(no subject)
Recipient: arielchan
Title: Behold the Sight of Angels Fair
Rating: R
Summary: A story in three parts. Crowley and Aziraphale have been found out, Hastur wants revenge, and the course of true love is never easy.
Author's Notes: This story consists of 3 parts, each being exactly 3333 words long. The warnings for each part are as following: In part 1, mild smut. In part 2, implied torture, severe Crowley ouchies, mild smut. In part 3, an implied suicide attempt. If you read more than one part, please read them in order.
Part 1: The Book and Its Covers
It looked like just an average letter. Really, it did. However, from the overwhelming aura alone Aziraphale knew that it was nothing but average. He hesitated for a bit before he took the envelope -- pure white, with a golden seal on it -- and finally dared to open it. The first thing he sensed was a brief flash of light and the smell of Heaven. Then he took the letter and started to read, fear in his heart.
"Dear Aziraphale," the letter began,
"It has come to our attention that you are consorting with the Enemy. Pursuing a lasting romantic relationship with a demon is certainly not within the usual ways recommended for dealing with the fiends of the Pit. As we feel the situation is in need of immediate attention and certainly unique in its severity, you may expect an Archangel to come to investigate the situation shortly. Do not attempt to hide or escape; such attempts would be found futile."
"They're sending an archangel down here," Aziraphale moaned. "We're doomed."
Crowley looked up at him, startled. "What?" he asked. "Which one of them is going to come?"
"I don't know," the angel muttered with a sigh. "With some luck, it's going to be Raphael, he's always been the kindest of them. Or Gabriel; at least although annoying, he's mostly reasonable. In the worst case, it'll be Michael, who is definitely not going to listen to reason."
"What about Uriel, then?" asked the demon. "Isn't he a possibility at all?"
Now, Aziraphale dropped his gaze to the floor. "You should know that Uriel is only sent for one kind of mission," he said very quietly. "I desperately hope he is not going to come."
Now, Crowley felt rather uneasy. He was a demon, and while he wasn't exactly happy with it, he could live with it. He'd had time to get used to it, and even though he wasn't perhaps evil in the ways most of the other demons were, he was, well, a bastard. He was good at his job. But the angel...
The Fall had hurt, he remembered. It had hurt so very much. Aziraphale couldn't Fall, not his angel, and definitely not because of him. He wouldn't allow that.
But if Uriel was sent down, what could he do to stop the archangel?
*
Needless to say, Crowley was quite distracted as he drove the Bentley later that day. He hadn't wanted to leave at all, but Aziraphale had insisted that he should go; after all, his plants needed care, Aziraphale would be fine, really, and besides he had run out of tea and chocolate and wouldn't Crowley be a dear and go buy some because miracled stuff just never had the taste, you know? And so there he was, plants traumatized well enough to last them at least a week, the requested items -- as well as the ingredients for a fine dinner, as he didn't dare to risk a trip to the Ritz -- in tow, driving well over the speed limit back to the bookshop. If something had happened to Aziraphale during his absence he would never forgive himself. Demons were good at not forgiving.
He wasn't distracted enough, however, not to notice that the music he had put on suddenly stopped to be replaced by an annoying voice.
CROWLEY, the voice said coolly. IT HAS COME TO OUR ATTENTION THAT YOU ARE LIVING WITH AN ANGEL.
Crowley bit back a curse. He played with the thought of turning the radio off, but knew that it wouldn't help at all. Therefore he just resigned to sigh, "First off, I still have my own apartment," even if he only occasionally visited it nowadays, "and secondly, what is that to you?"
YOU KNOW WE CANNOT TOLERATE SUCH BEHAVIOUR, he was told. THIS IS DEFINITELY UNIQUE, THANK SATAN FOR THAT. AS NOBODY QUITE KNOWS WHAT TO DO WITH YOU -- ALTHOUGH WE HAVE INDEED GOT SOME RATHER INTERESTING SUGGESTIONS YOU PROBABLY WOULDN'T LIKE -- WE'LL SEND ONE OF THE TOP BRASS UP THERE TO MAKE CLEAR OF THE SITUATION. THE PRINCE OR A CROWN, MOST PROBABLY. DON'T TRY TO HIDE; IT'D ONLY MAKE YOUR SITUATION WORSE.
The news reporter continued, never noticing the fact that his voice had been borrowed by a demon. Crowley hid his face in his hands, muttering curses.
With any luck the angel sent for Aziraphale would indeed be Michael. And he'd come about the same time as whoever was sent from Down There. That was the only way both he and the angel would survive the encounter.
*
As soon as Crowley walked in Aziraphale knew that something wasn't right. It wasn't just the former worry -- not that Crowley would have ever admitted such a thing, of course -- but there was now something else in the demon that bothered him. "What is it, my dear?" he asked worriedly.
Crowley muttered a curse, practically throwing the angel's tea and chocolate on the desk. "You're not the only one whose bosses have finally caught on," he spat.
"What?" Aziraphale's eyes widened in shock as fear filled his heart. Surely Crowley didn't mean... "Oh, Crowley. What are they going to do?"
The demon now sighed, leaning against a bookshelf. "They have decided to send one of the top brass for me, that's what," he said quietly. "I can only hope it's somebody like Moloch or Astaroth -- they're so stupid that I might convince them I'm trying to tempt you to Fall. Beelzebub would be bad, but he's a businessman through and through. I could perhaps strike a deal with him or at least hold some hope of survival. But if it's Belial..." He sighed, shaking his head. "That one is all about seduction and pleasure. And the only way I could offer him pleasure is by letting him torture me eternally, I fear."
Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something. However, he never got the chance. Just then the door was opened, a wave of power flowing into the bookshop.
In the doorway stood an angel, his aura stronger than any Crowley had felt ever since leaving Heaven before the beginning of time. His black hair was messy but his robes impossibly clean and tidy, and his eyes were like two gleaming sapphires, the colour of the deepest sky. For a moment the demon was overwhelmed by his simple presence. Then, however, he managed to shake himself out of his shock enough to realize just who had arrived.
It was Uriel. The Severer had come for his angel.
Aziraphale squeaked fearfully and hid behind his back. For once Crowley could not fault him for this kind of behaviour. He made his best to stand bravely between the two angels even though his legs were about to give out under the powerful aura of the archangel, staring right at the sapphire eyes, his mouth set in a thin line. "Don't you dare come any nearer," he growled in what he hoped was a threatening tone. Unfortunately, it came out more as a fearful squeak.
"Fear not, Aziraphale," said Uriel. "You are not to Fall today." His voice was that of an angel's, his words of the Heavenly language, and Crowley couldn't help but wonder whether he had ever spoken anything else. Well, he couldn't have helped it if his brain had been capable of a task such as wondering; at the moment, he was mostly trying to stand the pain that language caused in his ears. He hadn't heard it for millennia, and it made him ache in ways he'd rather not think about. On Aziraphale the words seemed to have an opposite effect -- rather understandable, as he was an angel.
Apparently now braver than a moment before, the angel stepped out to the view, abandoning his place of safety behind Crowley's back although still staying close to the demon. "Then why are you here, and not one of the other three?" he asked. "You are, after all, usually only sent for Felling angels."
"That is indeed true," replied the archangel. "However, it was felt the best in Heaven that I would come down here in this particular matter. They thought I would be the best judge of demonic nature and intentions, having seen all of the Fallen."
He now looked at Crowley, apparently noticing the demon's discomfort for the first time. "You'll have to accept my apologies, Demon Crowley. It was not my intention to cause you such pain."
Crowley let out a sigh of relief as the archangel's aura grew considerably weaker. Now feeling a bit better, he then looked at Uriel, trying to think of ways to convince the archangel of his good intentions -- not an easy feat for a demon.
"My intentions are probably better than can be expected of any other of my kind," he said, making sure to stay close to Aziraphale, still tense and ready to leap. "I wish no harm to Aziraphale -- and I won't allow him to Fall because of me."
"I know that," the angel replied calmly, this time in English, although he still used his angelic voice. "Should you wish for his Fall, you hardly would have stood between him and me. I remember you, demon. You never meant to Fall, and for that I give you credit."
"Nobody means to Fall," said Crowley quietly. "Nobody could wish for that pain."
He felt Aziraphale give him a surprised gaze. He had never voluntarily spoken of the Fall. However, he ignored the other's surprise, concentrating on the archangel. He couldn't let his attention waver if he wanted to survive this little encounter.
"Ah, but who would know the pain before the Fall?" asked the archangel softly, watching Crowley intently.
"True," added a new voice, one that made Aziraphale wince. "It's not exactly something to shout out at every corner."
"Belial," said Uriel, seemingly unsurprised by the high-ranking demon's arrival. "It is not often that I happen to see you."
"And not often that I see you," replied Belial, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. "What has drawn you to Earth this time, Uriel? You're not here to Fell the unfortunate angel, are you?"
"Fell him? Oh, no," replied Uriel calmly. "I see no reason to. What I've found here is love, pure and untainted. It is often hard to find these days. No, I believe the angel Aziraphale has done very well indeed. To genuinely love a demon is an achievement to be rewarded rather than punished." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, apparently completely without a worry. He had every reason to be -- he had probably the greatest reserves of holy power in the whole world, aside from His powers, of course. "What about yourself? Are you here to bring this charming demon for punishment?"
"That we shall see," replied the demon, smirking a bit. "Although as I now look at these indeed most charming gentlemen, I must say I have no intention of doing so. What I see going on here is the temptation of an angel, a most high goal for any demon. I really don't understand why anybody would press charges against Crowley for undemonic behaviour. He'd deserve a commendation rather than punishment."
"I can see why you would think that, even if I do not exactly agree with you," Uriel said calmly, a serene smile on his lips. "Shall we agree that neither of them should be punished, then, but instead rewarded highly indeed?"
Belial nodded in response. "I believe that might be a good decision, beneficial for all involved, yes." He turned towards the very bewildered Crowley. "Good work, Crowley, definitely worth the Serpent. Not surprising, though, given your brilliant history in the art of temptation. I'll see that you receive that commendation. Keep this up and a promotion might not be far off."
"You shall soon receive a commendation for your efforts as well, my dear Aziraphale," Uriel said then, again with the angel tongue, probably not even noticing. Crowley cringed, but Belial hardly seemed to even notice. "I would not consider a promotion absolutely impossible, either. May the Presence be with you." With that and a nod at the two demons, Uriel turned around and walked to the door. Then he opened it, stepping out of the shop, never arriving to the street outside.
The two less powerful beings now glanced a bit fearfully at Belial, half expecting him to change his mind and attack now that the archangel was gone. However, Belial merely smirked, eyes momentarily flickering to where Uriel had been moments before. With one last call of, "Just remember, kids, unprotected sex is promoted by both sides," -- which left Aziraphale blushing fiercely and Crowley dazedly trying to decide whether he should cry or laugh -- he then left as well, leaving nothing but the lingering smell of exotic spices in his wake.
After Belial had left, Aziraphale and Crowley glanced at each other, trying to understand just what had just happened. Finally they both shook their heads, unsure whether anything had happened at all. It all seemed rather bizarre, like a strange dream.
"What does this mean, what do you think?" asked Aziraphale finally, his voice quiet in half shock, half awe. "Has everything in the universe gone wrong?"
Crowley, however, smirked a bit. "I think, angel," he said, "I think we have a Friend Somewhere."
*
Uriel sat on a rooftop, gazing over the city. "They didn't seem to suspect a thing," he commented lightly
"Why would they have?" purred a quiet voice in his ear while a pair of arms was wrapped around his waist. "After all, you are completely without desires aside from your craving for Him, as they should well know. Everybody knows you are the one angel least vulnerable to seduction."
"Which is why your usual tactics didn't work," concluded Uriel, leaning his head back against Belial's shoulder. He set his eyes on the demon's face, raising a hand to gently trace the line of the other's cheek. "I still don't know lust, you know."
"I'll work on that one," chuckled the demon. "After all, what would be a more exciting challenge? To seduce the one angel impossible to seduce..."
"Or to make the one demon who is all about temptation actually love instead of lusting." Turning around in the circle of the demon's arms, Uriel placed a soft kiss on Belial's lips. "We shall see which one of us succeeds first."
