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Because it won't get out of my head, and I had to see Aziraphale vs Zachariah. *shrugs* It appears I have a new obsession for GO/SPN.
Title: Footsoldiers
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Good Omens, Supernatural
Continuity: Post book (GO), Post 5x10 (SPN), sequel to Arrangements fic-wise.
Characters/Pairings: Crowley, Aziraphale, Dean, Cas, Sam, Zachariah. Crowley/Aziraphale, Dean/Cas.
Summary: Zachariah nabs Cas. Dean and Sam are hardly going to leave their angel in his hands. Which leaves Crowley and Aziraphale to follow on, and try to pick up the pieces. After six thousand years in the field, even footsoldiers can kick ass.
Wordcount: 4239
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me
A/N: Went a bit more serious than the last one (or a lot). Mostly an excuse for me (and Crowley, and Cas) to fangirl Zira.
Anyway. He didn't know why he was surprised that Cas was the one Zach managed to grab a hold of. He shouldn't be. Damn featherhead had all the tact and discretion of a bloody hammer. Add in almost zero experience on Earth, and it was surprising the little angel had lasted even this long. Someone upstairs was looking out for the bugger. Had to be.
The fact that the first thing the Winchesters decided to do was walk right into a trap after him, though? Really not a surprise. Morons. Functional morons, yes, but still morons. Honestly, boys and girls, the first thing you do with a trap? Is not to walk straight into it and yell loudly to be let back out again! For Someone's sake! But no. Threaten their angel, and all sense of self-preservation went right out the window!
Crowley couldn't sympathise with that at all. No. Definitely not.
They'd been in there ten minutes already. Warehouse, naturally. Covered in Enochian symbols meant to trap and hold supernatural beings like himself? Very probably. Not that the boys had even paused to check before walking right in. Good job they hadn't known he was watching them at the time. Might have asked him to bleedin' come along, then, and then where would they be? But. Ten minutes. Crowley was beginning to get antsy.
Come on, angel, where are you?
It's alright, he told himself. Ten minutes, nothing to worry about. Barely even time to get started on your villainous monologue, and Zachariah definitely struck him as the monologuing type. Definitely. He wouldn't start the torture and/or killing for half an hour yet, surely! More than enough time for the damn angel to get his ass in gear. Just wait. He just had to wait. That was all.
Aziraphale, you bloody bastard, I am going to kill you for this!
He rang the angel again. Not that he actually expected it to do any good. Cellphones hadn't exactly been a major feature of the 1950s, and Aziraphale had still to get completely over his weird time-freeze. For crying out loud, the angel's ansaphone still used cassettes. The chances of him figuring out a voicemail message in time to actually get over here and do anything useful ... But Crowley left one anyway, on the off chance that Someone up there was feeling in any way friendly towards him, or at least towards Cas and the boys, and stuck the phone back in his pocket with a sigh.
He was going to do this, wasn't he? Bugger it! Damn stupid bloody angels and their damn stupid bloody humans, and damn every last self-sacrificing bloody instinct Crowley'd ever come across. His own absolutely included.
But he had promised to look out for the little guy, hadn't he? And he was, ever and always, a demon of his word.
If he got out of this, he was so going to kill the lot of them.
Alright. Alright. Enough stalling. Come on, Crowley, you can do this. Piece of cake. It's only who knows how many angels, pissed off and in the mood to torture people. How hard can it be? ... Maybe he should ring Aziraphale just once more? Just to be sure? You never know ...
"Crowley? What's wrong, dearest?"
If there had been a ceiling to hit, he'd have hit it. As it was, he settled for hitting the angel instead. And then for explaining the situation. And then for explaining it again, when Aziraphale seemed to wonder what the problem was. And then for following in the angel's wake as Aziraphale strode determinedly and way, way too openly into the warehouse.
Yes. Definitely going to kill the lot of them. Every last one. Provided they survived in the first place.
Well, Zach was sure in fine form. If it weren't for the whole angel-mojo thing, Dean would be worried he's going to give his vessel a heart attack. Not that he'd care, or anything. Anyone who said yes to Zachariah deserved what they got. His future self in-frikkin-cluded.
"Buddy, you can talk until you are blue in the face, and I will never say yes to you," he growled, standing in front of Sam and Cas determinedly. The pair of them were stretched out on the floor. Sam seemed to be mostly okay, aside from the whole asphyxiation thing, but Cas ... Cas looked bad. Cas looked real bad. Damn fucking Zachariah.
The man himself just smiled, shaking his head pityingly. "Dean, Dean. It's only going to get worse, you know. We can keep this up for years, if we have to." A condescending little smirk. "Wouldn't it be easier for all concerned if you just gave us what we want here and now?"
It was like talking to a wall. How many times did Dean have to say no before these clowns got the fucking point? "Zach, you can keep this up for as long as you damn well please! I went through forty years in Hell. I'm not gonna cave just because you say so!" Though if Sam kept making that desperate rattling noise in his chest ... But he couldn't let that show. No way. He couldn't let Zachariah see how close, how fucking close ...
"Well, it's easy enough to see what you're doing wrong," came a smug, faintly exasperated voice from near the doorway. Zachariah and his boys swung to face it immediately. Dean ... not so much. "Can you believe these guys, angel?"
Crowley, you idiot, he thought, you better have a freaking plan!
