Snippet
For typhoid_mary:
I'm cheating a bit with this one, as it's an excerpt from a stalled fic.
Aziraphale nodded politely, paying as little attention to the archangel as he thought he could get away with. It wasn’t that he had anything in particular against Michael. Compared to someone like Gabriel, Michael was Mr Approachable. But Aziraphale had always found him to be a little over-hearty, a little too eager to be nice to the lower ranks in a way that made it unfortunately clear what he really thought. If angels played rugby, Michael would be a star player currently forced to spend some time with the asthmatic school swot. Not one hint of condescension or contempt showed in his clear eyes when he looked at Aziraphale, but Aziraphale felt it all the same. Michael had turned up fresh from a really high class vision that had left the poor girl simultaneously wrung out and fizzing with nervous energy. Aziraphale had been forced to make conversation, but luckily Michael was doing most of the talking. Aziraphale always forgot how much of a chatterbox the archangel was. What a pity it was all about his favourite subject, doing battle with the wicked. Michael loved battle, loved a really good just war, loved personal combat with the biggest, meanest demons he could find. He had shown up in full plate armour, gleaming like silver from head to foot, a narrow bladed sword scabbarded at his side. Aziraphale had never before had reason to think about how many different names there were for different pieces of human-style armour, nor about how many individual rivets went into a suit. He could barely keep his eyes open. He smiled, agreed that whatever it was Michael had just said was fascinating. Bloody archangels. He very earnestly prayed for it all to stop.
Crowley walked in.
Aziraphale thought, I didn’t mean like this!
No one moved.
Then Michael smiled, and unsheathed his shining, silver, Made-In-Heaven, demon-killing sword. Without stopping to think, Aziraphale flung himself at Crowley, getting right in Michael’s way, and punching the very surprised demon in the face. Crowley staggered backwards, making a whimpering sound.
“Get out of the way!” Michael yelled happily.
Aziraphale grimly punched Crowley again, knocking him out of the door. Crowley looked extremely shocked, and put his hands up over his bleeding nose.
“Azi-,” he said.
“Silence, Hellspawn!” Aziraphale yelled, shutting him up by hitting him in the mouth.
“Dash it all, Aziraphale, let me at him!” Michael said.
It was rather difficult to keep getting in Michael’s way while at the same time making sure that Crowley didn’t have a chance to say anything too incriminating. Crowley was trying to reason with him, wasn’t hitting back. Was clearly assuming that he’d gone crazy, didn’t seem to understand that he wouldn’t have a chance to talk Michael out of skewering him. Aziraphale got in close and slammed an elbow between Crowley’s eyes. The demon almost went down, to his intense fear. Then he shook his head to clear the blood out of his vision and snarled.
“You fucking bastard!”
Aziraphale found that keeping Michael at bay while hitting an unresisting Crowley was nothing compared to keeping him at bay when Crowley was fighting back. With some justification, Crowley appeared to think that he was fighting two angels at once and had obviously decided to get rid of Aziraphale quickly so he could concentrate on the better fighter. Aziraphale knew he couldn’t keep this up for long and began to panic. What could he do? How could he get Michael out of the picture? An image of Crowley lounging back and drinking wine came into his mind. No, temptation’s not hard work, Aziraphale. I mostly let them do all the work themselves - always go for what they think of as a strength, that’s the trick.
He dodged a wickedly clawed hand and flashed a wide smile at Michael.
“Hey! Don’t spoil a fellow’s fun, Michael!”
To his astonishment, the archangel looked a little sheepish, and sheathed the sword. The silly thing loved single combat so much it was beyond him to think others might not.
“Sorry, old chap. Have at it.”
Aziraphale’s feet were kicked from under him and he went sprawling. Crowley ran, thank heavens.
“I say, he’s getting away. Want me to catch him for you?”
“No! I mean, I’ll get him.”
Michael looked at him dubiously.
“Are you sure? Can you run that fast?”
Thanks, Aziraphale thought bitterly as he ran after Crowley. We can’t all look like you. With any luck the demon would be miles away by now.
It was not Aziraphale’s lucky day. Without warning he was knocked to the ground and had Crowley land hard on him. There was no longer a miserable, betrayed expression on his face, just a look of hatred and fury.
