over his face or something. He suppressed the urge and decided to try and go to sleep himself.
“Night,” Crowley whispered, burrowing into his chair.
1. Such disclaimers/add-ons are a necessity when one is a demon like Crowley. He couldn’t maintain any demonic credibility without them.
For instance, he told himself he rescued Fluffy the dewy-eyed kitten from a tree earlier in the week merely because the wide-eyed little girl who owned her had a mother with serious allergies. (Never mind the fact that the mother was getting allergy shots.)
2. Love, for instance, is ineffable. No matter whether it’s romantic love or friend love or familial love or what started out as a business deal between an angel and a demon and metamorphosed into something surpassing the other three, when you love someone you’re giving them the power to destroy you. But you love them, and so you trust them not to. (And, generally, they don’t. If they love you back, that is, and they’re not an overly-cruel sadist.)
3. The ironic thing was that the Contacting itself was unauthorized. After the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t, everyone had decided Crowley was to be Officially Ignored. A certain young man named Adam might have had something to do with this.
4. Hell’s collection department wasn’t like the ones on earth. As usual, Hell took an idea that had been pinched from Earth far too literally. Hell’s collection agency was literally in charge of collecting everything. Including missing paperwork or AWOL Dukes.
While Thamuz referred to Hell’s CA as ‘us,’ in reality, he was merely a clerk at the agency. He’d been assigned to round up Duke Hastur (if possible) and his overdue paperwork mostly because no one else wanted to do it.
5. Which was, other than his avatar, probably one reason he was so irritable. (Authoress resists the urge to call him ‘crabby.’) It’s hard to inspire terror if you’re named Ted-it just doesn’t have the right sound. (Ted the Terrible sounds like a children’s book about a toddler going through his terrible twos-ignore the excessive alliteration-and Ted the Torturer sounds like the chat room name of a balding, middle-aged, uncreative guy interested in dog collars and padded handcuffs.)
It should be noted that A. J. Crowley changed his name long before Ted/Thamuz did.
6. Not that he was particularly worried about Thamuz himself, more like who Thamuz would tell if he found out anything. The Serpent could handle the lower ranked demon easily, but he’d really rather prefer not to attract any more unwanted attention.
7. Sadly, this is less true if one sleeps with one’s mouth open and drools-in that instance one generally looks catatonic.
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It had been a long time since the Divine Healer had physically been on Earth. (1) Despite the fact that Raphael had somewhat missed the humans (2), he was not pleased to be there at the moment. He wished he’d never gotten the Summons. The body of the memo had merely said: ‘See Me.’ And so Raphael had gone to see the Voice, received his Orders, and then left to carry them out.
Well, actually, the Healer had attempted to rationally discuss things with the Voice (3) in an effort to change what he had Decreed, but that had only resulted in the Voice threatening to Fell Raphael if he didn’t do as he was Told. Fell him. The Divine Healer, Regent of the Sun, et al. (4)
So Raphael had ended up on Earth, hiding his presence like only a higher ranked occult/ethereal being can while hovering outside of a ritzy apartment complex. Aziraphale was there, he could feel his pain (it had lessened) as well as his Presence (which was a rather unique, earthy one). The strange thing, what had made the Archangel pause outside, was that there was also a demonic Presence close to Aziraphale’s. It wasn’t the usual smelling-like-sulphur and feeling-like-one-is-being-burnt type of demonic Presence, though. Raphael sensed this demon as a kind of metaphysical roguish smirk and the slippery feeling of snakeskin.
1. Too long, in his opinion, but many other ethereal entities felt that he had interfered too much when he was there. And he had, probably, but it wasn’t really his fault. He had been Created to heal, in every meaning of the word. Raphael could’ve given up all mortal sustenance with ease (he had a weakness for sweets, another bond he unknowingly shared with Aziraphale) but he couldn’t reduce his healings. But he’d defied Azrael one too many times and so his earthly visitations had been limited.
2. Like one would miss a somewhat smelly puppy that one had hand-reared and bottle-fed that, in return, widdled all over and bit a lot, but that one still couldn’t remain angry with because, really, he didn’t know any better.
(One such instance was when a bunch of so called devout followers had acted like they were going to burn him at the stake after he’d healed a dying child. Raphael hadn’t meant for anyone to see but he had been so busy healing the cholera-infected town that he didn’t realize he was being observed. Instead of the townsfolk thinking he was an angel or at least a blessed human, they assumed he had made a pact with a devil or was the Devil. Raphael was an Archangel and he was patient and forgiving. But when they’d met his gentle responses to their accusations with “even the Adversary doth transform himself into a messenger of light” and then had burnt his staff and his small satchel, which had been filled with sweets to take back to Heaven, Raphael had not been pleased. In fact, he’d Manifested in all his Glory out of sheer annoyance. The upside was that several nonbelievers converted, although several believers ran and hid in their cellars.)
3. Without thinking, Raphael had mentioned, in a respectful tone, that he was the Divine Healer, the one who’s very Name meant God Has Healed, and as such was the last entity that should be asked to do such a thing.
Raphael did not argue. Not as such. He was a peaceful angel, more so than a lot of them actually were. He might have debated, on the occasion, if the matter was extremely serious, but he did not argue. This ensured that either (a) he won because of the validity of his position or because his opponent was so exhausted from all of his rebuttals, or (b) he had to concede and give up the argument or resort to other tactics because really, debating calmly only does so much when the other party is bellowing, raising an occult weapon, or foaming at the mouth.