"We shall indeed," Belial said, practically purring. He raised one hand to tangle it in the other's short raven locks, bringing his face close for another kiss. Oh, but the angel tasted of purity, of Heaven and its eternal light, and it was intoxicating.
He could hurt this angel so badly. There in his arms was probably the most powerful being in the universe right after Him Above -- and, possibly, Him Below --, as completely trusting as an angel with a warrior's instincts ever could be in the close proximity of a demon. Even now he could do damage, and whenever they were having sex, Uriel's body bare and unprotected under him, the angel hardly having the presence of mind to even speak coherently leave alone protect himself, he could do so much more. Yet he never did.
He didn't understand it, any of it. He didn't understand why or even how he resisted his instincts, which told him to rip apart the pale beauty in front of him, didn't understand how Uriel could give himself to him so completely and still know no lust. The angel did enjoy their intimate encounters, that he knew -- he wouldn't have considered himself worth the name of Lord of Seductions if his partner hadn't received great pleasure indeed -- yet his main reason for agreeing to do it seemed to be bringing pleasure to him, Belial, instead of himself. The demon could not understand, his own existence being focused solely on pleasure in all its intoxicating forms.
He wasn't about to complain, though. Uriel was absolutely perfect. The thrill of danger excited him, both knowing very well that a little twist in their aura could damage the other immensely, neither doing it, always silently wondering which one would manage to control themselves longer -- and get hurt so very badly. The angel's body was simply perfect as well, his enticing aura strengthening in Belial the distant memories of Heaven, the way his inexperience made way to experience in his eagerness to learn both endearing and very satisfying indeed.
Of course, Uriel could hurt him as well and he knew it. The angel had brought him pain like nothing else in the Fall, but even if no pain could ever come even close to matching that agony, the archangel's aura alone would have torn him apart had Uriel meant to hurt him. While no more powerful than the other archangels -- who definitely were bad enough, Michael especially, the smite-happy bastard -- he had the added benefit of Presence. Other angels of any rank leant on the holy powers in themselves whenever they were to hurt a demon. Uriel, on the other hand, had the whole weight of His Presence lending him power. Michael might have been the only angel ever to have defeated Lucifer in a battle of blades, but Uriel was the only one who might have defeated him by his aura alone.
And this angel, probably the most dangerous to any beings demonic despite being no match to Michael in physical battle, this angel he was trying to seduce? This angel, with his pretty blue eyes and rosy lips, had managed to actually turn the Lord of Seductions completely monogamous? He must be insane, Belial decided, absolutely insane to be doing this, to want to do this, to allow his very nature be gently twisted in the angel's delicate hands.
However, even if he was insane, he still enjoyed it.
He enjoyed it very much indeed.
*
Crowley tensed as the pleasure of his climax hit him, howling his angel's name while he spent himself inside the very willing body under him. Aziraphale was shuddering in the last moments of his own climax, painting both their chests with a sticky mess, Crowley's name rolling over and over from his lips like a passionate prayer.
The demon collapsed on top of his lover, breathless, only barely conscious of his doings enough to banish the remains of Aziraphale's passion lest they be glued together. His mouth sought out that of the angel, and their lips joined in a sated, lingering kiss.
As they broke the kiss, Aziraphale looked at him, a slight smile on his lips. "I love you," he said quietly, sincerely. Meaning it.
Crowley smiled back somewhat dazedly. Oh, the things this angel could do to him! For a moment he tried to find a response, something, anything he could say, but found nothing of the kind. His forked little tongue simply would not twist around the words. So, instead he just kissed the angel again, hoping that Aziraphale could read all his emotions through the contact of their lips, all those things he could not say no matter how much he wanted to. And Aziraphale understood, he knew that. He couldn't not understand, after all these years.
"There are worse ways to earn a commendation," Aziraphale said quietly, then chuckled slightly. "In fact, I can't think of a more pleasurable way to do that."
"Likewissse," Crowley hissed, the smell of sex all around them calling for his demonic nature. That, and he was simply too relaxed to care. He nuzzled the angel's neck, breathing deep the scent of his angel.
Aziraphale was soft and warm and oh so very much his. And no force in Heaven or Hell could tear them apart.
There was a hand in his hair and he smiled.
Part 2: In The Eye of the Beholder
Aziraphale was not happy, not happy at all. Crowley had promised to just go do some business and come back in time to take him for a dinner at Ritz. Now it was well past dinnertime and he hadn't heard anything from Crowley. Finally giving up waiting, vowing to give the demon the talking-to of his existence once he finally showed up, the angel headed for bed.
Aziraphale was, truth be told, rather lazy for an angel. Still, he had never been too fond of sleeping -- not until Crowley had introduced him to this lovely activity, at least. Nowadays it was one of his favourite pastimes and he always enjoyed every opportunity to indulge in it.
Therefore, he wasn't exactly happy as just as he'd been about to fall asleep the telephone rang. And rang. And rang, refusing to shut up before he went and picked up the receiver. "What is it?" he asked irritably.
The voice in the other end of the line was very quiet, and it sounded somewhat strange, but Aziraphale still both heard and recognized it. "Angel?" whispered Crowley.
Aziraphale usually didn't mind hearing the demon's voice, rather it made him glad, but right now he wasn't on the best of moods. At first he had waited for hours in the futile hope of Crowley showing up like he had promised to, and now, when the other finally called -- called, not even bothering to show up! -- he'd had to get out of his warm, comfortable bed - which he was alone in. Therefore his reaction wasn't exactly friendly, whatever may have been expected from an angelic being.
"Crowley?!" he snapped, sleepy and irritated. "Just what do you think you're doing, calling me at this hour after forgetting all about our meeting? Are you purposefully trying to piss me off? Because if you are, congratulations -- you've certainly managed well enough!"
He was just about to hang up the phone when Crowley spoke again. "Angel," he repeated, "not trying to... piss you off. Just... had to call..." This time, Aziraphale realized that the strangeness he had sensed in the voice earlier was pain. His anger immediately turned into worry edging on panic.
"What's wrong, Crowley? What's happened? Where are you?" he asked quickly, wanting to know, needing to know, wanting to do something to help his friend.
"I don't know," the demon replied wearily. "Somewhere. Hurt. Demons hurt. Damn Hastur... bastard hurt me. Can't get anywhere... Come get me, angel?" In the end his voice was so pleading, so desperate, that Aziraphale's heart almost shattered at hearing it.
"I'll be over there in a second," Aziraphale replied softly. Then he quickly concentrated and changed form, disappearing inside the phone. It was good that Crowley had told him about that one particular incident; he probably would have never thought of such a way of travel by himself.
What he hadn't thought about, however, was the fact that upon arriving he shouldn't change back into his usual form too quickly. As he indeed returned to his normal shape almost as soon as he was out of the phone, he managed to accidentally knock Crowley over, making him drop the state-of-art cell phone he'd used to call the angel.
The demon was truly in a bad shape, Aziraphale noticed, worriedly chewing his lower lip. There were cuts and burns all over the other's body, clothes now mere rags, the open wings horribly mutilated with cuts and wounds and torn feathers everywhere. He hadn't seen Crowley so badly hurt in millennia, and he had to work very hard not to scream or cry or anything else like that.
He had to help Crowley, he realized. He was the only one who could in this situation. Very carefully he collected the demon's tortured form into his arms, very grateful for the fact that Crowley'd managed to keep humans from seeing into the alleyway despite his obvious pain. Now it was his turn to keep them safe and hidden, he decided. It wasn't like Crowley himself could have done that anymore, anyway; he had already passed out in pain.
Cradling the demon to his chest like one might an injured child or a sick kitten, Aziraphale took off very carefully, adjusting his flight to be as smooth and steady as possible. It wouldn't do to be careless with Crowley right now.
Seeing the blood trickling down Crowley's face from closed eyes he got even more worried. The damned cried blood. To think that Crowley had been hurt badly enough to actually cry in pain when he usually kept up a calm appearance was horrifying.
He probably would have been even more horrified had he known Crowley wasn't crying.
*
As Crowley slowly woke up, he noticed that the pain had lessened to an ache. That, he decided, was definitely a good sign. The last thing he remembered was calling the angel, but that was about it.
"Aziraphale?" he asked quietly, hopefully. In an instant there was a hand on his own, covering it, squeezing it, bringing him comfort. And then there was a quiet voice, telling him that it was all right, that nothing could hurt him now, that he was safe. And Crowley believed his angel, just because it was his angel, because Aziraphale could never lie to him.
Slowly he forced his eyes open, his serpentine nature telling him that closed eyes were wrong. However, to his surprise and slight fear, this brought no change to what he could - or, rather, couldn't - see.
"...Angel?" he asked quietly. "Why is it so dark here? I can't see a thing..." His voice trailed off. For the first time ever Aziraphale saw an unsure expression on Crowley's face. "Oh, angel, please, please say it's dark..."
"No, Crowley," Aziraphale said quietly, closing his eyes for a moment, forcing out the words and hating himself for it. "The lights are indeed on."
Now, Crowley didn't say anything, apparently shocked to silence. So, Aziraphale continued to speak.
"I healed what I could, but my powers don't work very well on holy wounds, and, well... I could do nothing about your eyes. With a bit of luck they'll heal on their own, though." He could only hope his voice sounded sure about Crowley's healing abilities. He definitely wasn't feeling very hopeful.
Oh, but the damage had been bad. Where previously had been pretty golden eyes was now a mass of scars, among which could be seen one sign, one cruel word over and over. It was Crowley's own true name -- his demonic name. No matter what Aziraphale had tried, the scars refused to fade.
Crowley was quiet for a while. Finally, though, he let his eyes slide closed again - the combination of Aziraphale's healing powers and his own had regrown the severed eyelids - and said, "I - I'm tired. I think I'll sleep some more."
"Do that, my dear," Aziraphale said softly, gently petting the demon's dark hair. "I'll watch over you."
And Crowley fell asleep, still in pain but now secure.
*
"You bloody angel-shagging bastard," hissed Hastur, pressing his face close to that of Crowley. "I'll make you pay for what you did to Ligur."
"Your breath stinks," Crowley replied. "When did you last brush your teeth?"
Of course, it wasn't perhaps the best of ideas to annoy a demon who was currently in the process of cutting him into pieces. At least that was what Hastur apparently was doing, given the amount of cuts and wounds Crowley now had all over his body. Of course he had made his fair share of damage as well, but in the end Hastur was a Duke, and he was the more powerful one. No matter how hard he had fought, in the end the other demon had won him. There was no way out now.
"I've got you something nice," Hastur said with a nasty smile. "You'll soon see something amazing." A cruel laugh escaped the more powerful demon's lips. "And it'll be the last thing you ever see, too."
Now, Crowley became more attentive. What was this? Only powerful holy objects could kill a demon permanently, and Hastur hardly could handle something so holy without harming himself in the process. And if he knew something about the Duke, it was that he never let himself to come to danger.
Then, however, Hastur produced from somewhere a pair of very thick gloves, covering his hands with them. "I found something special for you," the Duke of Hell cooed. "See?" From a heavy leather pouch the demon took out a long, white quill. It was too white to be from any Earthly bird. Crowley's blood chilled.
"From an angel's wing," Hastur said, smirking even more cruelly than before. "And just to make your experience complete..." In his other hand he held a tiny vial, keeping it far from his body. "Holy water, you little bastard. The same thing you used when you killed Ligur."
Crowley's mouth fell open in shock. Suddenly he realized just what Hastur was going to do. He frantically tried to close his eyes only to have a sharp claw slice his eyelids away.
"Now, I'll have nothing of that," Hastur cooed. He dipped the quill in the holy water. It glowed with a silvery white light. "Isn't it pretty? Just like your angel..."
Crowley saw the quill coming nearer and nearer. Then there was a burning sensation, and he saw nothing more.
*
Gasping, Crowley shot up in his bed, the memory of the pain still fresh in his mind. After he got his franticly beating heart somewhat under control he quickly felt his side. There was Aziraphale, like he had expected, warm and safe.
"Is something wrong, my dear?" asked Aziraphale sleepily, a tone of concern in his voice.
'Everything,' Crowley thought, but didn't say it aloud. What he did say was, "Nothing. Nothing anymore."
'Except that I want to see you. I want to see you and kiss you and look you in the eye and tell that you are beautiful, for you are, and I can never tell it to you again or if I do it won't be true because I couldn't tell either way. And, angel, I want to see you... just one more time...'