“Bloody angelsss”, he hissed, aiming a set of claws at Aziraphale’s eyes.
Aziraphale flung him off, scrambled up. Any second now, Michael would appear, looking for fun. He had to explain.
“Crowley -”
Claws caught him across the shoulder. He cried out in agony as Crowley hooked the claws tight and tried yanking him closer for a bite. Aziraphale pulled himself free, leaving some flesh behind. The shoulder had gone icily numb in a way he’d all but forgotten. It wasn’t just Crowley’s sense of humour that was poisonous.
“Crowley!”
The claws caught him again, got a good purchase on the uninjured arm. Thin, strong hands grabbed his elbow and wrist.
“Yesss?” Crowley said conversationally as he snapped the bone, and then dislocated the shoulder.
Aziraphale wept, conscious thought deserting him. The arm was being pulled round, and the only way to avoid agony beyond what he could bear was to go in the direction he was being pulled. He ended up held tight, Crowley behind him, an arm going round his neck.
“Ssstupid. You’re getting ssslow.”
“Stop . . . trying to save you - he’d kill more than your body,” Aziraphale gasped.
“Don’t insssult me.”
The arm tightened, ready for the jerk that would do for him.
“S’true, swear,” Aziraphale said in despair.
Crowley hesitated. Aziraphale relaxed. He could feel the indecision, could feel the tension leaving Crowley’s muscles.
“You silly shit, Aziraphale,” Crowley said softly, and snapped his neck. It didn’t hurt at all, he was so surprised.
Aziraphale watched his body fall into the mud. Crowley ran away as Michael arrived, sword naked in his hand again. He pursed his lips, nudged Aziraphale’s body with an armour clad foot, and looked round. Their gazes met.
“There you are! I think he got away. Ah well, good show, old chap. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Aziraphale gave the best smile he could, given that he currently had nothing to smile with. He kept his thoughts firmly to himself.
“Let’s get this seen to,” Michael said, indicating the broken body. “You know, if you did some weight training . . .”
Aziraphale rolled what he still thought of as his eyes.
I'm cheating a bit with this one, as it's an excerpt from a stalled fic.
Aziraphale nodded politely, paying as little attention to the archangel as he thought he could get away with. It wasn’t that he had anything in particular against Michael. Compared to someone like Gabriel, Michael was Mr Approachable. But Aziraphale had always found him to be a little over-hearty, a little too eager to be nice to the lower ranks in a way that made it unfortunately clear what he really thought. If angels played rugby, Michael would be a star player currently forced to spend some time with the asthmatic school swot. Not one hint of condescension or contempt showed in his clear eyes when he looked at Aziraphale, but Aziraphale felt it all the same. Michael had turned up fresh from a really high class vision that had left the poor girl simultaneously wrung out and fizzing with nervous energy. Aziraphale had been forced to make conversation, but luckily Michael was doing most of the talking. Aziraphale always forgot how much of a chatterbox the archangel was. What a pity it was all about his favourite subject, doing battle with the wicked. Michael loved battle, loved a really good just war, loved personal combat with the biggest, meanest demons he could find. He had shown up in full plate armour, gleaming like silver from head to foot, a narrow bladed sword scabbarded at his side. Aziraphale had never before had reason to think about how many different names there were for different pieces of human-style armour, nor about how many individual rivets went into a suit. He could barely keep his eyes open. He smiled, agreed that whatever it was Michael had just said was fascinating. Bloody archangels. He very earnestly prayed for it all to stop.
Crowley walked in.
Aziraphale thought, I didn’t mean like this!
No one moved.
Then Michael smiled, and unsheathed his shining, silver, Made-In-Heaven, demon-killing sword. Without stopping to think, Aziraphale flung himself at Crowley, getting right in Michael’s way, and punching the very surprised demon in the face. Crowley staggered backwards, making a whimpering sound.
“Get out of the way!” Michael yelled happily.
Aziraphale grimly punched Crowley again, knocking him out of the door. Crowley looked extremely shocked, and put his hands up over his bleeding nose.
“Azi-,” he said.
“Silence, Hellspawn!” Aziraphale yelled, shutting him up by hitting him in the mouth.