"Demon." Zach sounded ... more confused than anything, really. Like Crowley being there was something he just couldn't quite comprehend. Not that Dean exactly blamed him. "And ... Aziraphale?" He stared in something like shock, and maybe disgust, which Dean put down as another mark against him. Sure, Hekyll and Jekyll weren't exactly the most sterling examples of their respective species, but then again in Dean's experience that could only ever be a good thing. Cas made a little noise of shock behind him, and Dean growled slightly as he looked to the newcomers.
"Zachariah," the angel nodded curtly, something very chill in his usually pleasant voice, then ignored him completely and looked their way. A look of deep shock and pain crossed that face as he saw the state they were in, and he took two steps their way before Zach's goons moved forward threateningly and cut him off, forcing him to stop. Behind him, Crowley scowled, moving to guard his angel's back and glaring over at Zach.
"Told you, angel," the demon sneered softly. "I told you the little toad couldn't tempt his way out of a paper bag. All brawn and no brains, this lot. Couldn't make a five year old say yes if they asked 'do you want a lollipop?'!" His tone had enough scorn in it to float an oil tanker, but Aziraphale didn't look impressed. Actually, he looked pretty close to homicidal, and that was a freaking scary look on that placid face.
"That's enough, dear," he said, very quietly. Crowley stiffened at something in his tone, swallowing, and Dean stared. He hadn't seen the demon flinch, not even with the Colt in his face, but something was sure scaring the hell out of him now. Behind Dean, Cas made a desperate, inquisitive noise, struggling onto his knees with Sam's help, his hand reaching out to touch the back of Dean's knee. Something turned over in Dean's stomach, making him look back and reach down before he'd even really thought about it, catching Cas' bloody hand with his own, and when he looked back up Aziraphale's face had gone completely blank, and cold as arctic midnight.
"Aziraphale, we've been looking for you," Zachariah took that inopportune moment to cut in. Aziraphale's head turned as if on rollers to look at him, one soft hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. Zach apparently didn't notice the warning signs. Or just didn't care about them. "Though I hardly expected you to come to us." A dirty little sneer. "Really, though. I might have to thank you."
"Thank me?" the angel murmured, distantly. Crowley strangled a growl, fists clenching as Zach's goon squad started to close in around them. Around Aziraphale.
"Yes," Zach smirked, coldly. "You'll be proud to know young Castiel has been following in your ... reactionary footsteps. Perhaps once he sees your fate, he will understand the depths of his mistake. And then perhaps we can make Dean here see some sense."
"Go screw yourself," Dean spat, shortly. Crowley glanced at him, a quick flash of approval, but all the demon's focus was on Zach now, and the threat to his angel. Dean might be upset, but since he was already crouched down holding on to his angel, he figured it'd be a bit hypocritical. Sam met his eyes from Cas' other side, full of panicked question. Dean shook his head. He had no clue.
"His mistake," Aziraphale repeated, flatly, ignoring the comforting brush of Crowley's hand against his back. "You think he made a mistake."
"Oh, I think so, yes," Zachariah purred softly. Dean had to hand it to him. Subtlety might not be his strong point, like Crowley said, but there was no denying the head angel had menacing down pat. "The same mistake you made twenty years ago. I didn't know you were involved this time around too, but now that I do ... well, for your own good, I think I'll have to show you the error of your ways."
"Angel ..." Crowley hissed, as three angels surrounded the pair of them, cutting off retreat to the rear. Sam grabbed Dean's arm, glaring at him furiously. Dean stared back, and Sam jerked his head at them insistently.
"Dean," Cas rasped, low and breathless, his hand tight around Dean's arm. "Dean. Help them." What the hell? What could he do? Though ... Okay, so leaving your allies alone in a fight, not such a cool thing to do, but still ... Zachariah smirked at them. All of them. Dean entertained a brief fantasy about being able to actually pound his smug face in. It was nice.
"No," said Aziraphale, suddenly. The plump angel took one step forward, moving in front of Dean, forcing two of the angels back in sheer surprise. Crowley darted in behind him, keeping a wary eye on anything that moved, and crouched next to Sam quickly, flashing the three of them a quick, uneasy grin. "No. You will not be teaching anyone anything, Zachariah. You're not fit." Odd, how the mild voice suddenly had so much steel in it.
Zach's smirk melted into a hard scowl. "Don't push me, traitor," he snarled. "You've been cut off from Heaven for twenty years. Don't think to try my patience."
Aziraphale just looked at him, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe the stupidity of the man. Then he looked back at them, a smile slipping out as he met Dean's eyes, and nodded to Crowley. "Dearest, can you get them on their feet?" he whispered, low and sort of ridiculous, since everyone in the warehouse could hear him. Crowley rolled his eyes.
"You do realise the last thing I put back together was a pidgeon, right?" he grumbled. Aziraphale just smiled at him. "Oh, fine then. But I take no responsibility if they walk out of here with more limbs than they came in with." His hand rested on Sam's arm, and Sam looked at it like it was a scorpion, his eyes flaring with panic as he looked up to meet Crowley's sudden grin. "Or, you know, less," the demon smirked. Dean was pretty sure this was revenge for Sam almost breaking Crowley's arm that time, but he couldn't blame his brother. Demons weren't exactly famous for their healing abilities.
"No," Cas breathed beside him, reaching out to the other angel. "No. Aziraphale ..."
Aziraphale smiled, very gently, and touch his fingers to Castiel's. "Hush, dear one. Crowley will take care of you." A faint smile. "He may not like it, but he's very good at miracles, now. Has been for some time."