Turning towards Aziraphale, he curled up, pressing himself close to the angel's side. The familiar warmth was comforting. The angel didn't say anything, merely wrapped his arms around him.
Crowley fell asleep once more, silently hoping to get undisturbed rest this time.
*
Crowley sipped at the large cup of tea in his hands. That morning had been the first time he'd had enough energy to get up from bed, and he'd spent the day getting used to moving around in Aziraphale's shop. He had discovered that after spending practically centuries there he could very well make his way around even without seeing where he was going. The locations of the bookshelves were carved in his memory; he could have just as well run into them as he could have forgot where his hands were. The books were a part of his angel, and he knew his angel through and through.
However, he didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.
He felt so helpless, knowing that in strange locations he couldn't make his way around on his own. That he'd have to trust others to help. Demons weren't helped - they made others need help.
Crowley hung his head, resisting the urge to let bloody tears fall from his sightless eyes. This was simply not right.
Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, and he gave a little startle. The angel moved far too quietly sometimes. "Hi, angel," he muttered.
"Crowley," Aziraphale said softly, moving his hand from Crowley's shoulder to his arm. "Crowley, Hastur has been caught."
"What?" Crowley's mouth fell open in surprise. "What do you mean, caught?"
"Well, it seems that he had stolen that feather he used to... mark you," Aziraphale said quietly, "from a more powerful demon. Very much more powerful. Anyway, this demon easily hunted him down and got the whole story out of him. It appears this one has quite a liking on you. You won't have to worry about Hastur ever again."
"Liking on me?" Crowley repeated disbelievingly. "Hardly, there's no liking between me and any other demon, especially those with much power. Except for maybe..." Suddenly his expression turned into simply stunned. "It was Belial, right? And that feather..."
"Was originally Uriel's," Aziraphale finished softly. "Given to Belial as a token of affection, so to speak. I suddenly understand much better their strange attitude about our relationship. Apparently Belial had even given an order to leave us in peace, and Hastur broke that rule. Needless to say, Belial wasn't too happy."
"Well, that's nice to hear," said sincerely Crowley, who was definitely enough of a demon to appreciate a bit of payback. "It still won't give my sight back, though."
"Well... Actually, it might," said Aziraphale hesitantly. Noticing Crowley's startled expression, he placed a calming hand on the other's arm. "It's nothing sure yet. It's just that Uriel apparently feels responsible as the damage was, however indirectly, done by using his powers. Apparently Raphael owes him a favour, so he offered to ask the Healer to come down here to take a look at your eyes. If Raphael can't do anything about it, nobody can."
"And if Raphael can't," Crowley said gloomily, "then I'll be blind for the rest of my existence."
To that, Aziraphale could hardly say anything. Biting his lip, he squeezed Crowley's arm a bit. No matter what happened, he would be there.
*
Raphael sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I've tried my best," he said, "but the best I could do was make the scars less obvious. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't give your demon back his sight."
Aziraphale nodded slowly, glancing carefully at Crowley. They had put the demon to sleep as the archangel's healing might have hurt him otherwise, what with all that holy power. He knew that Crowley had been expecting the worst, but he suspected he might still be quite disappointed. As the demon himself had said, if Raphael couldn't help, then nothing could.
"Thank you, Raphael," he said quietly. "You did what you could, and I am truly grateful of it."
"Oh, do not thank me." The healer smiled sadly. "Had Uriel not told me, I would never have even known about this predicament. And besides, it hardly is reasonable to thank me for doing nothing at all." He sighed again. "I must admit that I am not used to facing injuries I am unable to heal. It is quite upsetting."
Aziraphale nodded silently again, taking Crowley's hand into his own, holding onto it like it was the most precious thing in the world. And, to him, it was just that.
"It will be hard to him," he said, biting his lip momentarily. "He - what can he even do without seeing? It's hard for even blinded humans to adjust. He's had sight for six millennia - how can he just learn not to see?"
"That he has to figure out on his own," Raphael said. "I can give some advice, but in the end it is he who determines whether or not he'll ever be able to live normally again. I do know, however, that to do that, he's going to need your help." A bit hesitantly he placed a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, repeating quietly, "He's going to need you."
"And he has me," Aziraphale whispered. "He'll have me forever."
*
"Crowley, no. You simply can't drive when you're blind."
"Why not?" asked the demon, apparently rather annoyed at the mere suggestion that he was incapable of doing such a thing simply because he couldn't do something as minor as seeing. "Angel, it's not like I'm going to really drive it. The Bentley's more than capable of driving all by itself."
Aziraphale tried to give Crowley a Look, but it had little effect when the demon couldn't even see that he was given one. Finally, seeing that his efforts were quite futile the angel just sighed. "Fine," he muttered. "But I'll be coming with you."
"Oh, most gladly." Crowley smirked, and Aziraphale couldn't help but swallow. Usually that smirk was accompanied by a pair of glowing golden eyes peering at him over the top of the ever-present sunglasses. Now, there was no such gesture.
He had never even thought he could miss something like that.
They made their way through the city without any problems despite Aziraphale's worries. When they were about to enter Ritz, however, Crowley hesitated. Aziraphale noticed this and gently took a hold of the demon's hand.
"Come on now," he said softly. "You can do it. We've practiced everything, and I'll be there for you."
Crowley still looked quite hesitant. To be in a restaurant with strange people all around, unable to see anything, unsure about whether he could even manage to eat neatly when he didn't even see if he was about to drop something - it was not a wonder that he was nervous. Aziraphale squeezed his hand reassuringly.
Taking a deep, unnecessary breath, Crowley stepped forward.
*
Aziraphale smiled as he lay on their shared bed. Everything had gone perfectly, he decided. There had been one quite awkward moment when Crowley had accidentally hit a young woman with his elbow, but any protests on her part had been silenced when Crowley had momentarily lowered his sunglasses, revealing the scarred mess that had once been his eyes. After that nobody had bothered them.
Crowley was making good progress, he decided. He nowadays moved around the bookshop and the apartment above it like nothing had changed, and apparently the Bentley allowed him to move around the town as well. Sure, he would still need a lot of practice before he could spend time in the public alone, without his help.
He missed those golden eyes, he realized, missed their mischievous light so very much. However, he could live without even seeing that light again. Without Crowley he could not live. Therefore, he had better just forget about those eyes and be grateful that he still had his dear demon with him.
And grateful he was.
Crowley himself, on the other hand, was no more thinking about the dinner, nor about his progress in adjusting to his new life. Oh, the dinner had been good enough, but it was gone now. He was still hungry, too - just not for food this time.
Aziraphale, he decided, would be more delicious than even the perfect dinner.
Settling on the bed next to his angel, Crowley then let his hands wander over the other's soft form, tracing the outline of the body he knew so well that he could have just as well been looking at it. Aziraphale started to say something as Crowley's hands began removing his clothing, but the demon silenced any protests with a hungry kiss. The angel responded to the kiss, slowly relaxing under his touch.
Crowley could no more see the - in his opinion, at least - perfect form of his angel. However, he knew it perfectly, his hands flying over the now bare body, teasing and caressing and feeling, learning to use his knowledge of the angel's form without the aid of sight. His own clothing was now gone as well, Aziraphale's hands and finally a frustrated miracle having removed them rather quickly. He bent his head down to place tiny kisses down the angel's torso, over the line of his hip, on his inner thigh.
Crowley smirked a bit. He perhaps couldn't see the angel's reactions, but he definitely could hear -- and feel -- them. He lowered his head, mouth pressing against a familiar hard length, and heard Aziraphale moan.
Perhaps, Crowley thought, perhaps his life wasn't that badly ruined after all.
Part 3: The Eye of the Storm
Belial lazily ran a gentle hand over the pale, slender form of his angel. His more violent instincts were telling him to bare his claws, run them right through the angel's flesh, to tear and mangle and mercilessly torture the so very trusting being in front of him. His hand lingered at the root of Uriel's left wing, fingers momentarily curling around the bone, thinking about how easy it would be to break. He was used to causing the angel pleasure by playing with his sensitive wings. It would be so easy to cause horrible pain as well, breaking the fragile bones, pulling off the pure white feathers, tearing flesh and burning skin...
Not much would be needed. Just a little twist of his aura, making it damaging to the archangel. Uriel doubtlessly could outdo him when it came to the power of his aura, but with the angel in a half slumbering state and himself having the element of surprise, he probably could do a lot of damage before the angel even reacted. (Well, probably not. In the end Uriel was a warrior, perhaps not to Michael's level but certainly a better one than Belial himself was, and he had the reflexes of one. Still, in this situation Belial would have probably stood a fair chance at least.)
Smirking briefly at his own thoughts -- the mere idea of damaging this perfect beauty thus was almost revolting -- Belial then tangled his hand in the short dark hair, pressing his lips against those of Uriel. The angel responded eagerly, a hand wandering over Belial's chest, finally settling to rest on his side.
They broke the kiss a moment later. Uriel looked at him, a smile on his lips and love in his eyes, and Belial felt humbled that such a gaze would be directed at him from this perfectly pure creature. He also felt slightly uneasy about the fact that he could probably never openly and sincerely return it with equal emotion. Demons in general did not love, and while Crowley was working hard on proving that it was indeed possible, Belial suspected he would be the last one to experience it.
There were feelings inside him, things he couldn't recall ever feeling before during all his millennia of demonic existence, emotions he had no name for and wouldn't have dared to name even if he'd had. However, he was confident none of them was love. Their little competition was still to be resolved.
Fortunately, all those uneasy sensations were wiped away by the lightest kiss from Uriel's lips.
*
Uriel was awake. Belial lay by his side, fast asleep, long dark hair spread over the pillow. A slight smile crossed Uriel's lips as he looked at the demon. Oh, but he loved him so very much indeed.
Suddenly a bright light intruded the darkness of the bedroom, and he blinked, adjusting his eyes to what he recognized as holy light. In the middle of the light stood Metatron.
"Archangel Uriel, I bring to you a message from Our Lord," said the other angel, expressionless. "Are you willing to hear it?"
Uriel swallowed, glancing quickly at the still sleeping Belial, whose rest seemed undisturbed. He had done nothing wrong. He had nothing to fear.
He turned back towards Metatron. "I listen to my Lord," he replied quietly.
So, Metatron spoke. And each word of his tore at the core of Uriel's heart.
*
Reading, Crowley had discovered, could sometimes be quite entertaining. At least more so than simply sitting.
He knew Braille. Ironic or not, he had learnt it while he still could see. It helped him pass the time at the bookshop, and it kept one of Aziraphale's more regular customers, an elderly lady, from commenting on how rude it was to wear sunglasses inside.
Now, he had no choice. Somehow that made him feel less satisfied about his skill in reading this different kind of writing.
However, he could very well pass the time by reading every now and then. He was doing so at the moment, nimble fingers flying over pages that to most people were incomprehensible, while Aziraphale catalogued his books. This relatively peaceful moment, however, was interrupted as the door to the bookshop flew open and Crowley felt a powerful demonic aura entering.
In an instant the book flew to the side as he jumped up from his chair, moving to shield Aziraphale, whose aura flared slightly in shock. However, Belial - for Belial it was, like he discovered upon hearing the familiar voice calling his name - paid no attention to the angel. Instead, he shoved a piece of paper into Crowley's hands.
"Read it," came the simple order.
Crowley simply held the paper out to the more powerful demon. "Belial," he said, a hint of bitterness to be detected in his voice, "I can't read this."
"Ah, yes. I can't seemingly think straight," muttered Belial, not apologizing. Crowley hadn't expected him to, either. "You, angel. Read it aloud." He snatched the note from Crowley and handed it to Aziraphale, who unfolded it very carefully.
"My dear Belial," Aziraphale read,
"I have been ordered to go to Heaven and never return to you. If I ever do approach you again, it is to be with the intention to kill. As I cannot do that, I shall not come near you anymore. I don't want to leave you, but I don't want to Fall, either, and as much as I do love you, I still love Him more.
"Be well, Belial. I love you.
"Uriel."
Aziraphale fell silent, looking at Belial. The demon was avoiding his gaze, a stubborn expression on his face, obviously trying hard not to show any kind of emotion. Thus Aziraphale just neatly folded the note again and handed it back to its owner. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"Your apology does not help me," said Belial darkly. "I want my angel back. I don't know how, but I will have him back."