4. If he was Felled, who exactly would be recommending that Gabriel take a holiday to lower his stress? Who would change the bandages of and stick the wings back on those poor heavenly beings unfortunate enough to be Mikael’s direct subordinates? Who would continue to, for lack of a better phrase, Kiss It and Make It Better?
Gabriel wouldn’t replace him, that was for sure, he wouldn’t want to deal with all that ‘unpleasantness’ and Uriel probably couldn’t focus on one person/entity long enough to heal. Mikael-well, that was a ridiculous notion. With the thought of leaving Healing up to someone else, Raphael had forced himself to stop debating with the Metatron, even if he thought the notion of him being Felled was ludicrous.
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Suddenly Crowley stood up, his wings and claws out, his fangs bared. The flat had filled with another angelic Presence. This one was not nearly as comforting-er, familiar-as Aziraphale’s and it was stronger, too. It felt like an Archangel. Crowley didn’t want to fight an Archangel because one of them could smite a demon like him easily. Accidentally even. (1) But the alternative to fighting the Archangel was running and it was his apartment and besides, he couldn’t just leave Aziraphale laying there helpless in his bed, could he? (2) Though, what would happen if the angel was there to heal Aziraphale? Wouldn’t his presence interfere? Surely the Archangel had already sensed him, and things could get ugly for Aziraphale quickly when he or she discovered that he was unharmed even though a demon had just been nearby. Questions would be asked.
Better Crowley stayed put. At least they could face things together. Oh, he really needed to stop doing that-thinking of him and the angel as a pair. It was dangerous. Especially when another angel was around and headed in their direction. Despite Crowley’s significant discomfort at the unfamiliar angelic Presence and everything in his demonic instincts, he held back his attack. What if the Archangel really had been sent to help Aziraphale? Maybe it was that one, what’s-his-name, with the red hair and the healing and the cleanliness and the long-standing rivalry with Pestilence? Something with an ‘el’ at the end-though that fit a lot of angels-Raphael, that was it.
It was then that none other than said Raphael, the Divine Healer, strode into the bedroom. His golden-red hair was glowing with light and he looked as put-together as Crowley remembered-his wings were probably the most well groomed out of all the angels-and he held a… Crowley blinked. The Divine Healer held a staff topped by a caduceus in one hand and what looked like a fiery dagger in the other. (In actuality, it was a flaming scalpel.)
Raphael, who certainly never breathed, sighed heavily. “As if things aren’t complicated enough,” he muttered, vanishing the staff (it always was automatically waiting for him when he went to Earth) and fixing his green eyes on Crowley. “Be gone, demon, if you please,” Raphael said, matter-of-factly. He sounded very much like a doctor telling an aggravating patient’s family to ‘please leave the room.’
It took a small effort of Will for Crowley not to ‘Be gone,’ but he resisted the order because Raphael, for some reason, wasn’t fully utilizing his own Will.
Narrowing his eyes beneath his shades, Crowley glanced from Raphael to his fiery scalpel, to the way the Healer was focused on Aziraphale. Something clicked, and then the demon was between the two divine entities. If the righteous feather-duster even looked at Aziraphale wrong, Crowley was going to tear his wings off. “No clossser.”
Raphael cocked his head at the demon, who was suddenly a conglomeration of wings and claws and teeth and hissing rage, and raised an eyebrow.
“You’re going to try and hinder me?” A lot of people/beings (and everyone in action films and martial arts movies), would have said that question derisively. The Archangel, on the other hand, was honestly taken aback and asked the question sincerely.
Crowley didn’t reply, but neither did he move.
Stifling a sigh, the Healer flared up the power of his Presence and the demon staggered back, hitting the wall. Raphael moved toward the bed, but before he progressed very far, the Serpent was in the way with his yellow-gold eyes glowing quite obviously even under the sunglasses, his wings outstretched in an obvious threat, and his fangs elongated. He was again determinedly between him and the Principality. Strangely, Raphael thought, the demon’s stance seemed almost…defensive. “Are you- Do you mean to…fight me for him?”
“Yes.” It was little more than a hiss.
“You realize,” Raphael said calmly. “That I could destroy you?”
“Try it.”
“Look.” Raphael sounded pained. (3) “I’ve not been ordered to smite you. As Healer, I’d rather not, really.”
Crowley sneered. And then, “You haven’t been ordered to smite me, but you have been ordered to end Aziraphale’s existence, haven’t you?”
Raphael winced and nodded. (Angels, as a rule, do not lie-though some follow the rule better than others.) It still seemed surreal to the Healer. Mikael smote; he was good at it. Raphael, on the other hand, was not the smiting/destroying type. He was much more the kind to give an Extremely Chiding Upbraiding. (4) But the Voice had told him to take his weapon and go to Aziraphale and ‘grant him mercy.’ At first, the Archangel had thought the Metatron wanted him to heal the Principality, but the Voice had explained he wanted him ‘put out of his misery.’ Raphael, eager to clear things up, had made the mistake of telling the Metatron it wouldn’t be necessary to ‘end Aziraphale’s suffering’ because the Principality had already begun to recover. (5) The Voice had not been impressed and had not changed the orders.
“Why?” Crowley was ready to strike at any moment, but he figured if he kept the Archangel talking…what? He could talk him out of it?
Raphael blinked. “I was Ordered, of course.”
“But why?”
“Eh.” Raphael looked uneasy. Personally, he figured the Voice was still irked with Aziraphale about the whole Armageddon debacle and had seen his perfect chance to get rev-to duly punish the Principality. After all, if anyone debated the Voice’s actions, he could say he just didn’t want Aziraphale to suffer. But Raphael shouldn’t actually say that out loud. At least, Himself-Herself-would Know the truth. But would She do anything about it? “When the time comes, you’ll know what to do,” God had said. That wasn’t exactly forthcoming.(7)
“I didn’t ask,” the Healer finally replied. It was true enough.
