The A in Angel

6

It was already 1 am, but the demon wasn't tired yet. In fact, he could stay up all night if he wanted, and nothing could stop him from doing that. Not for humans spending their days working until dropping half dead to the floor in their apartments, yearning for release. A life with no worries, no responsibilities, no chores. Finally going to bed at 3am. Or way later.

This was the time Crowleys day begun. He was sitting in his flat, bending over the blueprints Dagon had given to him a few minutes ago. The Lord of Files had been very excited of him showing up on Hells' doorstep for the first time in months. But the ginger demon had told him that he had no time for a chitter chatter, he just needed his help. So, Dagon had handed out those prints to him and Crowley had left again, with no further explanation. 

And with no intention of ever coming back again. He was way more than a demon. More than a rude and evil creature, chosen to spread hate. He cared for an angel, nobody ever did that. 

Had done. 

Why he had to fall altough he was still the Good One? Why they had sentenced him for painting his once shimmering white wings black? Turning him into a monster - a sign for temptation? A monster even his beloved Aziraphale couldn't look in the eyes...

Crowley shook his head in anger, chasing away these thoughts trying to overwhelm him once again. He wasn't weak. They had tried to break him, it hadn't worked. He was still there. 

Still strong. Still worth. 

He had to focus. 

The demon gritted his teeth, examining the blueprint again. It showed a blurry redrawing of Head Office where Aziraphale had been taken. Crowley knew that only visiting this place could be certain death for ones like him. Suicide. Traps everywhere, all hidden in the marble floor or even behind the windows. Hellfire couldn't harm him, but if he only got Holy Water splashed on his boots - then, he had failed forever. 

Nada. Finito. 

So, what could be another way?

He maybe could disguise as an angel. No, that was too bad, even for him. Only the archangels AND their employees could use the escalator to Heaven. If they would figure him out among a bunch of holy, celestial beings, they would make short work with him. He maybe was the best demonic angel ever seen, but he was still what he was - a sinner. 

What about breaking in? Like flying up there, making the windows smash and "I came to rescue you, Angel of the Eastern Gate ", bringing down HQ and finally escaping without a single scratch. Like all heroes would do. 

Anyway...was he already that worth for being called a hero?

Crowley yawned and took a break, settling down on the couch. With a snap of his fingers, the tv switched itself on and a full glass of whine appeared in his hand. He sighed in relief, zapping through all the different channels till he had finally found something interesting to watch. 

Queen Live - Wembley Stadium, 1989. What a pleasure!

Freddy was just about to drop the first tunes of We will rock you as the screen started to flicker on and off. Crowley moaned and placed the glass on the table before him, standing up. He knew the meaning of this, in former times Hell had often tried to contact him by using modern technology. 

But around this time...according how some of his fellows looked like, they probably had never seen a bed down there. Poor them. 

The picture on screen had vanished completely, being replaced by none other than - Crowley couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true. He already had fallen asleep, experiencing a real life nightmare. 

And yet...the face in front of him, with the nasty smile on its lips and ice blue, cold eyes, seemed so familiar. 

His vision became blurry, his heart raced. And as the archangel opened his mouth, his bastard voice sent a deadly shiver through Crowleys spine. 

"Nice to meet you again...Raphael!"