If not for the fact that one of them was absolutely unable to glance at anything, Aziraphale and Crowley might have exchanged glances. Belial wasn't probably even aware of what he had just said; it was what he felt, not what he thought. For a demon to speak of "his angel" was absolutely impossible.
Impossible - other than under certain circumstances.
*
Uriel hung his head, hiding his face. He should have been full of joy, once again in the light of Heaven, feeling Him even more strongly than on Earth if such a thing was possible. However, the only thing he could feel was pain, pain and sorrow at leaving Belial behind. He could never disobey Him, not ever, but even while his soul rejoiced at the joy of Heaven, his heart wept at his loss.
And suddenly, there was Presence. Not just the usual Presence he carried around with himself, but the feeling that He was truly There, not only as the background higher power watching over everything, but truly being with him, paying attention to him, speaking to him. And then, He Spoke.
"URIEL, MY FAITHFUL CHILD," He said with a Voice that would have shaken mountains, had any been nearby. "WHY DO YOU HAVE SORROW?"
"My Lord," Uriel replied quietly, "I am weak, nothing in front of You. I'm not worth being called Your faithful child. I should rejoice at being close to You, yet I mourn my loss of the one I loved, still love despite my parting of him."
"WOULD I CALL YOU FAITHFUL IF YOU WEREN'T THAT? YOU ARE DEAR TO ME, URIEL, AND I KNOW YOU ARE FAITHFUL TO ME -- NOW MORE THAN EVER. THAT YOU STILL MISS YOUR BELOVED ONLY SHOWS HOW MUCH YOU ARE READY TO SACRIFICE TO HEED MY WORD."
"I love You more than anything, my Lord," whispered Uriel. "I would never question Your Will, even when I don't understand it."
He sensed a Sigh. "YOUR LOVE WAS GETTING OUT OF HAND, URIEL. BECAUSE OF IT A DEMON GOT INTO TOUCH WITH ONE OF YOUR FEATHERS, USING IT WITH MALICIOUS INTENT. EVEN THIS TIME THE DAMAGE WAS UNSALVAGEABLE. WHO KNOWS WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN THE NEXT TIME?"
"But why was it so at the first place?" asked the archangel almost desperately. "The damage shouldn't have been impossible to heal. Not even angel feathers and holy water should be able to do harm that even Raphael cannot heal."
"IT IS NOT BECAUSE OF YOU, BUT BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU CARRY WITH YOURSELF," came the Answer. "YOUR OWN POWER COULD NOT HAVE DONE DAMAGE IMPOSSIBLE TO HEAL. HOWEVER, IN YOUR FEATHER, HOWEVER LONG AGO SEVERED, WAS STILL LINGERING THE POWER OF MY PRESENCE. THAT IS WHAT BLINDED DEMON CROWLEY."
"So it is because of my position that I have become a liability?" Uriel asked, his tone now bordering on almost bitter. He still wouldn't question, but he didn't have to like it. "Because I am the Angel of Presence I am not allowed to love whomever I choose?"
"IT DOES NOT HAVE TO BE SO."
A pair of sapphire eyes, moments ago closed in thought as well as lingering pain, snapped now open even if there was nothing to look at. "My Lord?" asked a quiet voice, hopeful, eager, breathless even when there was no need for breath in it. (Angelic voice and language had no use for air.)
"I OFFER YOU A CHOICE, URIEL. YOU MAY CHOOSE TO STAY AS YOU ARE, AND FORGET ABOUT YOUR BELOVED DEMON... OR GIVE UP THE PRESENCE AND BE WITH HIM."
The mere thought chilled him to the bone. "I still love You more than anything, my Lord. I could never give You up, not for anything."
"THAT IS WELL KNOWN. HOWEVER, I SAID NOTHING OF THE KIND. IT WASN'T MEANT AS A REQUEST FOR YOU TO FALL, MERELY TO GIVE UP YOUR POSITION AS THE ANGEL OF MY PRESENCE. SHOULD YOU ACCEPT, YOU WOULD LOSE MOST OF THE PRESENCE IN YOU, HAVING NO MORE THAN YOUR FELLOW ARCHANGELS. HOWEVER, YOU WOULD ALSO GAIN THE FREEDOM TO GO TO YOUR DEMON AS YOU PLEASE."
Now, Uriel didn't hesitate for a moment. "My Lord, I will do it."
And suddenly he was drained of the Presence, of its warmth and light, and he felt empty. There was still some inside him, he was an archangel after all, but no matter how much there was it still seemed like nothing when compared with what it had been before. He was empty, and cold, and it was dark save for a tiny, flickering flame deep inside him.
"IF YOU CHOOSE THE DEMON, THIS IS HOW YOU WILL BE," said the Voice. "YOU CAN STILL CHANGE YOUR MIND, URIEL. ARE YOU TRULY READY TO GIVE UP YOUR POSITION FOR YOUR LOVE?"
Uriel drew a deep breath. It did hurt, being so cold and empty, but even more hurt the thought of staying away from Belial forever. He couldn't do that. This, however, he could do. The only thing he wouldn't do for Belial was Falling, and this was not Falling, even if it did feel like that.
Quietly, he spoke. "I do not regret a thing, my Lord."
There was a Silence. Then, the Voice said gently, "YOUR LOVE IS STRONG, URIEL. GO, AND HAVE YOUR DEMON."
"Thank You, my Lord," murmured Uriel. However, He was already Away.
*
"Belial?"
The demon raised his eyes, shocked, as he heard the familiar voice. This couldn't be true! However, it appeared very true indeed as Uriel, beautiful as ever, slowly walked towards him on his sulking place on a rooftop.
Except that it wasn't Uriel. Not his Uriel. The aura was far dimmer, and the overwhelming sense of Presence was away. He growled deep in his throat. "Who are you?"
"It's me, Uriel!" the angel said, looking slightly surprised. "I was allowed to come back to you... I only had to give up His Presence."
For a moment, Belial froze. Then he growled, "Get out of my sight. I don't want you. You're of no use to me anymore."
The surprised look was immediately replaced with a shocked one. "What do you mean?"
"Can't you get it through your head, angel? I played with you. Used you. Your aura was intoxicating -- the closest to Heaven I've come ever since my Fall, delivered by your hand. Whenever you touched me I remembered how you severed me from the Presence, hurt me like no other has ever done. I could stand it in order to feel the Presence in you. Now, however, you're of no use to me. Do me a favour and leave. Don't bother to return, either."
The archangel stared at him in horror. "You can't be serious," Uriel said pleadingly, reaching out a hand to lay it on Belial's arm. "Please, tell me you're not serious..."
"Oh, I am indeed serious," Belial replied coldly, drawing away from him. "And honest, too. The first time I am honest to you, besides. So, listen carefully. I want nothing to do with you anymore. You can die for all I care; at least then you wouldn't bother me anymore. You were good enough of a fuck, but definitely not the best I've had. Your aura was the only reason I let you be around even this long. Now, get out of my sight."
Uriel, however, seemed to be incapable of motion. "But... I thought..." he stammered, looking every bit like a lost child with no idea which way takes home.
"That I loved you, eh?" Belial laughed cruelly. "Hardly, angel. As I said, sex and the Presence were the only things that kept me around. Now, sex alone isn't enough to make me monogamous. Not that I was that even before, of course." He smirked at the angel's shocked expression. "Why, of course I cheated on you. All the time. What did you expect? I'm the Lord of Seductions, not some worthless little snake like Crowley. It'd be impossible for me to be faithful even if I wanted to -- which I never did."
For a moment Uriel simply stared at him. Then, however, the angel turned and began to run, wings bursting out mid-step, and took off faster than Belial had ever seen him fly.
The demon was left behind, heartbroken.
*
Aziraphale glanced up from his book as he heard the door being opened. For a moment he didn't recognize the being standing there. He did look familiar - in fact, he looked exactly like Uriel - but the feeling of Presence that always accompanied the archangel was away. There was still an angelic aura, and a powerful one at that, but somehow it seemed... dim. In fact, the whole being looked quite miserable.
"Um... Can I help you?" he asked hesitantly, at the same time glancing to his side to make sure Crowley was still there. A clearly powerful angel might mean danger to his demon.
"Aziraphale," said their unexpected guest, and with a startle he recognized the voice, realized that yes, this was indeed Uriel, however improbable it seemed. "Aziraphale, I..." He trailed off. Then, to the principality's great surprise, he burst into tears.
Placing his book aside, Aziraphale sighed and walked to the archangel, pulling him into a comforting embrace. This, he suspected, would take quite some time.
*
Crowley cursed as he landed on the roof, changing back to his usual human form. He'd had to change into a bat to avoid hitting any buildings on his way there. He absolutely hated shape-shifting and only did it when absolutely necessary. This'd better be worth it.
"Belial!" he snapped to the direction of the other's aura. "Just why did you tell that kind of crap to the angel? I know damn well you weren't sleeping with him just because of his aura!"
Belial turned his head away from the lower demon, not that Crowley even knew that. "He'll be better off without me," he murmured quietly. "Without me he'll be able to go and have back the Presence and be happy. He wasn't happy, I know it -- he may have wanted me more than the Presence, but he still missed it too much to truly be happy."
"You fucking idiot!" Crowley spat, not even stopping to think that he was currently insulting his superior. "He can't have it back; that was one of the conditions! Last time I saw him he was weeping against Aziraphale's shoulder, saying that now that he'd lost both you and the Presence there was no reason for him to exist anymore. Do you really want to be responsible of his death if he ends up doing something stupid?"
"He wouldn't." However, Belial's voice wasn't quite so sure.
"Oh, yes, he would. What's keeping him from doing it? He no more has any duties to fulfill and the Old Man Above has no use for him. You, the one he gave up everything else for, have made it very clear you don't want anything to do with him. Give me one reason why he wouldn't just die and be done with it!"
Belial made a strangled sound and hid his face. He whispered something so quietly that not even Crowley's demonic ears heard it clearly, but it sounded suspiciously like, "What have I done?"
*
"Aziraphale!" Crowley exclaimed as he rushed into the bookshop. "Where is he?"
"Uriel?" asked the principality. "He went upstairs, said he wanted a moment of rest. Why so?"
"Shit," muttered Crowley. "Didn't I tell you not to leave him alone for a moment?"
Aziraphale didn't have the time to respond as the two demons rushed past him up the stairs. He simply followed. They hadn't even opened the door of the bedroom as the heavy scent of blood hit them in the face. Aziraphale froze momentarily, shocked, while the two demons merely looked grim, and, in Belial's case, desperate.
As the door was opened, Aziraphale froze because of shock, Crowley because the scent of blood mixed with holiness brought up far too many unpleasant memories - most of them involving his recent encounter with Hastur. Belial, however, reacted immediately. He ran inside, pulled the angel into his arms, and channelled all his power to healing the wounds the archangel had managed to cut on his wrists.
Slowly the flow of blood slowed down, and he let out a sigh of relief. Still he held his angel close,
This was his angel, Belial thought. His angel, his to have, his to hold, his to... love. For love Uriel he did, love so much that his demonic heart felt full of warmth and light it had never felt before. He cradled Uriel's limp form against his chest, completely oblivious to the presence of two lesser beings nearby.
"I'm sorry, angel," he whispered, pressing his face against the soft ebony locks. "I'm sorry, I never meant it, never wanted to say those words... Please, angel, forgive me..."
There was no response from Uriel. However, the previously so frighteningly cold body was starting to feel warmer, and then a sharp gasp escaped the angel's lips and Belial had never heard a sound more beautiful.
He didn't know what would happen now. However, he did know that everything would turn out all right in the end. For the first time ever since his Fall he felt optimistic.
After all, Uriel was there, alive -- however barely --, held close against him. And nothing else mattered to him.
*
Aziraphale glanced after the two beings that now were quickly growing more distant. Those two wouldn't have it easy, he knew, but he was sure they would figure it out in the end.
Suddenly, there was a hand on his arm. "Aziraphale?" asked Crowley quietly. "Promise... promise me you'll never try to leave."
Aziraphale smiled sadly at the demon's fearful tone. A loving demon? Ridiculous. And so very fragile.
"I promise, my dear," he whispered. "I promise."