Crowley’s rage built. He hadn’t saved his angel just to watch him be destroyed because some wanker of an Archangel-that hadn’t even asked why Aziraphale was condemned-had orders to end his existence. He’d fought Hastur for Aziraphale, he’d got blood and feathers in the Bentley (vanished away of course, but it was the thought that mattered) for Aziraphale, he’d even healed Aziraphale and, worse, tried to comfort Aziraphale; there was no way the demon was going to waste all that effort. The Principality had just started to recover, bless it. Crowley was not going to lose him.
“You’re not going to touch him,” Crowley said, going still and then, when Raphael moved, swiping his claws forward to warningly slash the Archangel’s arm.
The Divine Healer frowned and looked at the gouges, which healed. “Why would you endanger your own existence? I told you that if you leave, I won’t harm you.” The Serpent couldn’t know he had no plans to smite him either way. “Do you just want to claim the, er, ‘kill’ for yourself?”
And then Raphael, stronger entity or not, was slammed against the wall by an infuriated demon. “He’s not getting killed!”
“You really are protecting him,” Raphael said softly. “Not staking a claim.”
“Geniusss,” Crowley snapped.
“Crowley,” another voice piped up.
All eyes turned to the Principality, who had shoved himself out of bed during Raphael and Crowley’s exchange and was slumped against the wall looking rather like he wasn’t going to remain upright.
“This isn’t your battle, my dear.” Aziraphale paused to take in an unnecessary, labored breath. “Perhaps you ought to leave.” The last part was said gently and then he looked at the Archangel and bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “Raphael.”
“I’m not leaving.” Crowley, still watching Raphael, went to Aziraphale, slung an arm around him, and guided him back to the bed. Aziraphale let him, but he sat down on the side and crossed his arms, meaning ‘this is as far down as I go.’ Crowley glared at him, obviously saying, 'Stay put, then.’ Aziraphale’s expression promised nothing and the demon moved slightly in front of the angel.
Raphael watched, his brows furrowed, as the two communicated wordlessly. Two and two was four. The Divine Healer kept a clean Kitchen. Aziraphale and the Serpent-Crowley-had an established relationship. Apparently, all of those were obvious truths and yet that last hadn’t been obvious to Raphael until just then. He should have known, though-hadn’t Aziraphale stood up against the Metatron and Beelzebub with the Serpent by his side? Their friendship was another black mark against Aziraphale in the Metatron’s book, surely. But it wasn’t in Raphael’s, not necessarily. (8)
“Crowley-” The Principality began, stubbornness in his voice.
“I said I’m not leaving!” The demon thundered. And then, after a moment of silence, Crowley added, in a smaller voice, “It’s my apartment, anyway.”
1. For instance, if someone in the room with Crowley and an Archangel had sneezed and the Archangel said ‘bless you,’ it would probably discorporate him. (That was an exaggeration.)
2. The Voice of Extremely Demonic Dismay, E.D.D. thought that yes, he really could, but the Little Spark of Goodness glared at E.D.D and E.D.D. sighed and prepared for the inevitable unpleasant end.
3. He was upset and he was confused. There weren’t any blessed or spiritual humans around and moreover, Aziraphale was in the Serpent’s lair-so how had the Principality started to heal? What had helped him? Surely not the demon-it didn’t make sense.
4. This was not to say that Raphael had never dealt severely with demons-he had, but always at the Metatron’s say so. And unlike some other angels-most other angels, actually-he never enjoyed it.
5. He’d been eager to rescind the order not just because he hated the thought of destroying any life/existence, but also because, though Raphael didn’t know him well, he’d always thought Aziraphale was an angel one could talk to. (6) After all, Raphael had interacted with humans and Aziraphale had been stationed among them, and so the Healer felt a sort of kinship with the Principality. (The Healer was also sympathetic toward him after the incident with the sword and felt that demoting him merely because of that was rather unnecessary.)
6. Aziraphale felt the same way about Raphael. While the Principality wasn’t close with any of the angels in Heaven anymore, Raphael was one of few he would have chosen to have a casual conversation with if he’d been told to pick. (Aziraphale loved all angels, but that didn’t mean he’d invite the majority of them to a casual tea. Actually, Crowley was the only being he ever invited for tea.) The Healer had spent more time on earth than most-especially in Pestilence’s heyday-and he was more approachable than others. He also didn’t treat Aziraphale like a failure or like he was tainted by his time on earth. And he’d never once mentioned the incident with his sword.
7. Not that Herself ever was forthcoming. But what did the statement mean? Did it mean that God approved of the Metatron ordering the Healer to put a fellow angel into nonexistence? Though Raphael was usually not the one to carry out divine retribution, he had been force-decreed to do so in the past. (Demons, both times, but really, he still just couldn’t summon the divine rage Mikael was so good at and he’d felt guilty after both experiences. At least he hadn’t been forced to actually kill/destroy either of them-he’d banished and buried, but not smote. It was terribly horrid that his first experience in that matter was going to be with an angel for-for Surgeon’s sakes.)
