The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 49: A Father's Revenge

Chapter 49: A Father's Revenge

Aziraphale knew not how long he held his friend. Everything from the past month seemed to flood from him at once, his body and eyes, and nubile mouth, all screaming the agony of loss and visceral grief in one solid stream of mourning. The wee hours of the day flickered into the room as healing sunlight, and birds chirped their wakefulness. It was then, and only then, that Crowley pulled away.

"Fuck," was all he said.

His face was covered in gore.

"Crowley, oh, let me get a towel!" The angel tried to rise, but the demon caught his sleeve.

"Get two," he rasped, his eyes hollow. "You don't need to see the state of your face."

The angel shuttered at the gruesome image of his own cheeks covered like the demon's, and rose with absolute resolve not to look in the bathroom mirror.

When he came back, towels in hand, he lowered himself and gave one to Crowley. The demon reached out and started to clean the angel's face, and he in turn the demon's. The stickiness remained.

"A washcloth would've been better," the angel offered. Crowley looked up and scanned the room.

"You've used them all, along with the rest of the linens."

Aziraphale rose and acknowledged his prior work. While the demon thrashed in his sleep, the angel had covered every conceivable reflective surface. When he turned back, Crowley was standing, looking vacantly at the towel, and then out the window.

"Aziraphale," he stated without tone," it's too late for that now."

Rumbling echoed across the sky. The angel's head darted to the doors.

"She's coming for me."

"What?"

"She can't reach us in here, but she's coming for me." The demon handed Aziraphale the towel. "And I'm going out to meet her."

"No!" Aziraphale dropped the towels and took the demon's wrist in his surprisingly strong grip. Crowley didn't resist.

"I'm not running anymore."

"We're so close, Crowley! One more day."

Crowley waited. The rumbling came closer, the sunlight flickered. He rested his eyes back on his friend. "Hear that? She won't stop chasing us. And she can't get me here, she'll go after the others. Adam can only protect the Them now. He'll kill himself trying to protect the others."

Aziraphale released him, his hand hovering in the air. After a moment, he asked," You're sure?"

"Can't you feel it too?" The angel closed his eyes, and looked as if to cry.

"Can't risk the child."

"Too many children have died already, for my taste." Crowley moved past him, and to the door. "I have to stop her, at least for now. Just enough time to weaken her, so she's forced to regroup."

"Let me go with you."

"No. I brought her here, I have to deal with her."

"Don't be brave!"

"And don't be stupid!" Crowley shouted. He glared at his angel, rage seething to replace the grief. "I know something about this thing now." He turned a little, and rose his eyebrows, "and I know only I can stop it."

"How?"

"With a curse."

"What—what kind of curse?" the angel asked warily.

"The kind," Crowley whispered," that comes from a flaming sword."