Title: Behold the Sight of Angels Fair
Rating: R
Summary: A story in three parts. Crowley and Aziraphale have been found out, Hastur wants revenge, and the course of true love is never easy.
Author's Notes: This story consists of 3 parts, each being exactly 3333 words long. The warnings for each part are as following: In part 1, mild smut. In part 2, implied torture, severe Crowley ouchies, mild smut. In part 3, an implied suicide attempt. If you read more than one part, please read them in order.
Part 1: The Book and Its Covers
It looked like just an average letter. Really, it did. However, from the overwhelming aura alone Aziraphale knew that it was nothing but average. He hesitated for a bit before he took the envelope -- pure white, with a golden seal on it -- and finally dared to open it. The first thing he sensed was a brief flash of light and the smell of Heaven. Then he took the letter and started to read, fear in his heart.
"Dear Aziraphale," the letter began,
"It has come to our attention that you are consorting with the Enemy. Pursuing a lasting romantic relationship with a demon is certainly not within the usual ways recommended for dealing with the fiends of the Pit. As we feel the situation is in need of immediate attention and certainly unique in its severity, you may expect an Archangel to come to investigate the situation shortly. Do not attempt to hide or escape; such attempts would be found futile."
"They're sending an archangel down here," Aziraphale moaned. "We're doomed."
Crowley looked up at him, startled. "What?" he asked. "Which one of them is going to come?"
"I don't know," the angel muttered with a sigh. "With some luck, it's going to be Raphael, he's always been the kindest of them. Or Gabriel; at least although annoying, he's mostly reasonable. In the worst case, it'll be Michael, who is definitely not going to listen to reason."
"What about Uriel, then?" asked the demon. "Isn't he a possibility at all?"
Now, Aziraphale dropped his gaze to the floor. "You should know that Uriel is only sent for one kind of mission," he said very quietly. "I desperately hope he is not going to come."
Now, Crowley felt rather uneasy. He was a demon, and while he wasn't exactly happy with it, he could live with it. He'd had time to get used to it, and even though he wasn't perhaps evil in the ways most of the other demons were, he was, well, a bastard. He was good at his job. But the angel...
The Fall had hurt, he remembered. It had hurt so very much. Aziraphale couldn't Fall, not his angel, and definitely not because of him. He wouldn't allow that.
But if Uriel was sent down, what could he do to stop the archangel?
*
Needless to say, Crowley was quite distracted as he drove the Bentley later that day. He hadn't wanted to leave at all, but Aziraphale had insisted that he should go; after all, his plants needed care, Aziraphale would be fine, really, and besides he had run out of tea and chocolate and wouldn't Crowley be a dear and go buy some because miracled stuff just never had the taste, you know? And so there he was, plants traumatized well enough to last them at least a week, the requested items -- as well as the ingredients for a fine dinner, as he didn't dare to risk a trip to the Ritz -- in tow, driving well over the speed limit back to the bookshop. If something had happened to Aziraphale during his absence he would never forgive himself. Demons were good at not forgiving.
He wasn't distracted enough, however, not to notice that the music he had put on suddenly stopped to be replaced by an annoying voice.
CROWLEY, the voice said coolly. IT HAS COME TO OUR ATTENTION THAT YOU ARE LIVING WITH AN ANGEL.
Crowley bit back a curse. He played with the thought of turning the radio off, but knew that it wouldn't help at all. Therefore he just resigned to sigh, "First off, I still have my own apartment," even if he only occasionally visited it nowadays, "and secondly, what is that to you?"
YOU KNOW WE CANNOT TOLERATE SUCH BEHAVIOUR, he was told. THIS IS DEFINITELY UNIQUE, THANK SATAN FOR THAT. AS NOBODY QUITE KNOWS WHAT TO DO WITH YOU -- ALTHOUGH WE HAVE INDEED GOT SOME RATHER INTERESTING SUGGESTIONS YOU PROBABLY WOULDN'T LIKE -- WE'LL SEND ONE OF THE TOP BRASS UP THERE TO MAKE CLEAR OF THE SITUATION. THE PRINCE OR A CROWN, MOST PROBABLY. DON'T TRY TO HIDE; IT'D ONLY MAKE YOUR SITUATION WORSE.
The news reporter continued, never noticing the fact that his voice had been borrowed by a demon. Crowley hid his face in his hands, muttering curses.
With any luck the angel sent for Aziraphale would indeed be Michael. And he'd come about the same time as whoever was sent from Down There. That was the only way both he and the angel would survive the encounter.
*
As soon as Crowley walked in Aziraphale knew that something wasn't right. It wasn't just the former worry -- not that Crowley would have ever admitted such a thing, of course -- but there was now something else in the demon that bothered him. "What is it, my dear?" he asked worriedly.
Crowley muttered a curse, practically throwing the angel's tea and chocolate on the desk. "You're not the only one whose bosses have finally caught on," he spat.
"What?" Aziraphale's eyes widened in shock as fear filled his heart. Surely Crowley didn't mean... "Oh, Crowley. What are they going to do?"
The demon now sighed, leaning against a bookshelf. "They have decided to send one of the top brass for me, that's what," he said quietly. "I can only hope it's somebody like Moloch or Astaroth -- they're so stupid that I might convince them I'm trying to tempt you to Fall. Beelzebub would be bad, but he's a businessman through and through. I could perhaps strike a deal with him or at least hold some hope of survival. But if it's Belial..." He sighed, shaking his head. "That one is all about seduction and pleasure. And the only way I could offer him pleasure is by letting him torture me eternally, I fear."
Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something. However, he never got the chance. Just then the door was opened, a wave of power flowing into the bookshop.
In the doorway stood an angel, his aura stronger than any Crowley had felt ever since leaving Heaven before the beginning of time. His black hair was messy but his robes impossibly clean and tidy, and his eyes were like two gleaming sapphires, the colour of the deepest sky. For a moment the demon was overwhelmed by his simple presence. Then, however, he managed to shake himself out of his shock enough to realize just who had arrived.
It was Uriel. The Severer had come for his angel.
Aziraphale squeaked fearfully and hid behind his back. For once Crowley could not fault him for this kind of behaviour. He made his best to stand bravely between the two angels even though his legs were about to give out under the powerful aura of the archangel, staring right at the sapphire eyes, his mouth set in a thin line. "Don't you dare come any nearer," he growled in what he hoped was a threatening tone. Unfortunately, it came out more as a fearful squeak.
"Fear not, Aziraphale," said Uriel. "You are not to Fall today." His voice was that of an angel's, his words of the Heavenly language, and Crowley couldn't help but wonder whether he had ever spoken anything else. Well, he couldn't have helped it if his brain had been capable of a task such as wondering; at the moment, he was mostly trying to stand the pain that language caused in his ears. He hadn't heard it for millennia, and it made him ache in ways he'd rather not think about. On Aziraphale the words seemed to have an opposite effect -- rather understandable, as he was an angel.
Apparently now braver than a moment before, the angel stepped out to the view, abandoning his place of safety behind Crowley's back although still staying close to the demon. "Then why are you here, and not one of the other three?" he asked. "You are, after all, usually only sent for Felling angels."
"That is indeed true," replied the archangel. "However, it was felt the best in Heaven that I would come down here in this particular matter. They thought I would be the best judge of demonic nature and intentions, having seen all of the Fallen."
He now looked at Crowley, apparently noticing the demon's discomfort for the first time. "You'll have to accept my apologies, Demon Crowley. It was not my intention to cause you such pain."
Crowley let out a sigh of relief as the archangel's aura grew considerably weaker. Now feeling a bit better, he then looked at Uriel, trying to think of ways to convince the archangel of his good intentions -- not an easy feat for a demon.
"My intentions are probably better than can be expected of any other of my kind," he said, making sure to stay close to Aziraphale, still tense and ready to leap. "I wish no harm to Aziraphale -- and I won't allow him to Fall because of me."
"I know that," the angel replied calmly, this time in English, although he still used his angelic voice. "Should you wish for his Fall, you hardly would have stood between him and me. I remember you, demon. You never meant to Fall, and for that I give you credit."
"Nobody means to Fall," said Crowley quietly. "Nobody could wish for that pain."
He felt Aziraphale give him a surprised gaze. He had never voluntarily spoken of the Fall. However, he ignored the other's surprise, concentrating on the archangel. He couldn't let his attention waver if he wanted to survive this little encounter.
"Ah, but who would know the pain before the Fall?" asked the archangel softly, watching Crowley intently.
"True," added a new voice, one that made Aziraphale wince. "It's not exactly something to shout out at every corner."
"Belial," said Uriel, seemingly unsurprised by the high-ranking demon's arrival. "It is not often that I happen to see you."
"And not often that I see you," replied Belial, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. "What has drawn you to Earth this time, Uriel? You're not here to Fell the unfortunate angel, are you?"
"Fell him? Oh, no," replied Uriel calmly. "I see no reason to. What I've found here is love, pure and untainted. It is often hard to find these days. No, I believe the angel Aziraphale has done very well indeed. To genuinely love a demon is an achievement to be rewarded rather than punished." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, apparently completely without a worry. He had every reason to be -- he had probably the greatest reserves of holy power in the whole world, aside from His powers, of course. "What about yourself? Are you here to bring this charming demon for punishment?"
"That we shall see," replied the demon, smirking a bit. "Although as I now look at these indeed most charming gentlemen, I must say I have no intention of doing so. What I see going on here is the temptation of an angel, a most high goal for any demon. I really don't understand why anybody would press charges against Crowley for undemonic behaviour. He'd deserve a commendation rather than punishment."
"I can see why you would think that, even if I do not exactly agree with you," Uriel said calmly, a serene smile on his lips. "Shall we agree that neither of them should be punished, then, but instead rewarded highly indeed?"
Belial nodded in response. "I believe that might be a good decision, beneficial for all involved, yes." He turned towards the very bewildered Crowley. "Good work, Crowley, definitely worth the Serpent. Not surprising, though, given your brilliant history in the art of temptation. I'll see that you receive that commendation. Keep this up and a promotion might not be far off."
"You shall soon receive a commendation for your efforts as well, my dear Aziraphale," Uriel said then, again with the angel tongue, probably not even noticing. Crowley cringed, but Belial hardly seemed to even notice. "I would not consider a promotion absolutely impossible, either. May the Presence be with you." With that and a nod at the two demons, Uriel turned around and walked to the door. Then he opened it, stepping out of the shop, never arriving to the street outside.
The two less powerful beings now glanced a bit fearfully at Belial, half expecting him to change his mind and attack now that the archangel was gone. However, Belial merely smirked, eyes momentarily flickering to where Uriel had been moments before. With one last call of, "Just remember, kids, unprotected sex is promoted by both sides," -- which left Aziraphale blushing fiercely and Crowley dazedly trying to decide whether he should cry or laugh -- he then left as well, leaving nothing but the lingering smell of exotic spices in his wake.
After Belial had left, Aziraphale and Crowley glanced at each other, trying to understand just what had just happened. Finally they both shook their heads, unsure whether anything had happened at all. It all seemed rather bizarre, like a strange dream.
"What does this mean, what do you think?" asked Aziraphale finally, his voice quiet in half shock, half awe. "Has everything in the universe gone wrong?"
Crowley, however, smirked a bit. "I think, angel," he said, "I think we have a Friend Somewhere."
*
Uriel sat on a rooftop, gazing over the city. "They didn't seem to suspect a thing," he commented lightly
"Why would they have?" purred a quiet voice in his ear while a pair of arms was wrapped around his waist. "After all, you are completely without desires aside from your craving for Him, as they should well know. Everybody knows you are the one angel least vulnerable to seduction."
"Which is why your usual tactics didn't work," concluded Uriel, leaning his head back against Belial's shoulder. He set his eyes on the demon's face, raising a hand to gently trace the line of the other's cheek. "I still don't know lust, you know."
"I'll work on that one," chuckled the demon. "After all, what would be a more exciting challenge? To seduce the one angel impossible to seduce..."
"Or to make the one demon who is all about temptation actually love instead of lusting." Turning around in the circle of the demon's arms, Uriel placed a soft kiss on Belial's lips. "We shall see which one of us succeeds first."