8. It wasn’t so surprising that he was sympathetic to the two being friends even if the one was a demon. Raphael had a hard time hating any being and he was known as a ‘soft touch.’ The Healer had even been a bit sympathetic toward Asmodeus, (one of the demons he’d banished) even though the demon was, basically, a serial killer. See, Asmodeus loved a woman named Sarah. The problem was that Asmodeus acted on his love for her by slaying each man she married on their wedding night before the marriage was consummated. (Ah, good old-fashioned Jealousy, demon-style.) Eventually a young man named Tobias, who was blessed, decided to marry her, and Raphael was ordered to put an end to Asmodeus’ unusual expressions of love. The Healer had told Tobias how to expel the demon and then Raphael himself had banished Asmodeus to make certain he’d never return. He didn’t smite the demon, though he knew it would have been permissible, because he felt pity for him. After all, Asmodeus really had loved Sarah (anyone that said he was merely acting out of Lust had never seen him look at her with what approached deference). The demon just should have used a different method of demonstrating his affection other than killing every man about to touch her. Personally, Raphael thought flowers would have been nice.
I hope all of you liked it! (On a side note, how did you feel about Raphael?) Anyway, that's all for now!
And thanks again, Bakaknight, TF, Fido! *seems to be in a '!' mood again* xD
*Edit* THE FINAL PART (9) IS HERE: http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/804243.html
PS) Does anyone know how to insert a link from the number back to the footnote and then back to the number? (if that makes any sense) I'd love to do it but I fail at technology. >_<;;
So. Here's the next bit of my first Good Omens fanfic, "Angelic Lies, Demonic Truths."
For a really crappy summary as well as the first part of this fic, go here: http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/788452.html#cutid1
The second part is here:
http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/788994.html?view=9445634#t9445634
The third is here: http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/791111.html#cutid1
The fourth is here: http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/792139.html#cutid1
The fifth is here: http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/793462.html
The sixth is here: http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/795170.html#cutid1
The seventh is here: http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/798436.html#cutid1
Blah blah: Still rated 'T', still semi dark with violent bits and some language grammarians wouldn't approve of. Still has humor. A little. xD And this still might/probably will eventually get double posted to stjamespark and gaimanfanfic.
BTW, because I wrote this chapter by candlelight--long story--I was convinced it was a bit off so I recruited several lovely betas. Thank you to bakaknight, todd_fan, and goneshootin. I tried to link to you guys here but it wouldn't work so sorry for my incompetence. (I faaaiiiiil at html faaaaiiiiil even on the simplest things. I really am like Newt!) You were all a bunch of help and just great at beta-ing.
I edited my candlelight written rough draft, helped by their good advice, and so here's next chapter.
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Chapter Thirteen
Anthony J. Crowley was trying to doze in the armchair he’d miracled up next to the bed, but he couldn’t manage to drift off. Aziraphale, on the other hand, who supposedly never slept, was curled up on his side slumbering deeply with his wings wrapped around himself. The room was silent except for the occasional snuffly-sleepy noise from the angel.
Instead of falling asleep himself, Crowley ended up studying the sleeping Principality. His red streaks had continued to fade, though Crowley knew it would take awhile for Aziraphale to fully recover. His face was still drawn, his coloring paler than usual, but it was apparent he was improving. Good. The sooner Aziraphale was well again the better-Crowley wanted his apartment back to himself, after all. (1)
Really, the situation was ridiculous. The Arrangement was one thing, but having a weakened angel entirely at one’s mercy was enough to make any demon antsy. Aziraphale shouldn’t trust him like that! For that matter, Crowley ought to be betraying that trust. Any minute now…
Crowley sighed. He might as well admit, at least to himself, that he wasn’t going to betray the stupid angel’s stupid trust. Somehow, he just couldn’t. Really, over the millennia, the both of them could’ve damaged each other in so many different ways, but by and large they hadn’t. Some things other than the Plan are ineffable, after all. (2)
The demon was torn from his musings when a sound came from the living room. Crowley stood quietly, glanced at Aziraphale, who hadn’t stirred, and then extended his claws. He was skulking down the hall like a professional (skulking required more finesse than lurking, but it wasn’t as fearsome) before he realized what he was doing. He really needed to work on that whole acting-reflexively thing. Especially since most of his reflexive actions seemed to involve the angel.
The Serpent slunk the rest of the way down the hall and sprang into the living room, but there was no one there. And then he noticed his flat screen television was on, showing static.
CROWLEY?
The demon started. Any momentary relief he might have felt that there wasn’t a physical presence in his apartment was washed away by his normal paranoia. Why was Hell calling him? Hell hadn’t contacted him since the Armageddon-That-Wasn’t.
“Er, hi. It’s been a while.” Crowley thought quickly. He didn’t need official involvement right now, not with a still-recovering Aziraphale in his apartment, but he didn’t want to get himself in more trouble than he already was either.
CROWLEY. It definitely wasn’t Dagon or any of the usual contacts, but the voice did sound somewhat familiar. HAS ANYTHING UNUSUAL HAPPENED LATELY?
“Unusual?” Crowley asked, his voice deceptively calm. They know. They know about Hastur. But what else do they know? He hoped they knew nothing about Aziraphale.
WE BELIEVE THERE IS AN UNAUTHORIZED DEMONIC PRESENCE ON EARTH. (3) DUKE HASTUR.
“Really?” Given that demons shouldn’t be able to sound anywhere near innocent, Crowley was doing a good job of radiating blamelessness with his tone. Had he been any more blatant about it, he’d have been whistling a tune with his hands in his pockets in attempted inconspicuousness. Crowley knew exactly how the unauthorized demon had been taken care of and he feared that Hell knew how the unauthorized demon had been taken care of, but there was an unauthorized angel in his bedroom that was also vying for equal-reason-to-panic rights. Things could get bad so very quickly. They generally did, in Crowley’s experience.
