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War. Suffering. Painfully inconvenient discorporations.
Aziraphale had been expecting his fair share of harm in the Great War. He was, after all, the leader of his very own platoon and had seen a good deal of the War first-hand. He’d seen his angels fight, some killing demons, some killed by demons, and some even falling to become demons. It was all just part of God’s Ineffable Plan.
Against his own devotion, however, Aziraphale found himself wishing his part in the plan didn’t have to end like this. The searing agony that pulsed from the wound in his chest was the only thing he could focus on. He could feel the fiery poison seeping into his veins and knew he wasn’t facing a discorporation, but a very final death. The demon who caught him must have had hellfire etched into their fingernails. Still, there were worse ways to go than fighting for Heaven in the name of the Almighty.
As his vision began to blur, Aziraphale became aware of a golden light at the edge of his vision, coming closer and closer to him until he could make out a figure.
“Not so fast, angel,” a voice said, its tone, though feint in Aziraphale’s mind, still distinctly harrowed - and yet, somehow familiar to the Principality.
The next few minutes passed in a blur. Aziraphale fell in and out of consciousness, only vaguely aware of the other angel, the pain in his chest dulling to a resounding throb instead of the sharp daggers he’d felt before.
Awareness returned to Aziraphale in a flash.
“There we are,” crooned the angel, and Aziraphale finally realised who was above him.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, feeling a grin spread despite the situation. “Hello again. Long time, no see.”
“It is a bit,” mused the angel. “S’all gone a bit downhill since I put the stars in the sky, hasn’t it?”
The smile on Aziraphale’s face faded slightly as he took in the surroundings. They were alone, but the evidence of war was all around them. Abandoned weapons, broken halos - a few figure-like shapes keeled over in the distance that Aziraphale didn’t want to think about. Instead, he turned his face back to the angel before him, taking in his bloodied, tarnished white robes and wild red hair. In his hand, a golden staff almost glowed, power evident from the instrument. Two snakes twisted their way around the staff, almost writhing their way to the top.
“Hush a second,” the angel said, reaching his hand down to the wound on Aziraphale’s chest. “This won’t hurt one bit.”
Before Aziraphale could reply, the golden glow from the staff travelled through the angel, coming to a stop at his fingertips. Aziraphale watched in fascination at the concentration on the angel’s face, until an even worse pain ricocheted through him, so intense he almost blacked out. When he could focus again, the pain was gone - but the hellish poison was now seeping into the other angel’s body.
“Oh, no, don’t-” Aziraphale tried to protest, but the angel in front of him only winked. The black poison seeped through his fingers into his arm and disappeared with one shudder from the angel.
“Don’t worry, my constitution’s too strong for that to hurt me.” The angel had a grin on his face, and Aziraphale was left to marvel at how powerful he must be. After all, he remembered, the angel had created the entire galaxy of stars in the night sky with just a wave of his hand. “What are you doing, so far out in the barren land?”
“My platoon’s been assigned a search party,” Aziraphale explained, sitting up next to the angel. “An Archangel has decided to go rogue, and upstairs aren’t very happy about it.”
The angel raised an eyebrow, and Aziraphale couldn’t understand the look that passed through his eyes. “What would they do that for?”
“I don’t know. It’s the wrong time to question the Great Plan, what with the war going on. If the other side were to hear that Heaven had lost an Archangel - well.”
“Perhaps they had good reason to go off by themselves, this Archangel.”
Aziraphale gave the angel a look. “It’s not right,” he said shortly and decided to change the subject. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were all about creation, not healing?”
“War changes you, I suppose.” The angel looked at Aziraphale. “Say, you didn’t happen to have a flaming sword, did you?”
A wave of panic shook through Aziraphale and his head snapped around. “Oh, I did, yes - did you see it?”
The angel grinned, and from behind his back pulled out the weapon that Aziraphale had lost.
“Oh, thank you!” Aziraphale said, clutching the blade to him in relief. “I would have been in such trouble if I lost it.”
“My pleasure,” the angel said. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, much better,” Aziraphale replied, patting his chest and feeling no pain. He locked eyes with the angel. “Thank you. And I still haven’t caught your name…?”
Aziraphale saw the hesitation on the angel's face, and something dropped in his brain. The golden staff; the impossible power he held - this angel was-
“Raphael,” he whispered, eyes clouding. Aziraphale wished he could take back the question if only to return the joy to Raphael’s eyes again. It was as if he had aged a thousand years in one second, and Aziraphale could see the hardship the years had brought the Archangel reflected back at him.
“Raphael?”
A sad smile, and a nod. “Though I doubt I’ll be for much longer.”
“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asked. Raphael didn’t answer and instead turned away. Aziraphale huffed. “You know, I should report you. I was sent out here to find you, after all.”
Raphael only laughed. “After I’ve saved you from permanent death?” He stopped his laugh and turned back. “Do, if you must. I won’t judge you. Angels can’t lie, after all.”
“And yet,” Aziraphale said, remembering, “you did. When you told me that healing my wound wouldn’t hurt.”
Aziraphale couldn’t understand the Archangel in front of him. He’d never met another angel like him, and yet something about Raphael drew him closer, like the planets orbiting the stars in the night sky. “Why did you run away?”
Raphael seemed pleased at the question. He shrugged his shoulders. “They gave me this staff and told me to use it in battle.”
“It doesn’t look very sharp.”
“No,” Raphael said, running his hand over the left snake. Aziraphale watched his fingers move. “They told me to fight. I’ve never been a fighter, not me. I love life too much.”
“They’re not happy with you,” Aziraphale warned, trying not to think about what would happen to Raphael once his superiors caught up to him.
“I don’t imagine so. That’s the thing about shooting stars.”
“Hm?” Aziraphale hummed, confused.
“At some point, they have to fall.”
A loud, pained groan interrupted the pair, and their heads swivelled around to see a figure lying, injured. An angel reached for the sword in the figure's chest, pulled it out and disappeared, leaving the figure alone. Aziraphale let his shoulders untense as he recognised the darker clothing the figure was wearing.
“Oh, don’t worry, they're on the other side,” he said, reaching to stop Raphael.
The Archangel looked at him, brows creased. “And they’re still in need of help.”
It was Aziraphale’s turn to frown. “Why bother? It’s the enemy. The ones we’re fighting. Why would you try to save them?”
But Raphael wasn’t going to stop. He was standing up, determination on his face. “Because they’ve got brothers and sisters on both sides of this War, waiting for their return. And,” Raphael said, turning to give Aziraphale a look as if it was the simplest thing to understand. “They’re in pain.”
Aziraphale found he had nothing to say in reply. He could only nod and leave the Archangel to his duty. “May we meet again?”
Raphael smiled, nodding down to Aziraphale’s chest. “Let it not be before the war is done.”
And they did meet again, after the fighting was over and Heaven shone victorious; after Raphael saved more lives, and Aziraphale ended others; after the Archangel was found, tried, and his fate decided. Gabriel tore the eyes out of his brother so he could never again see the stars with the eyes that created them, and Raphael was cast out of Heaven for good.
And they did meet again, in Eden, where Crawley now bore the golden eyes of the snakes on his staff, who had saved both angels and demons alike, and had been cast out of Heaven alongside Raphael for their sins.