"We shall indeed," Belial said, practically purring. He raised one hand to tangle it in the other's short raven locks, bringing his face close for another kiss. Oh, but the angel tasted of purity, of Heaven and its eternal light, and it was intoxicating.
He could hurt this angel so badly. There in his arms was probably the most powerful being in the universe right after Him Above -- and, possibly, Him Below --, as completely trusting as an angel with a warrior's instincts ever could be in the close proximity of a demon. Even now he could do damage, and whenever they were having sex, Uriel's body bare and unprotected under him, the angel hardly having the presence of mind to even speak coherently leave alone protect himself, he could do so much more. Yet he never did.
He didn't understand it, any of it. He didn't understand why or even how he resisted his instincts, which told him to rip apart the pale beauty in front of him, didn't understand how Uriel could give himself to him so completely and still know no lust. The angel did enjoy their intimate encounters, that he knew -- he wouldn't have considered himself worth the name of Lord of Seductions if his partner hadn't received great pleasure indeed -- yet his main reason for agreeing to do it seemed to be bringing pleasure to him, Belial, instead of himself. The demon could not understand, his own existence being focused solely on pleasure in all its intoxicating forms.
He wasn't about to complain, though. Uriel was absolutely perfect. The thrill of danger excited him, both knowing very well that a little twist in their aura could damage the other immensely, neither doing it, always silently wondering which one would manage to control themselves longer -- and get hurt so very badly. The angel's body was simply perfect as well, his enticing aura strengthening in Belial the distant memories of Heaven, the way his inexperience made way to experience in his eagerness to learn both endearing and very satisfying indeed.
Of course, Uriel could hurt him as well and he knew it. The angel had brought him pain like nothing else in the Fall, but even if no pain could ever come even close to matching that agony, the archangel's aura alone would have torn him apart had Uriel meant to hurt him. While no more powerful than the other archangels -- who definitely were bad enough, Michael especially, the smite-happy bastard -- he had the added benefit of Presence. Other angels of any rank leant on the holy powers in themselves whenever they were to hurt a demon. Uriel, on the other hand, had the whole weight of His Presence lending him power. Michael might have been the only angel ever to have defeated Lucifer in a battle of blades, but Uriel was the only one who might have defeated him by his aura alone.
And this angel, probably the most dangerous to any beings demonic despite being no match to Michael in physical battle, this angel he was trying to seduce? This angel, with his pretty blue eyes and rosy lips, had managed to actually turn the Lord of Seductions completely monogamous? He must be insane, Belial decided, absolutely insane to be doing this, to want to do this, to allow his very nature be gently twisted in the angel's delicate hands.
However, even if he was insane, he still enjoyed it.
He enjoyed it very much indeed.
*
Crowley tensed as the pleasure of his climax hit him, howling his angel's name while he spent himself inside the very willing body under him. Aziraphale was shuddering in the last moments of his own climax, painting both their chests with a sticky mess, Crowley's name rolling over and over from his lips like a passionate prayer.
The demon collapsed on top of his lover, breathless, only barely conscious of his doings enough to banish the remains of Aziraphale's passion lest they be glued together. His mouth sought out that of the angel, and their lips joined in a sated, lingering kiss.
As they broke the kiss, Aziraphale looked at him, a slight smile on his lips. "I love you," he said quietly, sincerely. Meaning it.
Crowley smiled back somewhat dazedly. Oh, the things this angel could do to him! For a moment he tried to find a response, something, anything he could say, but found nothing of the kind. His forked little tongue simply would not twist around the words. So, instead he just kissed the angel again, hoping that Aziraphale could read all his emotions through the contact of their lips, all those things he could not say no matter how much he wanted to. And Aziraphale understood, he knew that. He couldn't not understand, after all these years.
"There are worse ways to earn a commendation," Aziraphale said quietly, then chuckled slightly. "In fact, I can't think of a more pleasurable way to do that."
"Likewissse," Crowley hissed, the smell of sex all around them calling for his demonic nature. That, and he was simply too relaxed to care. He nuzzled the angel's neck, breathing deep the scent of his angel.
Aziraphale was soft and warm and oh so very much his. And no force in Heaven or Hell could tear them apart.
There was a hand in his hair and he smiled.
Part 2: In The Eye of the Beholder
Aziraphale was not happy, not happy at all. Crowley had promised to just go do some business and come back in time to take him for a dinner at Ritz. Now it was well past dinnertime and he hadn't heard anything from Crowley. Finally giving up waiting, vowing to give the demon the talking-to of his existence once he finally showed up, the angel headed for bed.
Aziraphale was, truth be told, rather lazy for an angel. Still, he had never been too fond of sleeping -- not until Crowley had introduced him to this lovely activity, at least. Nowadays it was one of his favourite pastimes and he always enjoyed every opportunity to indulge in it.
Therefore, he wasn't exactly happy as just as he'd been about to fall asleep the telephone rang. And rang. And rang, refusing to shut up before he went and picked up the receiver. "What is it?" he asked irritably.
The voice in the other end of the line was very quiet, and it sounded somewhat strange, but Aziraphale still both heard and recognized it. "Angel?" whispered Crowley.
Aziraphale usually didn't mind hearing the demon's voice, rather it made him glad, but right now he wasn't on the best of moods. At first he had waited for hours in the futile hope of Crowley showing up like he had promised to, and now, when the other finally called -- called, not even bothering to show up! -- he'd had to get out of his warm, comfortable bed - which he was alone in. Therefore his reaction wasn't exactly friendly, whatever may have been expected from an angelic being.
"Crowley?!" he snapped, sleepy and irritated. "Just what do you think you're doing, calling me at this hour after forgetting all about our meeting? Are you purposefully trying to piss me off? Because if you are, congratulations -- you've certainly managed well enough!"
He was just about to hang up the phone when Crowley spoke again. "Angel," he repeated, "not trying to... piss you off. Just... had to call..." This time, Aziraphale realized that the strangeness he had sensed in the voice earlier was pain. His anger immediately turned into worry edging on panic.
"What's wrong, Crowley? What's happened? Where are you?" he asked quickly, wanting to know, needing to know, wanting to do something to help his friend.
"I don't know," the demon replied wearily. "Somewhere. Hurt. Demons hurt. Damn Hastur... bastard hurt me. Can't get anywhere... Come get me, angel?" In the end his voice was so pleading, so desperate, that Aziraphale's heart almost shattered at hearing it.
"I'll be over there in a second," Aziraphale replied softly. Then he quickly concentrated and changed form, disappearing inside the phone. It was good that Crowley had told him about that one particular incident; he probably would have never thought of such a way of travel by himself.
What he hadn't thought about, however, was the fact that upon arriving he shouldn't change back into his usual form too quickly. As he indeed returned to his normal shape almost as soon as he was out of the phone, he managed to accidentally knock Crowley over, making him drop the state-of-art cell phone he'd used to call the angel.
The demon was truly in a bad shape, Aziraphale noticed, worriedly chewing his lower lip. There were cuts and burns all over the other's body, clothes now mere rags, the open wings horribly mutilated with cuts and wounds and torn feathers everywhere. He hadn't seen Crowley so badly hurt in millennia, and he had to work very hard not to scream or cry or anything else like that.
He had to help Crowley, he realized. He was the only one who could in this situation. Very carefully he collected the demon's tortured form into his arms, very grateful for the fact that Crowley'd managed to keep humans from seeing into the alleyway despite his obvious pain. Now it was his turn to keep them safe and hidden, he decided. It wasn't like Crowley himself could have done that anymore, anyway; he had already passed out in pain.
Cradling the demon to his chest like one might an injured child or a sick kitten, Aziraphale took off very carefully, adjusting his flight to be as smooth and steady as possible. It wouldn't do to be careless with Crowley right now.
Seeing the blood trickling down Crowley's face from closed eyes he got even more worried. The damned cried blood. To think that Crowley had been hurt badly enough to actually cry in pain when he usually kept up a calm appearance was horrifying.
He probably would have been even more horrified had he known Crowley wasn't crying.
*
As Crowley slowly woke up, he noticed that the pain had lessened to an ache. That, he decided, was definitely a good sign. The last thing he remembered was calling the angel, but that was about it.
"Aziraphale?" he asked quietly, hopefully. In an instant there was a hand on his own, covering it, squeezing it, bringing him comfort. And then there was a quiet voice, telling him that it was all right, that nothing could hurt him now, that he was safe. And Crowley believed his angel, just because it was his angel, because Aziraphale could never lie to him.
Slowly he forced his eyes open, his serpentine nature telling him that closed eyes were wrong. However, to his surprise and slight fear, this brought no change to what he could - or, rather, couldn't - see.
"...Angel?" he asked quietly. "Why is it so dark here? I can't see a thing..." His voice trailed off. For the first time ever Aziraphale saw an unsure expression on Crowley's face. "Oh, angel, please, please say it's dark..."
"No, Crowley," Aziraphale said quietly, closing his eyes for a moment, forcing out the words and hating himself for it. "The lights are indeed on."
Now, Crowley didn't say anything, apparently shocked to silence. So, Aziraphale continued to speak.
"I healed what I could, but my powers don't work very well on holy wounds, and, well... I could do nothing about your eyes. With a bit of luck they'll heal on their own, though." He could only hope his voice sounded sure about Crowley's healing abilities. He definitely wasn't feeling very hopeful.
Oh, but the damage had been bad. Where previously had been pretty golden eyes was now a mass of scars, among which could be seen one sign, one cruel word over and over. It was Crowley's own true name -- his demonic name. No matter what Aziraphale had tried, the scars refused to fade.
Crowley was quiet for a while. Finally, though, he let his eyes slide closed again - the combination of Aziraphale's healing powers and his own had regrown the severed eyelids - and said, "I - I'm tired. I think I'll sleep some more."
"Do that, my dear," Aziraphale said softly, gently petting the demon's dark hair. "I'll watch over you."
And Crowley fell asleep, still in pain but now secure.
*
"You bloody angel-shagging bastard," hissed Hastur, pressing his face close to that of Crowley. "I'll make you pay for what you did to Ligur."
"Your breath stinks," Crowley replied. "When did you last brush your teeth?"
Of course, it wasn't perhaps the best of ideas to annoy a demon who was currently in the process of cutting him into pieces. At least that was what Hastur apparently was doing, given the amount of cuts and wounds Crowley now had all over his body. Of course he had made his fair share of damage as well, but in the end Hastur was a Duke, and he was the more powerful one. No matter how hard he had fought, in the end the other demon had won him. There was no way out now.
"I've got you something nice," Hastur said with a nasty smile. "You'll soon see something amazing." A cruel laugh escaped the more powerful demon's lips. "And it'll be the last thing you ever see, too."
Now, Crowley became more attentive. What was this? Only powerful holy objects could kill a demon permanently, and Hastur hardly could handle something so holy without harming himself in the process. And if he knew something about the Duke, it was that he never let himself to come to danger.
Then, however, Hastur produced from somewhere a pair of very thick gloves, covering his hands with them. "I found something special for you," the Duke of Hell cooed. "See?" From a heavy leather pouch the demon took out a long, white quill. It was too white to be from any Earthly bird. Crowley's blood chilled.
"From an angel's wing," Hastur said, smirking even more cruelly than before. "And just to make your experience complete..." In his other hand he held a tiny vial, keeping it far from his body. "Holy water, you little bastard. The same thing you used when you killed Ligur."
Crowley's mouth fell open in shock. Suddenly he realized just what Hastur was going to do. He frantically tried to close his eyes only to have a sharp claw slice his eyelids away.
"Now, I'll have nothing of that," Hastur cooed. He dipped the quill in the holy water. It glowed with a silvery white light. "Isn't it pretty? Just like your angel..."
Crowley saw the quill coming nearer and nearer. Then there was a burning sensation, and he saw nothing more.
*
Gasping, Crowley shot up in his bed, the memory of the pain still fresh in his mind. After he got his franticly beating heart somewhat under control he quickly felt his side. There was Aziraphale, like he had expected, warm and safe.
"Is something wrong, my dear?" asked Aziraphale sleepily, a tone of concern in his voice.
'Everything,' Crowley thought, but didn't say it aloud. What he did say was, "Nothing. Nothing anymore."
'Except that I want to see you. I want to see you and kiss you and look you in the eye and tell that you are beautiful, for you are, and I can never tell it to you again or if I do it won't be true because I couldn't tell either way. And, angel, I want to see you... just one more time...'