"Rub it in, why don't you," the demon grumbled, already whispering fingers over Sam's chest. Dean watched as his brother's eyes widened, a little noise escaping as his lungs reinflated for the first time in ten minutes. But Cas wasn't appeased, still trying to hold on to Aziraphale's hand, blue eyes wide and desperate. Dean kinda got it. He did.
He'd had enough of the only good angels around having to die for him too.
"Don't worry, Castiel," the angel smiled. "We are not wrong. I know we are not wrong. And really, it's past time for someone to prove it."And he turned back at that, turned to face a sneering Zachariah, and with nothing more on his face than a faint, gentle smile, the sword in his hand flared with white, searing flame.
"Zachariah," Aziraphale said, very gently. "My power is not from Heaven. I have not walked the White Plains for more than six thousand years. My power is here. Here and now, by my Father's will. And you know what? I don't think He's very happy with you."
And Dean couldn't help but match Crowley's wince.
He turned from Sam as soon as the kid could breathe on his own again, shooing him awkwardly out of the way while he reached for Castiel. Angel. Healing a fallen angel. He was pretty sure that was against the rules. Any rules. All rules. Not that demons were supposed to be able to heal anyone in the first place, but there was the Arrangement, and Aziraphale couldn't be everywhere, and it had just been a favour here or there. He hadn't expected to be good at it.
"No," Cas whispered, pushing at him, squirming. "No. Aziraphale ..."
"I know," he snapped, slapping one of the angel's pushy hands away. Honestly! Did the idiot think he was deaf? Blind? Or just bloody heartless? (Well, you are a demon, a little voice whispered, but he ignored it. He'd been ignoring it for years). "But I'm a lover not a fighter, angel, and the sooner we get you lot on your feet and out of here, the sooner he can stop holding them off and run like hell!"
That's called planning, boys and girls. You should look it up sometime.
"I don't think holding them off is the word for it," Dean said suddenly, beside them. There was something odd in his voice, something Crowley hadn't heard in ... oh, years. It sounded ... suspiciously like awe, oddly enough.
"Yeah," Sam breathed, lumbering to his feet at Crowley's back, standing beside his brother as they watched Crowley's angel. "Um. Wow."
Wow? Crowley looked up from knitting Castiel's ribs back together, frowning as he searched out Aziraphale among the five or so moving figures, and then he had to stop. Had to stare. Had to.
"Oh, angel," he whispered, caught. "Aziraphale ..."
He hadn't seen ... he hadn't seen his angel look like that in years. In centuries. Not even at the Almost-Apocalypse. That had been Aziraphale ready to die. This ... this was Aziraphale in full, no-holds-barred avenging angel mode. This was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. This was the agent of Heaven who'd spent four thousand years casting him down upon the earth, who'd fought him above Babylon, above Giza, above Jerusalem. This was the angel who'd torn him from the skies time after time, back before the Arrangement, back when they'd been alone amongst enemies, without back-up, without help, and bound and determined to knock seven bells out of each other until Judgement Day or death, whichever happened first. This was the Wrath of God come to defend his people.
Sometimes he forgot, he thought, watching Aziraphale break another angel's hip with one swift kick, wincing as he remembered the first time he'd been on the receiving end of that move. (Baghdad, wasn't it? Fifth century?) Sometimes he forgot. The Arrangement had made them both a little soft, these days. Made them both forget. What it had been like, back then. Other angels, other demons, they were drafted in for the big events, swinging in for a brief scrap and home again as required. But him and Aziraphale, they'd been there since the beginning. They'd been there from the start. And until the Crusades had knocked his angel for a loop, made him ameniable to a truce, until they'd spent enough time among humans to loosen up a bit and get to know each other, they'd been fighting the whole damn time.
Five thousand years. Five thousand years of having to fight. And Zachariah was some pushy little middle-management type, who'd probably never had to pick up a sword in his life, and his bully boys were just that. Bully boys. Musclemen drafted in to torture angels and humans already weakened and helpless, people Zach had gone out of his way to tear down long before risking himself in person. And then he'd gone and made Aziraphale angry. No wonder the little shit was currently getting his ass handed to him! Aziraphale had never been all that good at forgiving people who hurt his friends. He'd always been vaguely ashamed of that, once he'd calmed down enough not to smite anything that moved, and Crowley'd stopped hiding under the table.
"Holy shit," one of the Winchesters breathed. Crowley didn't know which. Didn't think it particularly mattered, either. Under his arm, Castiel was staring. In fact, Crowley rather thought the little angel was slipping over into full fanboy mode. Not that he could blame him. Back in the day, that stunned stare had been his. In between pissing his toga, of course. And the angel hadn't even had the sword then. Castiel had every reason for a little awe and confusion right now.
Also lust, but Crowley thought that one might be just him. He grinned. Hot damn! He'd forgotten the angel had it in him! More to the point, he'd forgotten how good he looked, all flying hair and white, pudgy knuckles, wings looking like they'd been pulled through a hedge backwards and blue eyes glowing with fury. Aziraphale hadn't put a sword, any sword, to decent use in years, not since the Denarians had tried to take out the Ionian scriptorium under the guise of a Viking raid. Heh. Come to think of it, their expressions had been a lot like the one Zach was currently wearing. A kind of stunned terror, like your tea-cosy just up and bit your throat out.
