Chapter Text
"Angel!"
The cry that ripped from Crowley's throat was desperate, matching the panic-stricken look on his face. He'd not even seen his would-be assailant before Aziraphale had taken the blow meant for him. He watched the angel stumble from the force of the attack, and reached out to catch him before he could fall. The only thing that stopped him from asking what the Heaven he had been thinking was the fact that the one who had dealt the attack hadn't yet been dealt with. Once he was sure Aziraphale was steady on his feet, Crowley slipped around him to put himself in between them, prepared to fight if necessary.
"Crowley."
The word came out as a pained whisper. Every muscle in his face was contorted into a tight line as a means to hide the agony that rippled through his body. His gentle grey blue eyes betrayed what he tried to hide. Heaven, if seemed, had sent its most foulest of allies - Despair (this alliance was one that Aziraphale had been unaware of existing) - to complete this job.
"Crowley, no."
A heaven sent being would utterly destroy Crowley. The angel was not about to allow that. He stepped in front of Crowley preparing to face Despair. Already he was feeling their affects. Everything felt too much. Everything felt so tired. Everything felt so heavy. He shook it off. None of it was true.
He glanced at the wound. He would have to act fast. He had heard rumors of a weapon that would discorporate anyone its point came in contact with but he had not thought it existed. It seems he had been wrong. There was time to reverse it but only after Despair was defeated.
"No. No no no no no no no no!"
They'd only barely reconciled. He couldn't lose Aziraphale, not again, not so soon, and absolutely not like this. A horrid sense of anguish was creeping up Crowley's spine, and he couldn't tell if it was from seeing Aziraphale wounded or an effect of the being that had been sent after them. A bit of both, most likely.
Everything in him wanted to step forward and put himself between Aziraphale and Despair once more, but they'd never get anywhere if they just kept going 'round and 'round trying to shield one another. So instead, Crowley stood at Aziraphale's side, ready to fight (or throw himself between them to protect his angel, if it came to that). One hand came up to rest on Aziraphale's shoulder, though Crowley's eyes never once wavered from the enemy before them.
"You'll be okay, angel. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."