Turning towards Aziraphale, he curled up, pressing himself close to the angel's side. The familiar warmth was comforting. The angel didn't say anything, merely wrapped his arms around him.
Crowley fell asleep once more, silently hoping to get undisturbed rest this time.
*
Crowley sipped at the large cup of tea in his hands. That morning had been the first time he'd had enough energy to get up from bed, and he'd spent the day getting used to moving around in Aziraphale's shop. He had discovered that after spending practically centuries there he could very well make his way around even without seeing where he was going. The locations of the bookshelves were carved in his memory; he could have just as well run into them as he could have forgot where his hands were. The books were a part of his angel, and he knew his angel through and through.
However, he didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.
He felt so helpless, knowing that in strange locations he couldn't make his way around on his own. That he'd have to trust others to help. Demons weren't helped - they made others need help.
Crowley hung his head, resisting the urge to let bloody tears fall from his sightless eyes. This was simply not right.
Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, and he gave a little startle. The angel moved far too quietly sometimes. "Hi, angel," he muttered.
"Crowley," Aziraphale said softly, moving his hand from Crowley's shoulder to his arm. "Crowley, Hastur has been caught."
"What?" Crowley's mouth fell open in surprise. "What do you mean, caught?"
"Well, it seems that he had stolen that feather he used to... mark you," Aziraphale said quietly, "from a more powerful demon. Very much more powerful. Anyway, this demon easily hunted him down and got the whole story out of him. It appears this one has quite a liking on you. You won't have to worry about Hastur ever again."
"Liking on me?" Crowley repeated disbelievingly. "Hardly, there's no liking between me and any other demon, especially those with much power. Except for maybe..." Suddenly his expression turned into simply stunned. "It was Belial, right? And that feather..."
"Was originally Uriel's," Aziraphale finished softly. "Given to Belial as a token of affection, so to speak. I suddenly understand much better their strange attitude about our relationship. Apparently Belial had even given an order to leave us in peace, and Hastur broke that rule. Needless to say, Belial wasn't too happy."
"Well, that's nice to hear," said sincerely Crowley, who was definitely enough of a demon to appreciate a bit of payback. "It still won't give my sight back, though."
"Well... Actually, it might," said Aziraphale hesitantly. Noticing Crowley's startled expression, he placed a calming hand on the other's arm. "It's nothing sure yet. It's just that Uriel apparently feels responsible as the damage was, however indirectly, done by using his powers. Apparently Raphael owes him a favour, so he offered to ask the Healer to come down here to take a look at your eyes. If Raphael can't do anything about it, nobody can."
"And if Raphael can't," Crowley said gloomily, "then I'll be blind for the rest of my existence."
To that, Aziraphale could hardly say anything. Biting his lip, he squeezed Crowley's arm a bit. No matter what happened, he would be there.
*
Raphael sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I've tried my best," he said, "but the best I could do was make the scars less obvious. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't give your demon back his sight."
Aziraphale nodded slowly, glancing carefully at Crowley. They had put the demon to sleep as the archangel's healing might have hurt him otherwise, what with all that holy power. He knew that Crowley had been expecting the worst, but he suspected he might still be quite disappointed. As the demon himself had said, if Raphael couldn't help, then nothing could.
"Thank you, Raphael," he said quietly. "You did what you could, and I am truly grateful of it."
"Oh, do not thank me." The healer smiled sadly. "Had Uriel not told me, I would never have even known about this predicament. And besides, it hardly is reasonable to thank me for doing nothing at all." He sighed again. "I must admit that I am not used to facing injuries I am unable to heal. It is quite upsetting."
Aziraphale nodded silently again, taking Crowley's hand into his own, holding onto it like it was the most precious thing in the world. And, to him, it was just that.
"It will be hard to him," he said, biting his lip momentarily. "He - what can he even do without seeing? It's hard for even blinded humans to adjust. He's had sight for six millennia - how can he just learn not to see?"
"That he has to figure out on his own," Raphael said. "I can give some advice, but in the end it is he who determines whether or not he'll ever be able to live normally again. I do know, however, that to do that, he's going to need your help." A bit hesitantly he placed a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, repeating quietly, "He's going to need you."
"And he has me," Aziraphale whispered. "He'll have me forever."
*
"Crowley, no. You simply can't drive when you're blind."
"Why not?" asked the demon, apparently rather annoyed at the mere suggestion that he was incapable of doing such a thing simply because he couldn't do something as minor as seeing. "Angel, it's not like I'm going to really drive it. The Bentley's more than capable of driving all by itself."
Aziraphale tried to give Crowley a Look, but it had little effect when the demon couldn't even see that he was given one. Finally, seeing that his efforts were quite futile the angel just sighed. "Fine," he muttered. "But I'll be coming with you."
"Oh, most gladly." Crowley smirked, and Aziraphale couldn't help but swallow. Usually that smirk was accompanied by a pair of glowing golden eyes peering at him over the top of the ever-present sunglasses. Now, there was no such gesture.
He had never even thought he could miss something like that.
They made their way through the city without any problems despite Aziraphale's worries. When they were about to enter Ritz, however, Crowley hesitated. Aziraphale noticed this and gently took a hold of the demon's hand.
"Come on now," he said softly. "You can do it. We've practiced everything, and I'll be there for you."
Crowley still looked quite hesitant. To be in a restaurant with strange people all around, unable to see anything, unsure about whether he could even manage to eat neatly when he didn't even see if he was about to drop something - it was not a wonder that he was nervous. Aziraphale squeezed his hand reassuringly.
Taking a deep, unnecessary breath, Crowley stepped forward.
*
Aziraphale smiled as he lay on their shared bed. Everything had gone perfectly, he decided. There had been one quite awkward moment when Crowley had accidentally hit a young woman with his elbow, but any protests on her part had been silenced when Crowley had momentarily lowered his sunglasses, revealing the scarred mess that had once been his eyes. After that nobody had bothered them.
Crowley was making good progress, he decided. He nowadays moved around the bookshop and the apartment above it like nothing had changed, and apparently the Bentley allowed him to move around the town as well. Sure, he would still need a lot of practice before he could spend time in the public alone, without his help.
He missed those golden eyes, he realized, missed their mischievous light so very much. However, he could live without even seeing that light again. Without Crowley he could not live. Therefore, he had better just forget about those eyes and be grateful that he still had his dear demon with him.
And grateful he was.
Crowley himself, on the other hand, was no more thinking about the dinner, nor about his progress in adjusting to his new life. Oh, the dinner had been good enough, but it was gone now. He was still hungry, too - just not for food this time.
Aziraphale, he decided, would be more delicious than even the perfect dinner.
Settling on the bed next to his angel, Crowley then let his hands wander over the other's soft form, tracing the outline of the body he knew so well that he could have just as well been looking at it. Aziraphale started to say something as Crowley's hands began removing his clothing, but the demon silenced any protests with a hungry kiss. The angel responded to the kiss, slowly relaxing under his touch.
Crowley could no more see the - in his opinion, at least - perfect form of his angel. However, he knew it perfectly, his hands flying over the now bare body, teasing and caressing and feeling, learning to use his knowledge of the angel's form without the aid of sight. His own clothing was now gone as well, Aziraphale's hands and finally a frustrated miracle having removed them rather quickly. He bent his head down to place tiny kisses down the angel's torso, over the line of his hip, on his inner thigh.
Crowley smirked a bit. He perhaps couldn't see the angel's reactions, but he definitely could hear -- and feel -- them. He lowered his head, mouth pressing against a familiar hard length, and heard Aziraphale moan.
Perhaps, Crowley thought, perhaps his life wasn't that badly ruined after all.
Part 3: The Eye of the Storm
Belial lazily ran a gentle hand over the pale, slender form of his angel. His more violent instincts were telling him to bare his claws, run them right through the angel's flesh, to tear and mangle and mercilessly torture the so very trusting being in front of him. His hand lingered at the root of Uriel's left wing, fingers momentarily curling around the bone, thinking about how easy it would be to break. He was used to causing the angel pleasure by playing with his sensitive wings. It would be so easy to cause horrible pain as well, breaking the fragile bones, pulling off the pure white feathers, tearing flesh and burning skin...
Not much would be needed. Just a little twist of his aura, making it damaging to the archangel. Uriel doubtlessly could outdo him when it came to the power of his aura, but with the angel in a half slumbering state and himself having the element of surprise, he probably could do a lot of damage before the angel even reacted. (Well, probably not. In the end Uriel was a warrior, perhaps not to Michael's level but certainly a better one than Belial himself was, and he had the reflexes of one. Still, in this situation Belial would have probably stood a fair chance at least.)
Smirking briefly at his own thoughts -- the mere idea of damaging this perfect beauty thus was almost revolting -- Belial then tangled his hand in the short dark hair, pressing his lips against those of Uriel. The angel responded eagerly, a hand wandering over Belial's chest, finally settling to rest on his side.
They broke the kiss a moment later. Uriel looked at him, a smile on his lips and love in his eyes, and Belial felt humbled that such a gaze would be directed at him from this perfectly pure creature. He also felt slightly uneasy about the fact that he could probably never openly and sincerely return it with equal emotion. Demons in general did not love, and while Crowley was working hard on proving that it was indeed possible, Belial suspected he would be the last one to experience it.
There were feelings inside him, things he couldn't recall ever feeling before during all his millennia of demonic existence, emotions he had no name for and wouldn't have dared to name even if he'd had. However, he was confident none of them was love. Their little competition was still to be resolved.
Fortunately, all those uneasy sensations were wiped away by the lightest kiss from Uriel's lips.
*
Uriel was awake. Belial lay by his side, fast asleep, long dark hair spread over the pillow. A slight smile crossed Uriel's lips as he looked at the demon. Oh, but he loved him so very much indeed.
Suddenly a bright light intruded the darkness of the bedroom, and he blinked, adjusting his eyes to what he recognized as holy light. In the middle of the light stood Metatron.
"Archangel Uriel, I bring to you a message from Our Lord," said the other angel, expressionless. "Are you willing to hear it?"
Uriel swallowed, glancing quickly at the still sleeping Belial, whose rest seemed undisturbed. He had done nothing wrong. He had nothing to fear.
He turned back towards Metatron. "I listen to my Lord," he replied quietly.
So, Metatron spoke. And each word of his tore at the core of Uriel's heart.
*
Reading, Crowley had discovered, could sometimes be quite entertaining. At least more so than simply sitting.
He knew Braille. Ironic or not, he had learnt it while he still could see. It helped him pass the time at the bookshop, and it kept one of Aziraphale's more regular customers, an elderly lady, from commenting on how rude it was to wear sunglasses inside.
Now, he had no choice. Somehow that made him feel less satisfied about his skill in reading this different kind of writing.
However, he could very well pass the time by reading every now and then. He was doing so at the moment, nimble fingers flying over pages that to most people were incomprehensible, while Aziraphale catalogued his books. This relatively peaceful moment, however, was interrupted as the door to the bookshop flew open and Crowley felt a powerful demonic aura entering.
In an instant the book flew to the side as he jumped up from his chair, moving to shield Aziraphale, whose aura flared slightly in shock. However, Belial - for Belial it was, like he discovered upon hearing the familiar voice calling his name - paid no attention to the angel. Instead, he shoved a piece of paper into Crowley's hands.
"Read it," came the simple order.
Crowley simply held the paper out to the more powerful demon. "Belial," he said, a hint of bitterness to be detected in his voice, "I can't read this."
"Ah, yes. I can't seemingly think straight," muttered Belial, not apologizing. Crowley hadn't expected him to, either. "You, angel. Read it aloud." He snatched the note from Crowley and handed it to Aziraphale, who unfolded it very carefully.
"My dear Belial," Aziraphale read,
"I have been ordered to go to Heaven and never return to you. If I ever do approach you again, it is to be with the intention to kill. As I cannot do that, I shall not come near you anymore. I don't want to leave you, but I don't want to Fall, either, and as much as I do love you, I still love Him more.
"Be well, Belial. I love you.
"Uriel."
Aziraphale fell silent, looking at Belial. The demon was avoiding his gaze, a stubborn expression on his face, obviously trying hard not to show any kind of emotion. Thus Aziraphale just neatly folded the note again and handed it back to its owner. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"Your apology does not help me," said Belial darkly. "I want my angel back. I don't know how, but I will have him back."
