The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 84: The Gravity of Pain

Chapter 84: The Gravity of Pain

The sword came back, or rather the empty scabbard did, right at the astounded angel's hip. Crowley regarded it with languid interest as it disappeared from site, and his own nails and teeth returned to normal.

"It takes a beast to bring down a beast?" Aziraphale quaked. Again, Crowley shrugged. "Stop that," the angel finished tersely, adjusting his jacket.

Crowley shrugged again, and leered at him.

"It's like you've got an inch down your spine. Next you'll be slithering."

"Do I deny what I am?" He grinned, but his voice was deathly serious.

The angel noted the tone, and just signed. "Let's proceed, my precious snake. More yet to contend with."

"So, it's not over."

"No." Aziraphale cast his eyes down the hill. Crowley followed his gaze. "There's one shade to deal with," the angel looked back up at him, surprising contrition playing at the crinkles near his eyes, "still."

Crowley allowed his friend to tow him down the slope and back to the poor creature struggling to breathe. The demon gave his friend a pleading look, and Aziraphale waved a hand, and the figure froze.

"You said they felt nothing," he reminded him.

"They don't," Crowley agreed, "But I've reached the extent of my tolerance for theater."

The demon snapped his fingers and the sounder disappeared from Chaz and reappeared staked into the ground. Once more Crowley's fingers danced, and the rings popped one at a time out of existence and reappeared in all their gory glory in a forsaken pile on the ground still attached to their now slack and useless chains.

But Crowley wasn't finished before the angel poked in. The demon stepped aside, perplexed by Aziraphale's sudden inspection of himself. With horrific awe, he leaned on his knees with his head at odd angles as if he were trying to understand the meaning of a Postmodern art exhibition. Crowley watched his antics, but took no move to stop him.

Finally, Aziraphale stated," He's been mentally gutted, Crowley." The demon found himself swallowing a dry heave.

"I know." After a pause he added. "Might as well have 'Fin' stamped on his forehead."

"And yet, if this were me," the angel continued to muse darkly, "mindless as I would be, I'd still feel the sheer pain of it, hunger for it even, and never be free of the sufferings placed upon me. And I would long for the attentions." He shuttered and closed his eyes. "I think I just found my personal hell, Crowley."

"You get it now? You realize how much you never wanted the reality?"

The angel shook his head so rapidly the demon thought he off balance.

"Good show. We've grown today. Outstanding. Let's get the hell out of here." He rested his hand on the angel's shoulder and turned, but was halted when Aziraphale didn't get up.

Crowley wrinkled his nose up and hissed. "What, angel? What are you considering now?"

"Crowley," the angel told him, "We're not done."

"We are done," he said impatiently. "Now let's get out of here."

"Crowley, I'm going in."

"In? In where?"

Aziraphale pointed to his shadow. Crowley gripped his outstretched wrist.

"Stop mucking about! Look at him-you-it. Look!"

"I need to do more than look. I need to know."

"You do know!"

"Crowley," he insisted, daring to touch one of the lances. "I need to make my body know."

"The fuck! Are you insane! You've seen, you've felt! You already 'know!'"

"All before through the haze of his eyes," he regarded the shade once more, almost pitifully. "Now, I must realize it through my own."

"You don't know what will happen to you!"

"I'll be alright, dear boy," he said shakily, cupping his demon's hand with his own, then gently removing it. They both stared back at the immobile figure. "I need to understand."

"Aziraphale this is madness. What if you end up just like that?"

"I have faith I won't."

"And if you're wrong!"

Aziraphale smiled thoughtfully. "You can bring me out."

"I'm not sure I can."

The angel took a step forward and paused. "You can."

"What information is so paramount that you need to submit to this!" Crowley barked, but not standing in the way.

The angel straightened and tugged the edges of his labels. "My demons, remember?"

"I'm your demon, and I say you don't have to do this!"

Aziraphale ignored the display, the backtracking, the blatant attempt to ignore exactly what his was referring to. "Dear boy," was all he said, smiling understandably at Crowley. The demon plaintively looked at him.

"You really think you need to do this?"

The angel nodded. "I need to. Logically I see everything now for what it is. Up to this point here. I need a visceral understanding that as a clear-headed, free-thinking angel—"

"The first and the last," Crowley growled, indicating Aziraphale's preciousness.

Aziraphale smiled,"—I need to know, Crowley....my love, my limit. The reality and consequence of such an experience."

"Angel, it will hurt! It may go deeper," he tapped at his forehead, then his heart, "than you realize!"

"Crowley. I must demystify it."

Crowley was a statue before him. So was the angel.

Neither one moved. They weren't tense. They were relaxed. They regarded each other with measuring looks. And the angel waited. And Crowley considered.

"You need to do this," he whispered.

"I need to do this," the angel replied just as quietly.

"You know what it will mean for me, having to see you like this."

The angel nodded. "Forgive me."

"No," Crowley told him. "I understand. I really do. But don't take that for granted. Ever."