A Spark of Heavenly Fire

October 1827

 Fog rose from the streets as cooler air met warm cobbles. Smoke rose from the sooty chimneys that every home seemed to have. The air hung cold and heavy. It clung to the buildings that lurked on either side of the shabby cobblestone streets. The darkness pressed against every nook and cranny. It curled and swirled around like a boa ensnaring its current meal. Aziraphale was utterly certain this oppressive chill of a night was squeezing his essence from this corporal being.

And he was alone. That didn't help anything either. The people who Aziraphale normally saw out and about were snug in their bed, sound asleep and dreaming what they dreamt. Wee Morag had stumbled off, muttering, "Ma heid's mince," as she went.

Oh! How he wished for the racket of another being – another sound to break the general silence. While there was only the occasional hoot of an owl, sporadic rustle of rats or an alley cat, a halting patter of footsteps, and his own nasally breathing that punched the quiet back, it was not enough. He needed the swish of a particular being's overcoat, the clump of his familiar saunter, and the grumbles of his retorts. It felt utterly wrong for such things to be absent. It was as if part of his being had been ripped away. Moreover, the lack of those dear sounds allowed for the moments leading up to now played through his mind.

Drunk on laudanum, he'd staggered along. Aziraphale tried to support him the best he could. As they meandered down the road, Aziraphale had kept a steady hand upon the demon's back while marvelling at how Crowley had touched into the angelic part of him to save Wee Morag. Pointing that out had displeased Crowley.

To the point he hissed, "Not kind! Off my head on laudanum. Not responsible for my actions." Anger contorted Crowley's face. His lips rose in a snarl. His nostrils flared. It was utter disgust.

The comment instantly caused a wave of worry to flood through Aziraphale. He voiced those worries. Question after question popped out. "Will you get into trouble? Well, they'll surely have noticed downstairs. You just did a Very Good Deed indeed," he whispered. It was a hushed, awe-filled tone. The deed was indeed capitalized because saving a person's life was filed under special types of deeds. Saving another person was one of the highest acts of goodness. In Heaven it would have been revered and celebrated. In Hell, though, it likely would be a different story.

"Trust me, if Hell noticed that little display, I'd already be," he began, but stopped right away. A started gasp emoted from his lips. The demon stopped right in mid-stride. This threw Aziraphale off and he staggered away from Crowley. As Aziraphale was about to respond, Crowley held out his hand while shaking his head. Pain replaced the disgust and surprise that had enlivened his face.

Oily darkness appeared from the cracks of the cobblestone. It puddled about Crowley's feet. The fiendish-looking liquid oozed around Crowley's ankles and as it did, it branched off into tentacle-agacent black lines wrapped around him. They twisted upwards as they pulled him down. "Ah... I'd already..." he tried again. Before he could continue, the ominous substance yanked him below the surface. As Crowley went so did the oily substance. It just disappeared into thin air without leaving a mark or hint of its substance having ever visited Even worse was how the oily being had swept Crowley away and seemed to suck him into the unknown.

Aziraphale was alone.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Aziraphale was alone. He didn't know how to handle that. He didn't know if he could. Everything seemed profoundly wrong without Crowley existing in the plane of living. Even when they were separated and doing their own deeds, Aziraphale had found a certain comfort in knowing that Crowley was out there. Now that comfort was gone and he didn't know if it would ever return.