"He is ... holding his own, it would seem," Castiel murmured beside him, and when Crowley looked down, there was a faint curl of a smile on the angel's face, and a vindictive sheen to his eyes as he watched Zach warble in terror, backing away from Aziraphale as the angel turned at last to face him. All the others were on the floor by now, or on another plane altogether, and Castiel looked rather coldly pleased with this turn of events. Very nearly spiteful, in fact, under the bruises, and Crowley felt a little thrill of pride in him.
Oh, yes, he thought. Castiel would make a very interesting addition to the Arrangement. Very interesting indeed!
Then there was a ringing silence as Zach decided to embrace the better part of valour, and Aziraphale slumped in relief, the flames flickering out on his sword. For a second, no-one said anything, and then:
"And that," Dean said, with every apparent satisfaction, "Is how you kick serious angel ass! Dude! That was awesome!" The hunter had a shit-eating grin the width of the Mississippi on his face.
Aziraphale turned to him, sword drooping to the floor and eyes creased with exhaustion. He flushed heavily at the expressions on their faces. "Oh, really?" he murmured, waving one shaking hand. "No, dear boy. I haven't ... oh my. I haven't had to fight like that in ... I'm afraid I'm more than a little rusty ... I'm just glad I didn't drop this on anyone's foot ..." He stopped, panted, round features suddenly going alarmingly pale, and Sam was already rushing forwards to catch him as he crumpled. Aziraphale hiccuped softly in the boy's arms, and smiled at them glassily.
Crowley'd forgotten that, too.
"Uh, is he okay?" Sam asked, trying not to look alarmed as Aziraphale wrapped arms around his waist and tried to burrow into his stomach. Crowley grinned a bit, and helped Cas to his feet, not even remotely surprised when Dean had an arm around the little angel's waist in under a second. Leaving one angel to his human, he wandered over to help the other one.
"Yeah, he's fine," he murmured, crouching down beside them until Aziraphale pulled his face out of Sam's belly to grin at him. He reached out, pulling the vaguely drunken-looking angel into his arms, and snickered when Aziraphale giggled at him. "He gets like this after a fight. I'd forgotten that. Adrenalin and alcohol. Gets him every time." He grinned, falling back onto his arse as his angel wrapped around him with a wail, and looked up at the mountain of human that was Sam. "He's fine. He's just fine."
"Yeah, well," Dean said, grinning faintly as he and Cas limped over. "Guess he deserves a little high, after that." Castiel smiled too, though his eyebrows had crept down into that baffled, people-are-weird expression as he watched Aziraphale hiccup against Crowley's chest. "After that, guy deserves to get as shitfaced as he likes."
"'m not drunk," Aziraphale grumbled faintly, muffled in Crowley's shirt. "I'm just a little ... little ..."
"Tired?" Sam suggested, hiding a smile. Crowley grinned up at him.
"Tired, yes," his angel confirmed happily. "Thank you, dear. I'm tired. That's all."
"Course you are, angel," Crowley grinned, wrestling with arms that were probably better suited to an octopus all of a sudden. Aziraphale whined at him, and bit his shoulder in retaliation. Crowley flushed at that, and pointedly didn't look up as the Winchesters snickered at them. "Come on, 'Zira. Gotta get up, get out of here. Get some real alcohol."
"Amen to that!" Dean grinned, and winced when Cas thumped him softly. "Hey, come on, Cas! After that, we all deserve a drink!"
"I agree," the angel said severely, his voice gone extra raspy after the day he'd had. "I just wish you wouldn't blaspheme about it." But his lip curled up a bit, twitching as Dean stared at him, and there was a world of desperate humour in his eyes. Dean blinked at him, looking slightly confused all of a sudden, and Sam leaned down to whisper loudly in Crowley's ear as he helped heave Aziraphale to his feet.
"They really need to stop staring and start kissing, already," the younger Winchester groused, and Aziraphale burst into giggles again. Crowley snorted, glaring at Sam as they swung him mostly upright between them, and the boy smiled back with the kind of innocence you usually only got on babies and the especially wicked. Dean and Cas flushed brilliantly.
"Oh, I like you," Crowley hissed admiringly, snickering at them and reaching out with his free hand to pat Sam's arm. Sam grinned at him, ignoring his brother's glare of death, and Castiel's baffled embarrassment. "Moron or not, I like you, Winchester."
"Yeah, well," Dean growled, decidedly pissed off but not, Crowley noted, actually letting go of Castiel's waist. "How about you clowns get moving, already, before anyone else shows up for round two. Don't know about you, but I don't think Sleeping Beauty over there is up for it." He nodded at Aziraphale, who was indeed out for the count, having slipped silently away while they heaved him. Crowley blinked at him, and then looked up.
He looked at them, all three of them. Sam, proud and sly, his arm firm and gentle around Crowley's angel. Dean, flushed and furious, and all but clinging to his angel. And Castiel, battered and baffled and resilient as ever, firmly attached to his human and very, very unlikely to let go anytime soon. Crowley looked them over, this collection of morons that was all that stood between the world and Apocalypse Mk II, and shook his head with a sigh.
"That, Winchester," he said. "Is the best idea you've had all bloody day."
Contd: Temptation
Title: Footsoldiers
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Good Omens, Supernatural
Continuity: Post book (GO), Post 5x10 (SPN), sequel to Arrangements fic-wise.
Characters/Pairings: Crowley, Aziraphale, Dean, Cas, Sam, Zachariah. Crowley/Aziraphale, Dean/Cas.
Summary: Zachariah nabs Cas. Dean and Sam are hardly going to leave their angel in his hands. Which leaves Crowley and Aziraphale to follow on, and try to pick up the pieces. After six thousand years in the field, even footsoldiers can kick ass.