YES. A pause. CROWLEY, DO YOU KNOW WHO THIS IS?
“Hell.”
I MEAN SPECIFICALLY.
“Ah.” The voice still seemed slightly familiar, but Crowley hated guessing games unless he was the one making someone else play them. “No.”
THAMUZ. I’M WORKING FOR THE COLLECTION AGENCY NOW. (4) WE REALIZED DUKE HASTUR WAS MISSING WHEN HE DIDN’T REPLY TO OUR MEMOS.
Thamuz. Crowley remembered him as a tetchy and low-ranked prat that had briefly been given possession rights and had originally been called something inane like ‘Ted.’ (5) He’d tried to get credit for the Spanish Inquisition (a purely human-made fiasco) after he’d possessed some cardinal or another, though Crowley had received the credit instead. As far as Crowley recalled, Thamuz’ main demonic ability was to make humankind torture each other (which they did on their own). Other than that, he could change into his avatar, (he only had one) which was an ugly scorpion-crab looking thing.
“Long time no hear. How’s the old lady?” The last that Crowley had heard, the lower ranking demon had taken up with a succubus.
THE SAME. ALL SHE THINKS ABOUT IS SPAWNING AND ALL SHE TALKS ABOUT IS HOW I SHOULD HAVE BEEN PROMOTED FOR MY WORK IN SPAIN.
“You did some g-bad work there,” Crowley replied noncommittally, knowing Thamuz was trying to start a fight.
HM. There was a moment of silence in which Crowley gazed warily at the bedroom door hoping a certain angel was still asleep. I MAY CONTACT YOU LATER, CROWLEY, AS I CONTINUE MY INVESTIGATION. UNTIL THEN, BE WARY. I WOULD HATE FOR ANYONE ELSE TO SHED YOUR SKIN BEFORE ME. A beat. MERELY JOKING, OF COURSE.
“Ha ha.”
The screen went black and all traces of demonic connection vanished. Crowley gave a relieved sigh, looked down, noticed he still had his claws out, and sheathed them. He’d just dodged a bullet. He hoped he could keep dodging it. (6)
Turning, Crowley went back to his bedroom. He walked in to find Aziraphale, still mostly asleep, trying to push himself into a sitting position.
“What’re you doing?” Crowley snapped, hurrying over to shove him back down.
“…you were gone…” Aziraphale mumbled.
“What, am I supposed to stay with you all the time? I’m not your nursemaid, angel.”
Aziraphale colored a little, looked hurt, and then indignant all in the matter of a few seconds. “I…thought something might’ve happened.”
Crowley gave a put-upon sigh. “Go back to sleep and don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
The smile he received in reply from the drowsy Principality was so radiant that Crowley had to shove down the return smile that threatened to surface. The demon hurriedly added, “I have to keep an eye on you when you’re in my territory, after all.”
And Aziraphale, feeling rather sensitive because he was still healing and sore, said stiffly, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” The effect of his tone was partially ruined by a yawn. “I…think I can manage…t’ make it back to the shop.”
“You’re not going anywhere. Didn’t you hear me? You’re staying put until I say otherwise. Now shut up and go back to sleep, Aziraphale,” he said, in a voice less gruff than he meant it to be. “You need the rest.”
Aziraphale stared at Crowley and the demon shifted. Finally, no doubt after translating what Crowley had really meant beneath his tone and that glare, Aziraphale smiled. “Crowley-” he started.
“Shut up, angel.”
Aziraphale kept smiling, but he held his tongue. Crowley would know what he’d meant to say, anyway, and the angel didn’t want to push his luck with the demon, who tended to become defensively vicious after he acted his nicest.
“‘Night, m’dear.” Aziraphale said after a moment, already nearly asleep again. (Humans aren’t the only species for whom sleep is healing, and anyway, Aziraphale was currently inhabiting a human body.)
Crowley watched as the angel fell asleep. Funny, but it really was true nearly all humans looked more innocent when they slept. (7) In Aziraphale’s case, Crowley thought he looked more angelic, like more of his inherent goodness exposed itself. Honestly, it made Crowley want to do something at least slightly mean, if not actually evil, to him. Like draw on his face with a magic marker or put whipped cream in his hands and tickle his nose so he’d itch it and get the stuff all over his face or something. He suppressed the urge and decided to try and go to sleep himself.
“Night,” Crowley whispered, burrowing into his chair.
1. Such disclaimers/add-ons are a necessity when one is a demon like Crowley. He couldn’t maintain any demonic credibility without them.
For instance, he told himself he rescued Fluffy the dewy-eyed kitten from a tree earlier in the week merely because the wide-eyed little girl who owned her had a mother with serious allergies. (Never mind the fact that the mother was getting allergy shots.)
2. Love, for instance, is ineffable. No matter whether it’s romantic love or friend love or familial love or what started out as a business deal between an angel and a demon and metamorphosed into something surpassing the other three, when you love someone you’re giving them the power to destroy you. But you love them, and so you trust them not to. (And, generally, they don’t. If they love you back, that is, and they’re not an overly-cruel sadist.)
3. The ironic thing was that the Contacting itself was unauthorized. After the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t, everyone had decided Crowley was to be Officially Ignored. A certain young man named Adam might have had something to do with this.
4. Hell’s collection department wasn’t like the ones on earth. As usual, Hell took an idea that had been pinched from Earth far too literally. Hell’s collection agency was literally in charge of collecting everything. Including missing paperwork or AWOL Dukes.
