Singed wings

It's been so long since Crowley fell. And he still felt guilt. It was all his fault. And only his, no one else's.

"How much trouble can I get into just for asking a few questions?" He felt terrible for even thinking about what could happen.

But of course he didn't do anything. He isn't even an archangel, so how would he even be able to do something.

A few sparks of light flew around them. The unknown angel covered him with their wing. Aziraphale blushed a little. "Oh, nothing should ever happen to them," he thought.

Later, he felt worried. Oh, how worried he was. He didn't know what could happen, but the Almighty must be doing something. No one had ever questioned her before.

A plan formed in Aziraphale's head. He needed to do something! He couldn't let anything happen to the angel.

He didn't even know their name but he still cared so much. He shrugged. He'd think about that later. But who could help? He needed someone high. But not the Almighty of course.

He thought for a few seconds and then he remembered him. The scribe of God. He might be able to help him.

Yes! Yes, that's it. That must work. The Metatron had the might to save the angel.

Just moments later he miracled himself to the scribe. He heard the usual flutter of wings just before he landed in front of a door. An old one.

He took a deep breath even though he doesn't need to breathe. Only the creatures to live on that new planet, Earth or how its name was, have to.

He took himself together. This must be done, he thought. And then he knocked. Just after that the door opens.

The first thing he saw are objects, materialistic objects he might add in retrospect, hovering around all around the space.

"Hello," he says quietly. "Ah yes, hello Aziraphale. I expected you"

He shivered slightly. How could that be? But he's before the scribe of God, he reminded himself. And you are not to question the Almighty and the higher ranked angels

He looked up. When did he start looking down? He didn't remember. But as he did so, he saw a figure before him. An older angel, with hair as white as can be.

"Yes. I felt the need to inform thee of something and hoped thee might be able to help me with it"

"And that might be?"

He took himself together. He had to do it. He would help him. "It's about another angel. They have questions. Questions for the Almighty. And, well, she might do something to them. I mean, we're not to question her," he said, his voice getting quieter.

He talked around what he wanted to say again.

He looked at the scribe again. He nodded at what Aziraphale had just said.

"And now you don't want anything to happen to the angel?"

He nodded slightly. "Yes- Yes. Exactly that" The Metatron looked at him and then smiles. "I will take care of that from now on. Don't you worry, Aziraphale."

And without a chance to say something else, the Metatron was gone and he was left in the usual again.

He happily smiled. Nothing would happen to the angel, that was made sure of.

________________________

Oh, how foul he was. He sighed. How stupid he was to believe the Metatron. And now he did the same again. He had to make it better.