Chapter 118: It's Got to be Us
"Dammit!"
Anathema sucked her burnt fingers and glared accusingly at the note. Olivia leaned backwards over her shoulder and appraised her work. "Want me to have another go?"
"Hmmm, yeah. Nearly singed my fingers this time." Olivia handed her a warm moist towel, one of many she had been preparing as compresses for Crowley, and the witch took it without looking away from Aziraphale's writing, and cooled down her fingers.
"It's a vicious hex," she grumbled. "Not impossible, but it's going to take some time to remove, even with each of us working around the clock to remove it. Augh!" She pushed herself and the chair away from the writing desk and threw herself face down on the bed. "Mmm-mm-mm."
Olivia placed the basin of water down and took her place. "I know what you mean. I've gone so long without sleep I'm not sure I remember what it feels like."
Anathema flopped over and stared at the ceiling, her dark hair flailing out on the pillow like the rays of a dark sun. Circles rested under her eyes. "I once stayed up for five days straight during an extremely difficult ritual. Taxing. Barely got thru before my body decided for me."
"Yes, I've experienced something similar," the dom agreed, not getting into specifics. Very carefully, she dabbed her fingers into a solution the witch had prepared in a small monkey bowl, and applied it to the terrible red lines that marred the surface of the lovely notation. The dark woman's eyes creased. "Oh my, she really didn't want interference, did she? This thing is spikey with energy, electrified almost. All three of us may have to work for the final blow."
"If we can," the witch muttered, rising and taking up the basin. "We learned from the sword that our powers don't merge very well." Idly, she let her fingers dance thru the water, swirling it and looking into its gentle motion. "We can, but it'll be like pushing a rock up a hill." Then she looked up. "How...is he?"
"Since an hour ago? Shivering."
"He's in a cold basement!"
"Cold dark is best for him now, believe it or not. The blankets are there for comfort, not warmth."
Anathema lifted her hand away and placed it beneath the basin, then tilted her head. "You learned a lot about their physical makeup, didn't you? During their time with you?"
The dom shook her hand as the hex bit back, and she gave the little witch her profile. "Mostly how far they could, and wanted to, push their limits. Mostly, what I learned is that they work in tandem the best."
"Like feed off each other," the witch considered, pushing open the door.
"In every way you can imagine," Olivia smiled. "And with each experience, their power grows. It's quite lovely to see, if you have the sight for it."
But Anathema was already gone, her mind bent on other duties.
The others were napping in shifts where they could. The rest of the time was spent monitoring Crowley's condition and preparing for the next steps.
Newt was snoring on the couch: the little witch insisted he rest before jumping back out on the road. Shadwell was hoisted up from the basement after refusing to leave the demon's side. Tracy yawned, waking up and moving into the kitchen to prepare some sort of refreshment for the luckless people still awake.
And then there was the angel, who swore he didn't need any sleep, and just sat staring into the fire. None of them were really sure he had ever gotten over the shock of seeing Crowley waste away so quickly. They gave him space and left him to the fire.
He didn't even jump when Anathema came up from the basement. Shadwell bolted up without a word, jerking the basin out of her hands and heading to the kitchen. Sounds of whispering and running water were overheard, and then he appeared again briskly making his route to the basement. As he passed he went thru a locked stare between the witch and the angel. They flitted their eye lids at his exit, but continued to look at each other.
Then Anathema marched past him to Newt and shook him away. "Come on, up and Adam."
Confused and snorting, Newt fumbled to put his glasses on his face. "Wait, Adam? He's here?"
"No, I said wake up. Time to go out again."
"But," Newt picked up a table clocked and moaned, "Bloody hell, I've only slept for a few hours! I'm not complaining." He yawned and tried to sit up. "But can't someone else go in our place? I'm not even sure I can stand."
"No, it's got to be us," the angel answered for her, rising to adjust his coat, but still gazing into the fire. His frankness startled them both a little. And then he turned around.
His held his head high, his shoulders back. His shifting brow was calm and set. Newt regarded such determination with a gulp, and then realized his mouth was hanging open. He decided, perhaps, he could find the energy to stand after all.

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