While Thamuz referred to Hell’s CA as ‘us,’ in reality, he was merely a clerk at the agency. He’d been assigned to round up Duke Hastur (if possible) and his overdue paperwork mostly because no one else wanted to do it.
5. Which was, other than his avatar, probably one reason he was so irritable. (Authoress resists the urge to call him ‘crabby.’) It’s hard to inspire terror if you’re named Ted-it just doesn’t have the right sound. (Ted the Terrible sounds like a children’s book about a toddler going through his terrible twos-ignore the excessive alliteration-and Ted the Torturer sounds like the chat room name of a balding, middle-aged, uncreative guy interested in dog collars and padded handcuffs.)
It should be noted that A. J. Crowley changed his name long before Ted/Thamuz did.
6. Not that he was particularly worried about Thamuz himself, more like who Thamuz would tell if he found out anything. The Serpent could handle the lower ranked demon easily, but he’d really rather prefer not to attract any more unwanted attention.
7. Sadly, this is less true if one sleeps with one’s mouth open and drools-in that instance one generally looks catatonic.
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It had been a long time since the Divine Healer had physically been on Earth. (1) Despite the fact that Raphael had somewhat missed the humans (2), he was not pleased to be there at the moment. He wished he’d never gotten the Summons. The body of the memo had merely said: ‘See Me.’ And so Raphael had gone to see the Voice, received his Orders, and then left to carry them out.
Well, actually, the Healer had attempted to rationally discuss things with the Voice (3) in an effort to change what he had Decreed, but that had only resulted in the Voice threatening to Fell Raphael if he didn’t do as he was Told. Fell him. The Divine Healer, Regent of the Sun, et al. (4)
So Raphael had ended up on Earth, hiding his presence like only a higher ranked occult/ethereal being can while hovering outside of a ritzy apartment complex. Aziraphale was there, he could feel his pain (it had lessened) as well as his Presence (which was a rather unique, earthy one). The strange thing, what had made the Archangel pause outside, was that there was also a demonic Presence close to Aziraphale’s. It wasn’t the usual smelling-like-sulphur and feeling-like-one-is-being-burnt type of demonic Presence, though. Raphael sensed this demon as a kind of metaphysical roguish smirk and the slippery feeling of snakeskin.
1. Too long, in his opinion, but many other ethereal entities felt that he had interfered too much when he was there. And he had, probably, but it wasn’t really his fault. He had been Created to heal, in every meaning of the word. Raphael could’ve given up all mortal sustenance with ease (he had a weakness for sweets, another bond he unknowingly shared with Aziraphale) but he couldn’t reduce his healings. But he’d defied Azrael one too many times and so his earthly visitations had been limited.
2. Like one would miss a somewhat smelly puppy that one had hand-reared and bottle-fed that, in return, widdled all over and bit a lot, but that one still couldn’t remain angry with because, really, he didn’t know any better.
(One such instance was when a bunch of so called devout followers had acted like they were going to burn him at the stake after he’d healed a dying child. Raphael hadn’t meant for anyone to see but he had been so busy healing the cholera-infected town that he didn’t realize he was being observed. Instead of the townsfolk thinking he was an angel or at least a blessed human, they assumed he had made a pact with a devil or was the Devil. Raphael was an Archangel and he was patient and forgiving. But when they’d met his gentle responses to their accusations with “even the Adversary doth transform himself into a messenger of light” and then had burnt his staff and his small satchel, which had been filled with sweets to take back to Heaven, Raphael had not been pleased. In fact, he’d Manifested in all his Glory out of sheer annoyance. The upside was that several nonbelievers converted, although several believers ran and hid in their cellars.)
3. Without thinking, Raphael had mentioned, in a respectful tone, that he was the Divine Healer, the one who’s very Name meant God Has Healed, and as such was the last entity that should be asked to do such a thing.
Raphael did not argue. Not as such. He was a peaceful angel, more so than a lot of them actually were. He might have debated, on the occasion, if the matter was extremely serious, but he did not argue. This ensured that either (a) he won because of the validity of his position or because his opponent was so exhausted from all of his rebuttals, or (b) he had to concede and give up the argument or resort to other tactics because really, debating calmly only does so much when the other party is bellowing, raising an occult weapon, or foaming at the mouth.
4. If he was Felled, who exactly would be recommending that Gabriel take a holiday to lower his stress? Who would change the bandages of and stick the wings back on those poor heavenly beings unfortunate enough to be Mikael’s direct subordinates? Who would continue to, for lack of a better phrase, Kiss It and Make It Better?
Gabriel wouldn’t replace him, that was for sure, he wouldn’t want to deal with all that ‘unpleasantness’ and Uriel probably couldn’t focus on one person/entity long enough to heal. Mikael-well, that was a ridiculous notion. With the thought of leaving Healing up to someone else, Raphael had forced himself to stop debating with the Metatron, even if he thought the notion of him being Felled was ludicrous.
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Suddenly Crowley stood up, his wings and claws out, his fangs bared. The flat had filled with another angelic Presence. This one was not nearly as comforting-er, familiar-as Aziraphale’s and it was stronger, too. It felt like an Archangel. Crowley didn’t want to fight an Archangel because one of them could smite a demon like him easily. Accidentally even. (1) But the alternative to fighting the Archangel was running and it was his apartment and besides, he couldn’t just leave Aziraphale laying there helpless in his bed, could he? (2) Though, what would happen if the angel was there to heal Aziraphale? Wouldn’t his presence interfere? Surely the Archangel had already sensed him, and things could get ugly for Aziraphale quickly when he or she discovered that he was unharmed even though a demon had just been nearby. Questions would be asked.
