Chapter 48: Desecration
Aziraphale wasted no time. Shadwell and Newt raced out of the pub, but found the bookshop standing not a few feet away. The doors swung open and the angel stood against the light, wild eyed and arms out. Shadwell tumbled the unconscious demon into his embrace, and they all fled to the study.
Very careful, reverently, Aziraphale laid him down on the sofa, and he made him as comfortable as he could. He took off his glasses, his demon's eyes were closed. It was as if he wasn't even there in his own body, but the angel knew he was!
Shakily, he reached down, the others hovering expectantly over his shoulders, as he pulled Crowley's shirt collar down to where a glimmer had turned into a blazing light. The others blinked, but the angel ran his fingers lovingly over the spot, and signed. He slid down to his knees. "Boundless thanks, Sergeant. You retrieved him just in time."
"What be that then, on his person?" Shadwell whispered, lowering down into a wooden chair. Newt found a seat himself. Every inch of them was shaking.
"Yes," Newt agreed. "It looked like a sort of light. A heart shaped—"
"Just a ward," the angel offered wearily, running his hand down the demon's face. "Nothing but a ward to protect him from dreams." The angel shook himself, and straightened. He gathered his dignity, without rising up, and looked between the two of them. "What happened?"
"I dunna know! He just...started staring at the mirror."
"Oh, dear."
"And then he got a tad unsteady, and picked something off the floor."
"What?"
Shadwell's murky eyes fell away from his. The angel turned to Newt, who shriveled a little.
"Come now, someone tell me," the angel pled. Shadwell rubbed his scruffy chin, then reached out for the demon's tightly clasped hand.
"It's still there," he offered faintly. "A tiny lock of blond, burnt hair." With a few heavy strokes he pried open the hand, and there in the palm was the lock. "He sniffed it, got a weird look on his face, and went down." He drew away his fingers, and the demon's grip snapped shut like a mouse trap.
"Thank you, again," the angel offered vaguely, his face a mask of growing horror. The implications were sinking in. He jerked up to Newt. "What about you? Did you see anything, out of the ordinary?"
"Well, I'm not certain. The whole night we were all tanked and going in for twenty-five rounds of bawdy old songs. Crowley was leading the sing-a-long. And then, he drifted off somewhere, and then I saw him glaring at the pub mirror. His back was to me. Then a bunch of people came thru and carried me off to play billiards, and the next thing I know Shadwell is hollering for us to get the hell of there, Crowley limp in his arms!"
"Did you see his face, at all?"
"I did," Shadwell asserted. "Like seeing a ghost."
Aziraphale returned his attention to Crowley. "I've seen that look before," he muttered almost bitterly.
"Oh aye? Was it directed toward you?"
The angel nodded, and lightly kissed Crowley's unresponsive mouth. "That Saturday."
"The day I killed ye," Shadwell said flatly. It was stated as fact, not an admission of guilt, and the angel had the grace to take it in that context.
He sighed and continued, "I'll need to be alone with him, to check his condition."
"But," Newt rose up from his chair, stood over the angel," Will the two of you be safe here, alone, I mean?"
"Lad," Shadwell chided softly, "why d'ye think the pansy conjured the whole store right in front of us?"
"Ah."
"Still," Shadwell continued, pulling himself up with a groan. "If you think it would a be needin' our aid, or if we need to fetch someone?" The angel shook his head vigoriously. "Alright then, but move this thing, willya? You don't want a line of drunks wanderin' into your nice clean shop."
Newt sniffed "Actually, it's rather musty in—" Shadwell eyeballed him silent.
"That's the smell of archaic knowledge. Took me a while to see the difference too."
"Ah."
Shadwell grimaced at the boy, then threw his thumb over his shoulder. "Out."
They both moved away from the study, and somberly exited the shop. As they stepped out, the angel called back, and then Shadwell turned. He could barely make out the angel's frightened, and grateful, face.
"I know we've had our differences, Sergeant—" the angel called to him.
"As we will continue to do. Now, we'll leave ye to it. Goodnight, and good luck." He tapped his forelock, and pulled the bewildered Newt out the door along with him.
The last day before All Souls arrived. It came in silence and it came in dread.
The angel got no sleep that night. He stayed at Crowley's side, and listened to his fitful murmurings as he grasped the lock of hair in his fist. A few times the angel tried to pry it loose, but Crowley's fingers locked hard onto it. The angel perceived no danger from it, so let it be.
If anything, it was the first touch Crowley had with anything of his lost daughter is centuries.
"But how?" the angel asked the air, laying his head on the couch's arm beside his Beloved's tossing head. "Nothing was left. Dear God? Hello?" He shut is eyes tight, and weakly asked," How did they do it?"
"Desecration," murmured Crowley. Aziraphale bolted up. The demon's eyes shot open. Darting back and forth across the room. With a groan, he unfolded, and sat up. His face was haggard with grief.
Slowly, he offered the astonished angel his hand, and unfurled his fingers.
"There it is. Somehow. There it is."
"It was never the mother."
Crowley shook his head, his face blank, his eyes dull. "My child. They took the remains—"
Aziraphale swung his arms around the demon as a surge of agony forced blood red tears from his eyes.
"They took the remains of my child!" he shouted. "That bitch! That bitch is made from my little one's ashes!"

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The Known/Unknown Quantity
FanfictionSomething is coming. No one knows what form it takes. Against all odds, the seemingly mismatched group fromTHAT DAY must conspire to protect the angel and demon from whatever unknowns may be upon them. All anyone is certain of is that the two must b...