The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 91: Missing Pieces

Chapter 91: Missing Pieces

Crowley was explaining how he got the items when the witch grabbed his wrist. He paused, and looked at her.

"Wait, go back."

"To where?"

"To the night of the fight. The day you retrieved the water."

He sighed and leaned against his elbows. "Like I said. I was sitting in the pub, watching her. She moved away, and I plunged my hand in—"

"And she grabbed you."

"Woll, yeah."

"Crowley," Anathema reiterated, "she grabbed you."

The demon froze. Then he looked to the opposite wall, completely stunned. "Fuck."

"How can she do that, Crowley? If the wards are working?"

"They are working?"

"Guaranteed."

"But according to their functions."

"Correct," the witch pressed on. "She can't control you; she can't physically touch you. You can't even harm yourself if it's by her direct intervention."

"And nothing she touches can harm me."

"But?"

"But," he swiveled his head to her, "There are ways around."

"Such as?"

"If a thing by its very nature can harm, that doesn't change."

"And?"

"She can't control, but she can gaslight. She can persuade and harass, given access."

"Which you deem necessary to ending her. But you have control over that. So, what else?"

The demon shook his head, dumbfounded. The witch touched his jacket sleeve.

"What else, Crowley?"

Suddenly he straightened, and glared at her with dawning. "If something about either of us has fundamentally changed."

Anathema nodded. "Not basic changes. But down to the cellular level, to the DNA." He raised an eyebrow and she waived her hand dismissively. "You know what I mean. Whatever the celestial equivalent would be."

"B.G.," he ventured in a low, growling tone," you're implicating that one of us is not the same person anymore."

Her eyes were huge. "I won't deny it, Crowley, though the very thought frightens the shit out of me."

"But how can that happen?"

"If one of you is missing a part of your soul. You're are nothing but soul, after all."

It was yet another garden, a garden buried and asleep under a blanket of winter snow. Aziraphale had wandered outside searching for his demon, and found him, wearing his sunglasses, brooding on the witch's bench. Politely, he asked if he could sit next to him. Crowley gave him an ancient look.

"I'm out of sorts, alright?" the angel countered, taking his seat. Then, in a softer tone," You needed to get some fresh air too, I see."

Crowley snorted. "Thing's getting pretty tense in there. Left it to the witch. She was more than happy to see me take a hike."

Aziraphale rubbed his legs against the cold. "I suppose all this will take some time."

"M'ya," Crowley studied him. "You dropped the blankets."

"I'm fine now," he reassured.

"You don't have a coat."

"Or you."

"We don't really need them, do we?"

"Only when we want to feel the world around us, dear boy."

Crowley watched the angel draw his hands up to his chest, then asked," What does the adept think about your shifts?"

"I'm tethered, but riding up and down my own timeline. Could be an evolution of my trances."

"Interesting," Crowley offered distantly. Then, "Something happened. I genuinely forgot about it until the witch made a point of it. Don't freak out."

Aziraphale puffed up a bit, but nodded.

"That monster was able to lay a hand on me. Only once." And then Crowley explained the roundabout ways she might be able to do it. When the demon offered up the possibility that one of them was somehow incomplete, the angel decided that this was the perfect time to freak.

"It has to be me!" Aziraphale spouted, almost angrily. He jumped up and started pacing back and forth, his hands knitting frantically.

Crowley put his head in his hand. "Now, why would you even think that?"

"What other explanation is there? I'm traveling off to goodness knows where!" He waved his hand in the air, nearing hysterics," Just galivanting around like a silly ninny, while some constructed nightmare is sinking its claws into you!"

Crowley caught the hem of his coat as he passed and dragged him downward to the bench. When the startled angel blinked at him, he said. "Calm down, and think about the logic of whot you are saying."

"It makes sense," Aziraphale nearly hollered. Crowley shook him by the shoulder.

"It does not."

The angel opened his mouth to protest, then fell back, thinking.

Finally, he said," Well, a part of me goes away."

"But it's always connected to you."

"Oh."

"So that's out." Crowley released him, and leaned his elbows on his knees. "You're out."

"Which leaves....you?"

Crowley sniffed. "Maybe. Dunno. Don't feel any different. Nothing missing."

Aziraphale turned the other direction. "Could I have done something to you? When I healed you, or—"

"For the last time, angel, this isn't your fault!"

"If it was, then I would know how to fix it!"