Better Crowley stayed put. At least they could face things together. Oh, he really needed to stop doing that-thinking of him and the angel as a pair. It was dangerous. Especially when another angel was around and headed in their direction. Despite Crowley’s significant discomfort at the unfamiliar angelic Presence and everything in his demonic instincts, he held back his attack. What if the Archangel really had been sent to help Aziraphale? Maybe it was that one, what’s-his-name, with the red hair and the healing and the cleanliness and the long-standing rivalry with Pestilence? Something with an ‘el’ at the end-though that fit a lot of angels-Raphael, that was it.
It was then that none other than said Raphael, the Divine Healer, strode into the bedroom. His golden-red hair was glowing with light and he looked as put-together as Crowley remembered-his wings were probably the most well groomed out of all the angels-and he held a… Crowley blinked. The Divine Healer held a staff topped by a caduceus in one hand and what looked like a fiery dagger in the other. (In actuality, it was a flaming scalpel.)
Raphael, who certainly never breathed, sighed heavily. “As if things aren’t complicated enough,” he muttered, vanishing the staff (it always was automatically waiting for him when he went to Earth) and fixing his green eyes on Crowley. “Be gone, demon, if you please,” Raphael said, matter-of-factly. He sounded very much like a doctor telling an aggravating patient’s family to ‘please leave the room.’
It took a small effort of Will for Crowley not to ‘Be gone,’ but he resisted the order because Raphael, for some reason, wasn’t fully utilizing his own Will.
Narrowing his eyes beneath his shades, Crowley glanced from Raphael to his fiery scalpel, to the way the Healer was focused on Aziraphale. Something clicked, and then the demon was between the two divine entities. If the righteous feather-duster even looked at Aziraphale wrong, Crowley was going to tear his wings off. “No clossser.”
Raphael cocked his head at the demon, who was suddenly a conglomeration of wings and claws and teeth and hissing rage, and raised an eyebrow.
“You’re going to try and hinder me?” A lot of people/beings (and everyone in action films and martial arts movies), would have said that question derisively. The Archangel, on the other hand, was honestly taken aback and asked the question sincerely.
Crowley didn’t reply, but neither did he move.
Stifling a sigh, the Healer flared up the power of his Presence and the demon staggered back, hitting the wall. Raphael moved toward the bed, but before he progressed very far, the Serpent was in the way with his yellow-gold eyes glowing quite obviously even under the sunglasses, his wings outstretched in an obvious threat, and his fangs elongated. He was again determinedly between him and the Principality. Strangely, Raphael thought, the demon’s stance seemed almost…defensive. “Are you- Do you mean to…fight me for him?”
“Yes.” It was little more than a hiss.
“You realize,” Raphael said calmly. “That I could destroy you?”
“Try it.”
“Look.” Raphael sounded pained. (3) “I’ve not been ordered to smite you. As Healer, I’d rather not, really.”
Crowley sneered. And then, “You haven’t been ordered to smite me, but you have been ordered to end Aziraphale’s existence, haven’t you?”
Raphael winced and nodded. (Angels, as a rule, do not lie-though some follow the rule better than others.) It still seemed surreal to the Healer. Mikael smote; he was good at it. Raphael, on the other hand, was not the smiting/destroying type. He was much more the kind to give an Extremely Chiding Upbraiding. (4) But the Voice had told him to take his weapon and go to Aziraphale and ‘grant him mercy.’ At first, the Archangel had thought the Metatron wanted him to heal the Principality, but the Voice had explained he wanted him ‘put out of his misery.’ Raphael, eager to clear things up, had made the mistake of telling the Metatron it wouldn’t be necessary to ‘end Aziraphale’s suffering’ because the Principality had already begun to recover. (5) The Voice had not been impressed and had not changed the orders.
“Why?” Crowley was ready to strike at any moment, but he figured if he kept the Archangel talking…what? He could talk him out of it?
Raphael blinked. “I was Ordered, of course.”
“But why?”
“Eh.” Raphael looked uneasy. Personally, he figured the Voice was still irked with Aziraphale about the whole Armageddon debacle and had seen his perfect chance to get rev-to duly punish the Principality. After all, if anyone debated the Voice’s actions, he could say he just didn’t want Aziraphale to suffer. But Raphael shouldn’t actually say that out loud. At least, Himself-Herself-would Know the truth. But would She do anything about it? “When the time comes, you’ll know what to do,” God had said. That wasn’t exactly forthcoming.(7)
“I didn’t ask,” the Healer finally replied. It was true enough.
Crowley’s rage built. He hadn’t saved his angel just to watch him be destroyed because some wanker of an Archangel-that hadn’t even asked why Aziraphale was condemned-had orders to end his existence. He’d fought Hastur for Aziraphale, he’d got blood and feathers in the Bentley (vanished away of course, but it was the thought that mattered) for Aziraphale, he’d even healed Aziraphale and, worse, tried to comfort Aziraphale; there was no way the demon was going to waste all that effort. The Principality had just started to recover, bless it. Crowley was not going to lose him.
“You’re not going to touch him,” Crowley said, going still and then, when Raphael moved, swiping his claws forward to warningly slash the Archangel’s arm.
The Divine Healer frowned and looked at the gouges, which healed. “Why would you endanger your own existence? I told you that if you leave, I won’t harm you.” The Serpent couldn’t know he had no plans to smite him either way. “Do you just want to claim the, er, ‘kill’ for yourself?”
And then Raphael, stronger entity or not, was slammed against the wall by an infuriated demon. “He’s not getting killed!”