If not for the fact that one of them was absolutely unable to glance at anything, Aziraphale and Crowley might have exchanged glances. Belial wasn't probably even aware of what he had just said; it was what he felt, not what he thought. For a demon to speak of "his angel" was absolutely impossible.
Impossible - other than under certain circumstances.
*
Uriel hung his head, hiding his face. He should have been full of joy, once again in the light of Heaven, feeling Him even more strongly than on Earth if such a thing was possible. However, the only thing he could feel was pain, pain and sorrow at leaving Belial behind. He could never disobey Him, not ever, but even while his soul rejoiced at the joy of Heaven, his heart wept at his loss.
And suddenly, there was Presence. Not just the usual Presence he carried around with himself, but the feeling that He was truly There, not only as the background higher power watching over everything, but truly being with him, paying attention to him, speaking to him. And then, He Spoke.
"URIEL, MY FAITHFUL CHILD," He said with a Voice that would have shaken mountains, had any been nearby. "WHY DO YOU HAVE SORROW?"
"My Lord," Uriel replied quietly, "I am weak, nothing in front of You. I'm not worth being called Your faithful child. I should rejoice at being close to You, yet I mourn my loss of the one I loved, still love despite my parting of him."
"WOULD I CALL YOU FAITHFUL IF YOU WEREN'T THAT? YOU ARE DEAR TO ME, URIEL, AND I KNOW YOU ARE FAITHFUL TO ME -- NOW MORE THAN EVER. THAT YOU STILL MISS YOUR BELOVED ONLY SHOWS HOW MUCH YOU ARE READY TO SACRIFICE TO HEED MY WORD."
"I love You more than anything, my Lord," whispered Uriel. "I would never question Your Will, even when I don't understand it."
He sensed a Sigh. "YOUR LOVE WAS GETTING OUT OF HAND, URIEL. BECAUSE OF IT A DEMON GOT INTO TOUCH WITH ONE OF YOUR FEATHERS, USING IT WITH MALICIOUS INTENT. EVEN THIS TIME THE DAMAGE WAS UNSALVAGEABLE. WHO KNOWS WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN THE NEXT TIME?"
"But why was it so at the first place?" asked the archangel almost desperately. "The damage shouldn't have been impossible to heal. Not even angel feathers and holy water should be able to do harm that even Raphael cannot heal."
"IT IS NOT BECAUSE OF YOU, BUT BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU CARRY WITH YOURSELF," came the Answer. "YOUR OWN POWER COULD NOT HAVE DONE DAMAGE IMPOSSIBLE TO HEAL. HOWEVER, IN YOUR FEATHER, HOWEVER LONG AGO SEVERED, WAS STILL LINGERING THE POWER OF MY PRESENCE. THAT IS WHAT BLINDED DEMON CROWLEY."
"So it is because of my position that I have become a liability?" Uriel asked, his tone now bordering on almost bitter. He still wouldn't question, but he didn't have to like it. "Because I am the Angel of Presence I am not allowed to love whomever I choose?"
"IT DOES NOT HAVE TO BE SO."
A pair of sapphire eyes, moments ago closed in thought as well as lingering pain, snapped now open even if there was nothing to look at. "My Lord?" asked a quiet voice, hopeful, eager, breathless even when there was no need for breath in it. (Angelic voice and language had no use for air.)
"I OFFER YOU A CHOICE, URIEL. YOU MAY CHOOSE TO STAY AS YOU ARE, AND FORGET ABOUT YOUR BELOVED DEMON... OR GIVE UP THE PRESENCE AND BE WITH HIM."
The mere thought chilled him to the bone. "I still love You more than anything, my Lord. I could never give You up, not for anything."
"THAT IS WELL KNOWN. HOWEVER, I SAID NOTHING OF THE KIND. IT WASN'T MEANT AS A REQUEST FOR YOU TO FALL, MERELY TO GIVE UP YOUR POSITION AS THE ANGEL OF MY PRESENCE. SHOULD YOU ACCEPT, YOU WOULD LOSE MOST OF THE PRESENCE IN YOU, HAVING NO MORE THAN YOUR FELLOW ARCHANGELS. HOWEVER, YOU WOULD ALSO GAIN THE FREEDOM TO GO TO YOUR DEMON AS YOU PLEASE."
Now, Uriel didn't hesitate for a moment. "My Lord, I will do it."
And suddenly he was drained of the Presence, of its warmth and light, and he felt empty. There was still some inside him, he was an archangel after all, but no matter how much there was it still seemed like nothing when compared with what it had been before. He was empty, and cold, and it was dark save for a tiny, flickering flame deep inside him.
"IF YOU CHOOSE THE DEMON, THIS IS HOW YOU WILL BE," said the Voice. "YOU CAN STILL CHANGE YOUR MIND, URIEL. ARE YOU TRULY READY TO GIVE UP YOUR POSITION FOR YOUR LOVE?"
Uriel drew a deep breath. It did hurt, being so cold and empty, but even more hurt the thought of staying away from Belial forever. He couldn't do that. This, however, he could do. The only thing he wouldn't do for Belial was Falling, and this was not Falling, even if it did feel like that.
Quietly, he spoke. "I do not regret a thing, my Lord."
There was a Silence. Then, the Voice said gently, "YOUR LOVE IS STRONG, URIEL. GO, AND HAVE YOUR DEMON."
"Thank You, my Lord," murmured Uriel. However, He was already Away.
*
"Belial?"
The demon raised his eyes, shocked, as he heard the familiar voice. This couldn't be true! However, it appeared very true indeed as Uriel, beautiful as ever, slowly walked towards him on his sulking place on a rooftop.
Except that it wasn't Uriel. Not his Uriel. The aura was far dimmer, and the overwhelming sense of Presence was away. He growled deep in his throat. "Who are you?"
"It's me, Uriel!" the angel said, looking slightly surprised. "I was allowed to come back to you... I only had to give up His Presence."
For a moment, Belial froze. Then he growled, "Get out of my sight. I don't want you. You're of no use to me anymore."
The surprised look was immediately replaced with a shocked one. "What do you mean?"
"Can't you get it through your head, angel? I played with you. Used you. Your aura was intoxicating -- the closest to Heaven I've come ever since my Fall, delivered by your hand. Whenever you touched me I remembered how you severed me from the Presence, hurt me like no other has ever done. I could stand it in order to feel the Presence in you. Now, however, you're of no use to me. Do me a favour and leave. Don't bother to return, either."
The archangel stared at him in horror. "You can't be serious," Uriel said pleadingly, reaching out a hand to lay it on Belial's arm. "Please, tell me you're not serious..."
"Oh, I am indeed serious," Belial replied coldly, drawing away from him. "And honest, too. The first time I am honest to you, besides. So, listen carefully. I want nothing to do with you anymore. You can die for all I care; at least then you wouldn't bother me anymore. You were good enough of a fuck, but definitely not the best I've had. Your aura was the only reason I let you be around even this long. Now, get out of my sight."
Uriel, however, seemed to be incapable of motion. "But... I thought..." he stammered, looking every bit like a lost child with no idea which way takes home.
"That I loved you, eh?" Belial laughed cruelly. "Hardly, angel. As I said, sex and the Presence were the only things that kept me around. Now, sex alone isn't enough to make me monogamous. Not that I was that even before, of course." He smirked at the angel's shocked expression. "Why, of course I cheated on you. All the time. What did you expect? I'm the Lord of Seductions, not some worthless little snake like Crowley. It'd be impossible for me to be faithful even if I wanted to -- which I never did."
For a moment Uriel simply stared at him. Then, however, the angel turned and began to run, wings bursting out mid-step, and took off faster than Belial had ever seen him fly.
The demon was left behind, heartbroken.
*
Aziraphale glanced up from his book as he heard the door being opened. For a moment he didn't recognize the being standing there. He did look familiar - in fact, he looked exactly like Uriel - but the feeling of Presence that always accompanied the archangel was away. There was still an angelic aura, and a powerful one at that, but somehow it seemed... dim. In fact, the whole being looked quite miserable.
"Um... Can I help you?" he asked hesitantly, at the same time glancing to his side to make sure Crowley was still there. A clearly powerful angel might mean danger to his demon.
"Aziraphale," said their unexpected guest, and with a startle he recognized the voice, realized that yes, this was indeed Uriel, however improbable it seemed. "Aziraphale, I..." He trailed off. Then, to the principality's great surprise, he burst into tears.
Placing his book aside, Aziraphale sighed and walked to the archangel, pulling him into a comforting embrace. This, he suspected, would take quite some time.
*
Crowley cursed as he landed on the roof, changing back to his usual human form. He'd had to change into a bat to avoid hitting any buildings on his way there. He absolutely hated shape-shifting and only did it when absolutely necessary. This'd better be worth it.
"Belial!" he snapped to the direction of the other's aura. "Just why did you tell that kind of crap to the angel? I know damn well you weren't sleeping with him just because of his aura!"
Belial turned his head away from the lower demon, not that Crowley even knew that. "He'll be better off without me," he murmured quietly. "Without me he'll be able to go and have back the Presence and be happy. He wasn't happy, I know it -- he may have wanted me more than the Presence, but he still missed it too much to truly be happy."
"You fucking idiot!" Crowley spat, not even stopping to think that he was currently insulting his superior. "He can't have it back; that was one of the conditions! Last time I saw him he was weeping against Aziraphale's shoulder, saying that now that he'd lost both you and the Presence there was no reason for him to exist anymore. Do you really want to be responsible of his death if he ends up doing something stupid?"
"He wouldn't." However, Belial's voice wasn't quite so sure.
"Oh, yes, he would. What's keeping him from doing it? He no more has any duties to fulfill and the Old Man Above has no use for him. You, the one he gave up everything else for, have made it very clear you don't want anything to do with him. Give me one reason why he wouldn't just die and be done with it!"
Belial made a strangled sound and hid his face. He whispered something so quietly that not even Crowley's demonic ears heard it clearly, but it sounded suspiciously like, "What have I done?"
*
"Aziraphale!" Crowley exclaimed as he rushed into the bookshop. "Where is he?"
"Uriel?" asked the principality. "He went upstairs, said he wanted a moment of rest. Why so?"
"Shit," muttered Crowley. "Didn't I tell you not to leave him alone for a moment?"
Aziraphale didn't have the time to respond as the two demons rushed past him up the stairs. He simply followed. They hadn't even opened the door of the bedroom as the heavy scent of blood hit them in the face. Aziraphale froze momentarily, shocked, while the two demons merely looked grim, and, in Belial's case, desperate.
As the door was opened, Aziraphale froze because of shock, Crowley because the scent of blood mixed with holiness brought up far too many unpleasant memories - most of them involving his recent encounter with Hastur. Belial, however, reacted immediately. He ran inside, pulled the angel into his arms, and channelled all his power to healing the wounds the archangel had managed to cut on his wrists.
Slowly the flow of blood slowed down, and he let out a sigh of relief. Still he held his angel close,
This was his angel, Belial thought. His angel, his to have, his to hold, his to... love. For love Uriel he did, love so much that his demonic heart felt full of warmth and light it had never felt before. He cradled Uriel's limp form against his chest, completely oblivious to the presence of two lesser beings nearby.
"I'm sorry, angel," he whispered, pressing his face against the soft ebony locks. "I'm sorry, I never meant it, never wanted to say those words... Please, angel, forgive me..."
There was no response from Uriel. However, the previously so frighteningly cold body was starting to feel warmer, and then a sharp gasp escaped the angel's lips and Belial had never heard a sound more beautiful.
He didn't know what would happen now. However, he did know that everything would turn out all right in the end. For the first time ever since his Fall he felt optimistic.
After all, Uriel was there, alive -- however barely --, held close against him. And nothing else mattered to him.
*
Aziraphale glanced after the two beings that now were quickly growing more distant. Those two wouldn't have it easy, he knew, but he was sure they would figure it out in the end.
Suddenly, there was a hand on his arm. "Aziraphale?" asked Crowley quietly. "Promise... promise me you'll never try to leave."
Aziraphale smiled sadly at the demon's fearful tone. A loving demon? Ridiculous. And so very fragile.
"I promise, my dear," he whispered. "I promise."