Wordcount: 4239
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me
A/N: Went a bit more serious than the last one (or a lot). Mostly an excuse for me (and Crowley, and Cas) to fangirl Zira.
Footsoldiers
Castiel was the one they caught, in the end. Crowley didn't know why he was surprised. The boys had their Enochian ribs going, and him and Aziraphale ... well, they'd been flying below their sides' respective radars for more than twenty years, ever since the last almost-apocalypse. Well, except for that one time he'd stuck in Hell, but that had been entirely Aziraphale's fault. The angel made it up to him by getting him the new body once he escaped, mind, but still.Anyway. He didn't know why he was surprised that Cas was the one Zach managed to grab a hold of. He shouldn't be. Damn featherhead had all the tact and discretion of a bloody hammer. Add in almost zero experience on Earth, and it was surprising the little angel had lasted even this long. Someone upstairs was looking out for the bugger. Had to be.
The fact that the first thing the Winchesters decided to do was walk right into a trap after him, though? Really not a surprise. Morons. Functional morons, yes, but still morons. Honestly, boys and girls, the first thing you do with a trap? Is not to walk straight into it and yell loudly to be let back out again! For Someone's sake! But no. Threaten their angel, and all sense of self-preservation went right out the window!
Crowley couldn't sympathise with that at all. No. Definitely not.
They'd been in there ten minutes already. Warehouse, naturally. Covered in Enochian symbols meant to trap and hold supernatural beings like himself? Very probably. Not that the boys had even paused to check before walking right in. Good job they hadn't known he was watching them at the time. Might have asked him to bleedin' come along, then, and then where would they be? But. Ten minutes. Crowley was beginning to get antsy.
Come on, angel, where are you?
It's alright, he told himself. Ten minutes, nothing to worry about. Barely even time to get started on your villainous monologue, and Zachariah definitely struck him as the monologuing type. Definitely. He wouldn't start the torture and/or killing for half an hour yet, surely! More than enough time for the damn angel to get his ass in gear. Just wait. He just had to wait. That was all.
Aziraphale, you bloody bastard, I am going to kill you for this!
He rang the angel again. Not that he actually expected it to do any good. Cellphones hadn't exactly been a major feature of the 1950s, and Aziraphale had still to get completely over his weird time-freeze. For crying out loud, the angel's ansaphone still used cassettes. The chances of him figuring out a voicemail message in time to actually get over here and do anything useful ... But Crowley left one anyway, on the off chance that Someone up there was feeling in any way friendly towards him, or at least towards Cas and the boys, and stuck the phone back in his pocket with a sigh.
He was going to do this, wasn't he? Bugger it! Damn stupid bloody angels and their damn stupid bloody humans, and damn every last self-sacrificing bloody instinct Crowley'd ever come across. His own absolutely included.
But he had promised to look out for the little guy, hadn't he? And he was, ever and always, a demon of his word.
If he got out of this, he was so going to kill the lot of them.
Alright. Alright. Enough stalling. Come on, Crowley, you can do this. Piece of cake. It's only who knows how many angels, pissed off and in the mood to torture people. How hard can it be? ... Maybe he should ring Aziraphale just once more? Just to be sure? You never know ...
"Crowley? What's wrong, dearest?"
If there had been a ceiling to hit, he'd have hit it. As it was, he settled for hitting the angel instead. And then for explaining the situation. And then for explaining it again, when Aziraphale seemed to wonder what the problem was. And then for following in the angel's wake as Aziraphale strode determinedly and way, way too openly into the warehouse.
Yes. Definitely going to kill the lot of them. Every last one. Provided they survived in the first place.
***
"How many times am I going to have to make my point before you decide to just do as you're told, like a good boy?"
Well, Zach was sure in fine form. If it weren't for the whole angel-mojo thing, Dean would be worried he's going to give his vessel a heart attack. Not that he'd care, or anything. Anyone who said yes to Zachariah deserved what they got. His future self in-frikkin-cluded.
"Buddy, you can talk until you are blue in the face, and I will never say yes to you," he growled, standing in front of Sam and Cas determinedly. The pair of them were stretched out on the floor. Sam seemed to be mostly okay, aside from the whole asphyxiation thing, but Cas ... Cas looked bad. Cas looked real bad. Damn fucking Zachariah.
The man himself just smiled, shaking his head pityingly. "Dean, Dean. It's only going to get worse, you know. We can keep this up for years, if we have to." A condescending little smirk. "Wouldn't it be easier for all concerned if you just gave us what we want here and now?"
It was like talking to a wall. How many times did Dean have to say no before these clowns got the fucking point? "Zach, you can keep this up for as long as you damn well please! I went through forty years in Hell. I'm not gonna cave just because you say so!" Though if Sam kept making that desperate rattling noise in his chest ... But he couldn't let that show. No way. He couldn't let Zachariah see how close, how fucking close ...
"Well, it's easy enough to see what you're doing wrong," came a smug, faintly exasperated voice from near the doorway. Zachariah and his boys swung to face it immediately. Dean ... not so much. "Can you believe these guys, angel?"
Crowley, you idiot, he thought, you better have a freaking plan!