“You really are protecting him,” Raphael said softly. “Not staking a claim.”
“Geniusss,” Crowley snapped.
“Crowley,” another voice piped up.
All eyes turned to the Principality, who had shoved himself out of bed during Raphael and Crowley’s exchange and was slumped against the wall looking rather like he wasn’t going to remain upright.
“This isn’t your battle, my dear.” Aziraphale paused to take in an unnecessary, labored breath. “Perhaps you ought to leave.” The last part was said gently and then he looked at the Archangel and bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “Raphael.”
“I’m not leaving.” Crowley, still watching Raphael, went to Aziraphale, slung an arm around him, and guided him back to the bed. Aziraphale let him, but he sat down on the side and crossed his arms, meaning ‘this is as far down as I go.’ Crowley glared at him, obviously saying, 'Stay put, then.’ Aziraphale’s expression promised nothing and the demon moved slightly in front of the angel.
Raphael watched, his brows furrowed, as the two communicated wordlessly. Two and two was four. The Divine Healer kept a clean Kitchen. Aziraphale and the Serpent-Crowley-had an established relationship. Apparently, all of those were obvious truths and yet that last hadn’t been obvious to Raphael until just then. He should have known, though-hadn’t Aziraphale stood up against the Metatron and Beelzebub with the Serpent by his side? Their friendship was another black mark against Aziraphale in the Metatron’s book, surely. But it wasn’t in Raphael’s, not necessarily. (8)
“Crowley-” The Principality began, stubbornness in his voice.
“I said I’m not leaving!” The demon thundered. And then, after a moment of silence, Crowley added, in a smaller voice, “It’s my apartment, anyway.”
1. For instance, if someone in the room with Crowley and an Archangel had sneezed and the Archangel said ‘bless you,’ it would probably discorporate him. (That was an exaggeration.)
2. The Voice of Extremely Demonic Dismay, E.D.D. thought that yes, he really could, but the Little Spark of Goodness glared at E.D.D and E.D.D. sighed and prepared for the inevitable unpleasant end.
3. He was upset and he was confused. There weren’t any blessed or spiritual humans around and moreover, Aziraphale was in the Serpent’s lair-so how had the Principality started to heal? What had helped him? Surely not the demon-it didn’t make sense.
4. This was not to say that Raphael had never dealt severely with demons-he had, but always at the Metatron’s say so. And unlike some other angels-most other angels, actually-he never enjoyed it.
5. He’d been eager to rescind the order not just because he hated the thought of destroying any life/existence, but also because, though Raphael didn’t know him well, he’d always thought Aziraphale was an angel one could talk to. (6) After all, Raphael had interacted with humans and Aziraphale had been stationed among them, and so the Healer felt a sort of kinship with the Principality. (The Healer was also sympathetic toward him after the incident with the sword and felt that demoting him merely because of that was rather unnecessary.)
6. Aziraphale felt the same way about Raphael. While the Principality wasn’t close with any of the angels in Heaven anymore, Raphael was one of few he would have chosen to have a casual conversation with if he’d been told to pick. (Aziraphale loved all angels, but that didn’t mean he’d invite the majority of them to a casual tea. Actually, Crowley was the only being he ever invited for tea.) The Healer had spent more time on earth than most-especially in Pestilence’s heyday-and he was more approachable than others. He also didn’t treat Aziraphale like a failure or like he was tainted by his time on earth. And he’d never once mentioned the incident with his sword.
7. Not that Herself ever was forthcoming. But what did the statement mean? Did it mean that God approved of the Metatron ordering the Healer to put a fellow angel into nonexistence? Though Raphael was usually not the one to carry out divine retribution, he had been force-decreed to do so in the past. (Demons, both times, but really, he still just couldn’t summon the divine rage Mikael was so good at and he’d felt guilty after both experiences. At least he hadn’t been forced to actually kill/destroy either of them-he’d banished and buried, but not smote. It was terribly horrid that his first experience in that matter was going to be with an angel for-for Surgeon’s sakes.)
8. It wasn’t so surprising that he was sympathetic to the two being friends even if the one was a demon. Raphael had a hard time hating any being and he was known as a ‘soft touch.’ The Healer had even been a bit sympathetic toward Asmodeus, (one of the demons he’d banished) even though the demon was, basically, a serial killer. See, Asmodeus loved a woman named Sarah. The problem was that Asmodeus acted on his love for her by slaying each man she married on their wedding night before the marriage was consummated. (Ah, good old-fashioned Jealousy, demon-style.) Eventually a young man named Tobias, who was blessed, decided to marry her, and Raphael was ordered to put an end to Asmodeus’ unusual expressions of love. The Healer had told Tobias how to expel the demon and then Raphael himself had banished Asmodeus to make certain he’d never return. He didn’t smite the demon, though he knew it would have been permissible, because he felt pity for him. After all, Asmodeus really had loved Sarah (anyone that said he was merely acting out of Lust had never seen him look at her with what approached deference). The demon just should have used a different method of demonstrating his affection other than killing every man about to touch her. Personally, Raphael thought flowers would have been nice.
I hope all of you liked it! (On a side note, how did you feel about Raphael?) Anyway, that's all for now!
And thanks again, Bakaknight, TF, Fido! *seems to be in a '!' mood again* xD
*Edit* THE FINAL PART (9) IS HERE: http://community.livejournal.com/lower_tadfield/804243.html
PS) Does anyone know how to insert a link from the number back to the footnote and then back to the number? (if that makes any sense) I'd love to do it but I fail at technology. >_<;;