The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 31: The Haste of an Angel

Chapter 31: The Haste of an Angel

Time passed and one day bled into the other. With no end in sight for the dreams, the angel and the demon existed in a sort of tormented cycle. Each of Anametha's attempts to alleviate Crowley's dreams worked temporaility.

Between Aziraphale and Crowley few words were spoken, few thoughts were shared. The angel brooded; the demon was despondant.  Together they were locked in this frightful position while their attention was diverted from that unknown enemy hunting them down, and they knew it.

Then, one morning both woke up shouting. After a few breathless seconds they seized each other, Crowley widening the eye lids of the angel with his thumbs and forefingers, inspecting the spheres in their sockets. Aziraphale flipped his demon's wrists over, snapping his head to and fro as he smoothed his hands over both them, and his fingers, for sign of injury. Those fingers, those beautifully long, artistic fingers...how they had seized...

                At last, their pulses slowed, and they regarded one another, and embraced tightly.

                "Number 73. Now I know what the carpenter felt like," Crowley hissed.

                For a long while they fell into silence, just holding each other, Crowley rubbing his hand absentmindedly along the angel's back.  But Aziraphale hiccupped, and started to twist.

                "Oh, the poor man! The poor, poor man!" He moaned and squeezed Crowley so tight he gasped.

                "Easy. You're working yourself up again." Aziraphale's mood was feeding the demon's.

"Couldn't breathe," Aziraphale nearly sobbed. "Had to raise up on those terrible nails. My chest collapsed. No air to scream!"

"Angel." Crowley cussed, betraying tears emerging from his flaming eyes. "Cut it out..."

Aziraphale began heaving "I couldn't—I couldn't reach you! I saw you try to move your fingers, but, oh your fingers---"The angel grabbed the demon's hands and started kissing the digits uncontrollably, sending the demon deeper into despair. Crowley relented to the horror.

"You struggled there," Crowley heaved. "Oh God, hung there, so rent, defeated, and then that...that.... raven." Crowley pulled away and inspected his angel's eyes once more. "I'll pluck out my own eyes before I dare witness that again!!!"

"My demon!" Aziraphale proclaimed. "My beautiful, sorrowful, sweet little snake! I can't—I can't take your pain anymore!!!" He flung the sheets off and slouched on the edge of the bed. He rested his face in his hands as if shattered.

He clenched his fists and he was hitting his thighs with every word. "I need to find a way; I have to find a way! There has got to be a way!" Crowley was too stunned to move.

And then, suddenly, the angel straightened. He went silent immediately, though his breathing remained heavy. Crowley watched him. And then the angel whispered, "Mementos..."

Aziraphale turned to him, and there was something new and bright and almost terrifying in his eye.  A glint like a whirling galaxy. Crowley touched his hand, alarmed by the shift, the light in his pupils. "Angel, whatever it is, think long and hard before you do it."

"Mementos! I've got it! At last!" The angel's brow furrowed and he got up with purpose and went to his dresser. "Why didn't I think of it before!" The demon watched, quizzical.

                "Whot is it?"

                "Ah, here it is." From the top of the dresser the angel retrieved a small wooden box, and opening the lid, brought something shiny to his face. Then gesturing toward the demon, he sat down on the edge of the bed as Crowley slid over next to him. He held the object between their faces.