"Demon." Zach sounded ... more confused than anything, really. Like Crowley being there was something he just couldn't quite comprehend. Not that Dean exactly blamed him. "And ... Aziraphale?" He stared in something like shock, and maybe disgust, which Dean put down as another mark against him. Sure, Hekyll and Jekyll weren't exactly the most sterling examples of their respective species, but then again in Dean's experience that could only ever be a good thing. Cas made a little noise of shock behind him, and Dean growled slightly as he looked to the newcomers.
"Zachariah," the angel nodded curtly, something very chill in his usually pleasant voice, then ignored him completely and looked their way. A look of deep shock and pain crossed that face as he saw the state they were in, and he took two steps their way before Zach's goons moved forward threateningly and cut him off, forcing him to stop. Behind him, Crowley scowled, moving to guard his angel's back and glaring over at Zach.
"Told you, angel," the demon sneered softly. "I told you the little toad couldn't tempt his way out of a paper bag. All brawn and no brains, this lot. Couldn't make a five year old say yes if they asked 'do you want a lollipop?'!" His tone had enough scorn in it to float an oil tanker, but Aziraphale didn't look impressed. Actually, he looked pretty close to homicidal, and that was a freaking scary look on that placid face.
"That's enough, dear," he said, very quietly. Crowley stiffened at something in his tone, swallowing, and Dean stared. He hadn't seen the demon flinch, not even with the Colt in his face, but something was sure scaring the hell out of him now. Behind Dean, Cas made a desperate, inquisitive noise, struggling onto his knees with Sam's help, his hand reaching out to touch the back of Dean's knee. Something turned over in Dean's stomach, making him look back and reach down before he'd even really thought about it, catching Cas' bloody hand with his own, and when he looked back up Aziraphale's face had gone completely blank, and cold as arctic midnight.
"Aziraphale, we've been looking for you," Zachariah took that inopportune moment to cut in. Aziraphale's head turned as if on rollers to look at him, one soft hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. Zach apparently didn't notice the warning signs. Or just didn't care about them. "Though I hardly expected you to come to us." A dirty little sneer. "Really, though. I might have to thank you."
"Thank me?" the angel murmured, distantly. Crowley strangled a growl, fists clenching as Zach's goon squad started to close in around them. Around Aziraphale.
"Yes," Zach smirked, coldly. "You'll be proud to know young Castiel has been following in your ... reactionary footsteps. Perhaps once he sees your fate, he will understand the depths of his mistake. And then perhaps we can make Dean here see some sense."
"Go screw yourself," Dean spat, shortly. Crowley glanced at him, a quick flash of approval, but all the demon's focus was on Zach now, and the threat to his angel. Dean might be upset, but since he was already crouched down holding on to his angel, he figured it'd be a bit hypocritical. Sam met his eyes from Cas' other side, full of panicked question. Dean shook his head. He had no clue.
"His mistake," Aziraphale repeated, flatly, ignoring the comforting brush of Crowley's hand against his back. "You think he made a mistake."
"Oh, I think so, yes," Zachariah purred softly. Dean had to hand it to him. Subtlety might not be his strong point, like Crowley said, but there was no denying the head angel had menacing down pat. "The same mistake you made twenty years ago. I didn't know you were involved this time around too, but now that I do ... well, for your own good, I think I'll have to show you the error of your ways."
"Angel ..." Crowley hissed, as three angels surrounded the pair of them, cutting off retreat to the rear. Sam grabbed Dean's arm, glaring at him furiously. Dean stared back, and Sam jerked his head at them insistently.
"Dean," Cas rasped, low and breathless, his hand tight around Dean's arm. "Dean. Help them." What the hell? What could he do? Though ... Okay, so leaving your allies alone in a fight, not such a cool thing to do, but still ... Zachariah smirked at them. All of them. Dean entertained a brief fantasy about being able to actually pound his smug face in. It was nice.
"No," said Aziraphale, suddenly. The plump angel took one step forward, moving in front of Dean, forcing two of the angels back in sheer surprise. Crowley darted in behind him, keeping a wary eye on anything that moved, and crouched next to Sam quickly, flashing the three of them a quick, uneasy grin. "No. You will not be teaching anyone anything, Zachariah. You're not fit." Odd, how the mild voice suddenly had so much steel in it.
Zach's smirk melted into a hard scowl. "Don't push me, traitor," he snarled. "You've been cut off from Heaven for twenty years. Don't think to try my patience."
Aziraphale just looked at him, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe the stupidity of the man. Then he looked back at them, a smile slipping out as he met Dean's eyes, and nodded to Crowley. "Dearest, can you get them on their feet?" he whispered, low and sort of ridiculous, since everyone in the warehouse could hear him. Crowley rolled his eyes.
"You do realise the last thing I put back together was a pidgeon, right?" he grumbled. Aziraphale just smiled at him. "Oh, fine then. But I take no responsibility if they walk out of here with more limbs than they came in with." His hand rested on Sam's arm, and Sam looked at it like it was a scorpion, his eyes flaring with panic as he looked up to meet Crowley's sudden grin. "Or, you know, less," the demon smirked. Dean was pretty sure this was revenge for Sam almost breaking Crowley's arm that time, but he couldn't blame his brother. Demons weren't exactly famous for their healing abilities.
"No," Cas breathed beside him, reaching out to the other angel. "No. Aziraphale ..."
Aziraphale smiled, very gently, and touch his fingers to Castiel's. "Hush, dear one. Crowley will take care of you." A faint smile. "He may not like it, but he's very good at miracles, now. Has been for some time."