“Dash it all, Aziraphale, let me at him!” Michael said.
It was rather difficult to keep getting in Michael’s way while at the same time making sure that Crowley didn’t have a chance to say anything too incriminating. Crowley was trying to reason with him, wasn’t hitting back. Was clearly assuming that he’d gone crazy, didn’t seem to understand that he wouldn’t have a chance to talk Michael out of skewering him. Aziraphale got in close and slammed an elbow between Crowley’s eyes. The demon almost went down, to his intense fear. Then he shook his head to clear the blood out of his vision and snarled.
“You fucking bastard!”
Aziraphale found that keeping Michael at bay while hitting an unresisting Crowley was nothing compared to keeping him at bay when Crowley was fighting back. With some justification, Crowley appeared to think that he was fighting two angels at once and had obviously decided to get rid of Aziraphale quickly so he could concentrate on the better fighter. Aziraphale knew he couldn’t keep this up for long and began to panic. What could he do? How could he get Michael out of the picture? An image of Crowley lounging back and drinking wine came into his mind. No, temptation’s not hard work, Aziraphale. I mostly let them do all the work themselves - always go for what they think of as a strength, that’s the trick.
He dodged a wickedly clawed hand and flashed a wide smile at Michael.
“Hey! Don’t spoil a fellow’s fun, Michael!”
To his astonishment, the archangel looked a little sheepish, and sheathed the sword. The silly thing loved single combat so much it was beyond him to think others might not.
“Sorry, old chap. Have at it.”
Aziraphale’s feet were kicked from under him and he went sprawling. Crowley ran, thank heavens.
“I say, he’s getting away. Want me to catch him for you?”
“No! I mean, I’ll get him.”
Michael looked at him dubiously.
“Are you sure? Can you run that fast?”
Thanks, Aziraphale thought bitterly as he ran after Crowley. We can’t all look like you. With any luck the demon would be miles away by now.
It was not Aziraphale’s lucky day. Without warning he was knocked to the ground and had Crowley land hard on him. There was no longer a miserable, betrayed expression on his face, just a look of hatred and fury.
“Bloody angelsss”, he hissed, aiming a set of claws at Aziraphale’s eyes.
Aziraphale flung him off, scrambled up. Any second now, Michael would appear, looking for fun. He had to explain.
“Crowley -”
Claws caught him across the shoulder. He cried out in agony as Crowley hooked the claws tight and tried yanking him closer for a bite. Aziraphale pulled himself free, leaving some flesh behind. The shoulder had gone icily numb in a way he’d all but forgotten. It wasn’t just Crowley’s sense of humour that was poisonous.
“Crowley!”
The claws caught him again, got a good purchase on the uninjured arm. Thin, strong hands grabbed his elbow and wrist.
“Yesss?” Crowley said conversationally as he snapped the bone, and then dislocated the shoulder.
Aziraphale wept, conscious thought deserting him. The arm was being pulled round, and the only way to avoid agony beyond what he could bear was to go in the direction he was being pulled. He ended up held tight, Crowley behind him, an arm going round his neck.
“Ssstupid. You’re getting ssslow.”
“Stop . . . trying to save you - he’d kill more than your body,” Aziraphale gasped.
“Don’t insssult me.”
The arm tightened, ready for the jerk that would do for him.
“S’true, swear,” Aziraphale said in despair.
Crowley hesitated. Aziraphale relaxed. He could feel the indecision, could feel the tension leaving Crowley’s muscles.
“You silly shit, Aziraphale,” Crowley said softly, and snapped his neck. It didn’t hurt at all, he was so surprised.
Aziraphale watched his body fall into the mud. Crowley ran away as Michael arrived, sword naked in his hand again. He pursed his lips, nudged Aziraphale’s body with an armour clad foot, and looked round. Their gazes met.
“There you are! I think he got away. Ah well, good show, old chap. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Aziraphale gave the best smile he could, given that he currently had nothing to smile with. He kept his thoughts firmly to himself.
“Let’s get this seen to,” Michael said, indicating the broken body. “You know, if you did some weight training . . .”
Aziraphale rolled what he still thought of as his eyes.