"Rub it in, why don't you," the demon grumbled, already whispering fingers over Sam's chest. Dean watched as his brother's eyes widened, a little noise escaping as his lungs reinflated for the first time in ten minutes. But Cas wasn't appeased, still trying to hold on to Aziraphale's hand, blue eyes wide and desperate. Dean kinda got it. He did.
He'd had enough of the only good angels around having to die for him too.
"Don't worry, Castiel," the angel smiled. "We are not wrong. I know we are not wrong. And really, it's past time for someone to prove it."And he turned back at that, turned to face a sneering Zachariah, and with nothing more on his face than a faint, gentle smile, the sword in his hand flared with white, searing flame.
"Zachariah," Aziraphale said, very gently. "My power is not from Heaven. I have not walked the White Plains for more than six thousand years. My power is here. Here and now, by my Father's will. And you know what? I don't think He's very happy with you."
And Dean couldn't help but match Crowley's wince.
***
Crowley didn't look up at the sound of metal meeting metal. He didn't look up at the first gasp of shock from the enemy angels, or Zachariah's harsh shout of worry. He didn't look up as the human under his hands stared in outright shock, and no little amazement. He didn't look up as the other human swore under his breath. He didn't look up. Because if he looked up, he'd see Aziraphale fighting for the first time in centuries, and then he'd ... He didn't know what he'd do. Panic, most likely. Or something completely ridiculous, like try and help, and, really, no. No, not happening. Not if they wanted to get out of this alive.
He turned from Sam as soon as the kid could breathe on his own again, shooing him awkwardly out of the way while he reached for Castiel. Angel. Healing a fallen angel. He was pretty sure that was against the rules. Any rules. All rules. Not that demons were supposed to be able to heal anyone in the first place, but there was the Arrangement, and Aziraphale couldn't be everywhere, and it had just been a favour here or there. He hadn't expected to be good at it.
"No," Cas whispered, pushing at him, squirming. "No. Aziraphale ..."
"I know," he snapped, slapping one of the angel's pushy hands away. Honestly! Did the idiot think he was deaf? Blind? Or just bloody heartless? (Well, you are a demon, a little voice whispered, but he ignored it. He'd been ignoring it for years). "But I'm a lover not a fighter, angel, and the sooner we get you lot on your feet and out of here, the sooner he can stop holding them off and run like hell!"
That's called planning, boys and girls. You should look it up sometime.
"I don't think holding them off is the word for it," Dean said suddenly, beside them. There was something odd in his voice, something Crowley hadn't heard in ... oh, years. It sounded ... suspiciously like awe, oddly enough.
"Yeah," Sam breathed, lumbering to his feet at Crowley's back, standing beside his brother as they watched Crowley's angel. "Um. Wow."
Wow? Crowley looked up from knitting Castiel's ribs back together, frowning as he searched out Aziraphale among the five or so moving figures, and then he had to stop. Had to stare. Had to.
"Oh, angel," he whispered, caught. "Aziraphale ..."
He hadn't seen ... he hadn't seen his angel look like that in years. In centuries. Not even at the Almost-Apocalypse. That had been Aziraphale ready to die. This ... this was Aziraphale in full, no-holds-barred avenging angel mode. This was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. This was the agent of Heaven who'd spent four thousand years casting him down upon the earth, who'd fought him above Babylon, above Giza, above Jerusalem. This was the angel who'd torn him from the skies time after time, back before the Arrangement, back when they'd been alone amongst enemies, without back-up, without help, and bound and determined to knock seven bells out of each other until Judgement Day or death, whichever happened first. This was the Wrath of God come to defend his people.
Sometimes he forgot, he thought, watching Aziraphale break another angel's hip with one swift kick, wincing as he remembered the first time he'd been on the receiving end of that move. (Baghdad, wasn't it? Fifth century?) Sometimes he forgot. The Arrangement had made them both a little soft, these days. Made them both forget. What it had been like, back then. Other angels, other demons, they were drafted in for the big events, swinging in for a brief scrap and home again as required. But him and Aziraphale, they'd been there since the beginning. They'd been there from the start. And until the Crusades had knocked his angel for a loop, made him ameniable to a truce, until they'd spent enough time among humans to loosen up a bit and get to know each other, they'd been fighting the whole damn time.
Five thousand years. Five thousand years of having to fight. And Zachariah was some pushy little middle-management type, who'd probably never had to pick up a sword in his life, and his bully boys were just that. Bully boys. Musclemen drafted in to torture angels and humans already weakened and helpless, people Zach had gone out of his way to tear down long before risking himself in person. And then he'd gone and made Aziraphale angry. No wonder the little shit was currently getting his ass handed to him! Aziraphale had never been all that good at forgiving people who hurt his friends. He'd always been vaguely ashamed of that, once he'd calmed down enough not to smite anything that moved, and Crowley'd stopped hiding under the table.
"Holy shit," one of the Winchesters breathed. Crowley didn't know which. Didn't think it particularly mattered, either. Under his arm, Castiel was staring. In fact, Crowley rather thought the little angel was slipping over into full fanboy mode. Not that he could blame him. Back in the day, that stunned stare had been his. In between pissing his toga, of course. And the angel hadn't even had the sword then. Castiel had every reason for a little awe and confusion right now.
Also lust, but Crowley thought that one might be just him. He grinned. Hot damn! He'd forgotten the angel had it in him! More to the point, he'd forgotten how good he looked, all flying hair and white, pudgy knuckles, wings looking like they'd been pulled through a hedge backwards and blue eyes glowing with fury. Aziraphale hadn't put a sword, any sword, to decent use in years, not since the Denarians had tried to take out the Ionian scriptorium under the guise of a Viking raid. Heh. Come to think of it, their expressions had been a lot like the one Zach was currently wearing. A kind of stunned terror, like your tea-cosy just up and bit your throat out.
"He is ... holding his own, it would seem," Castiel murmured beside him, and when Crowley looked down, there was a faint curl of a smile on the angel's face, and a vindictive sheen to his eyes as he watched Zach warble in terror, backing away from Aziraphale as the angel turned at last to face him. All the others were on the floor by now, or on another plane altogether, and Castiel looked rather coldly pleased with this turn of events. Very nearly spiteful, in fact, under the bruises, and Crowley felt a little thrill of pride in him.
Oh, yes, he thought. Castiel would make a very interesting addition to the Arrangement. Very interesting indeed!
Then there was a ringing silence as Zach decided to embrace the better part of valour, and Aziraphale slumped in relief, the flames flickering out on his sword. For a second, no-one said anything, and then:
"And that," Dean said, with every apparent satisfaction, "Is how you kick serious angel ass! Dude! That was awesome!" The hunter had a shit-eating grin the width of the Mississippi on his face.
Aziraphale turned to him, sword drooping to the floor and eyes creased with exhaustion. He flushed heavily at the expressions on their faces. "Oh, really?" he murmured, waving one shaking hand. "No, dear boy. I haven't ... oh my. I haven't had to fight like that in ... I'm afraid I'm more than a little rusty ... I'm just glad I didn't drop this on anyone's foot ..." He stopped, panted, round features suddenly going alarmingly pale, and Sam was already rushing forwards to catch him as he crumpled. Aziraphale hiccuped softly in the boy's arms, and smiled at them glassily.
Crowley'd forgotten that, too.
"Uh, is he okay?" Sam asked, trying not to look alarmed as Aziraphale wrapped arms around his waist and tried to burrow into his stomach. Crowley grinned a bit, and helped Cas to his feet, not even remotely surprised when Dean had an arm around the little angel's waist in under a second. Leaving one angel to his human, he wandered over to help the other one.
"Yeah, he's fine," he murmured, crouching down beside them until Aziraphale pulled his face out of Sam's belly to grin at him. He reached out, pulling the vaguely drunken-looking angel into his arms, and snickered when Aziraphale giggled at him. "He gets like this after a fight. I'd forgotten that. Adrenalin and alcohol. Gets him every time." He grinned, falling back onto his arse as his angel wrapped around him with a wail, and looked up at the mountain of human that was Sam. "He's fine. He's just fine."
"Yeah, well," Dean said, grinning faintly as he and Cas limped over. "Guess he deserves a little high, after that." Castiel smiled too, though his eyebrows had crept down into that baffled, people-are-weird expression as he watched Aziraphale hiccup against Crowley's chest. "After that, guy deserves to get as shitfaced as he likes."
"'m not drunk," Aziraphale grumbled faintly, muffled in Crowley's shirt. "I'm just a little ... little ..."
"Tired?" Sam suggested, hiding a smile. Crowley grinned up at him.
"Tired, yes," his angel confirmed happily. "Thank you, dear. I'm tired. That's all."
"Course you are, angel," Crowley grinned, wrestling with arms that were probably better suited to an octopus all of a sudden. Aziraphale whined at him, and bit his shoulder in retaliation. Crowley flushed at that, and pointedly didn't look up as the Winchesters snickered at them. "Come on, 'Zira. Gotta get up, get out of here. Get some real alcohol."
"Amen to that!" Dean grinned, and winced when Cas thumped him softly. "Hey, come on, Cas! After that, we all deserve a drink!"
"I agree," the angel said severely, his voice gone extra raspy after the day he'd had. "I just wish you wouldn't blaspheme about it." But his lip curled up a bit, twitching as Dean stared at him, and there was a world of desperate humour in his eyes. Dean blinked at him, looking slightly confused all of a sudden, and Sam leaned down to whisper loudly in Crowley's ear as he helped heave Aziraphale to his feet.
"They really need to stop staring and start kissing, already," the younger Winchester groused, and Aziraphale burst into giggles again. Crowley snorted, glaring at Sam as they swung him mostly upright between them, and the boy smiled back with the kind of innocence you usually only got on babies and the especially wicked. Dean and Cas flushed brilliantly.
"Oh, I like you," Crowley hissed admiringly, snickering at them and reaching out with his free hand to pat Sam's arm. Sam grinned at him, ignoring his brother's glare of death, and Castiel's baffled embarrassment. "Moron or not, I like you, Winchester."
"Yeah, well," Dean growled, decidedly pissed off but not, Crowley noted, actually letting go of Castiel's waist. "How about you clowns get moving, already, before anyone else shows up for round two. Don't know about you, but I don't think Sleeping Beauty over there is up for it." He nodded at Aziraphale, who was indeed out for the count, having slipped silently away while they heaved him. Crowley blinked at him, and then looked up.
He looked at them, all three of them. Sam, proud and sly, his arm firm and gentle around Crowley's angel. Dean, flushed and furious, and all but clinging to his angel. And Castiel, battered and baffled and resilient as ever, firmly attached to his human and very, very unlikely to let go anytime soon. Crowley looked them over, this collection of morons that was all that stood between the world and Apocalypse Mk II, and shook his head with a sigh.
"That, Winchester," he said. "Is the best idea you've had all bloody day."
Contd: Temptation
