Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. of Good Omens is the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Scene break reference:

Short time skip:

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Long time skip:

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In the beginning, there had been an angel, a demon, a couple people, a flaming sword, and an apple. Fast forward a bit – you'll find an angel, a demon, a few more people, a flaming sword, and an apple. Although, the sword and the apple look a little different, this time around.

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"We're closed!"

Aziraphale tutted as he made his way down the well worn stairs from the second floor balcony of the bookshop. He could have sworn that the bolt had been locked when he closed up a few hours prior, but it wasn't unusual for him to overlook the task when other matters such as recalling his place in the books he was alphabetizing, or the flavor of tea he should pair with his biscuits, came to mind. The answer to both affairs being the letter G, and an earl grey that now sat neglected in the small reading nook near the window.

"I'm terribly sorry," Aziraphale said, plastering the false smile on his face he had perfected over the centuries, "but it's Tuesday, you see, and on Tuesdays the shop closes right around –"

Aziraphale stepped from behind a bookshelf, the rest of his sentence dying on his lips as he took in the appearance of the visitor. For half a second, Aziraphale had to seriously contemplate what year it was.

The woman appeared to be in her mid to late thirties, and by the alarmed look on her face, she seemed just as startled as Aziraphale. Although, it was probably for entirely different reasons other than the fact that the visitor looked as if she had stepped right out of a VHS copy of The Breakfast Club.

Permed brown hair was tied halfway up with a sequined purple scrunchie, the woman's green eyes accented with a startling splash of electric blue glitter that would probably blind anyone unfortunate enough to be regarding her in full daylight. A confused frown settled on Aziraphale's face as his eyes drifted downward. The yellow pants with a black zig-zag pattern the woman sported seemed to be very busy clashing in a horrendous fashion with a purple sweater that had literal pom-poms strung to the material. If he had to hazard a guess of his visitor's profession, he would say 'clown.' This was in a sincere fashion, of course. Aziraphale rather liked clowns.

The woman's odd appearance, however, was quickly pushed aside in Aziraphale's mind as another sense took president. It could not be smelled, or heard, or touched, but he felt it wash over him like an ice cold bucket of water had been dropped on his head.

Fear and panic coursed through the veins of the angel's corporal form. An indicator for how well he was doing hiding these emotions was reflected in the fact that the visitor took a tentative step back. The phrase, 'they're more scared of you than you are of them' came to mind, but it did just as little to help Aziraphale want to keep the woman around as it did spiders (bless their poor, repulsive little hearts).

"I … I don't know what you want," Aziraphale stuttered, fighting for composure. "But I wish to be left alone. I don't want any trouble, you see. So ... please, I implore you, leave this establishment immediately."

The woman promptly whipped about, tight curls bouncing as if she were being tugged away by an unseen force. A relieved sound escaped Aziraphale as he nervously fidgeted with the cuff of his button-up shirt.

The woven center rug, varying stacks of books, and small desk toward the front of the shop were passed by in a blur as the woman's hand curled around the doorknob. Aziraphale strained his ears as the genial hum of London billowed in, but the woman didn't make a sound as she stepped through the threshold. The soft tinkling of the bell above the door heralded her departure, and there was a glimpse of forlorn green eyes through the clouded glass before she was swallowed up by the crowd.

The tugging on his sleeve intensified as Aziraphale dithered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Don't do it," he whispered. The angel sighed, shaking his head. His focus landed on a stack of books concerning culinary prophecies he had been organizing earlier in the day. The look behind his blue eyes hardened as if he were sending a warning to a rather unruly child, and not a stack of paper, glue, and leather.

"Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it!"

The command worked rather well for the books, but not so much for the angel.

The door to Aziraphale's bookshop swung wide as the ethereal being in question appeared in a frazzled blur. He made his way through the crowd, a speck of cream and white among the usual grey and black trench coats fashionable during late spring. His target, however, stood out like a sore thumb, and was more than easy enough to spot.

"Stop! Please!" Aziraphale shouted. His bow tie had fallen askew, and he was certain that the hem of his pants would need a (literal) miracle in order to save them from the dredge of rainwater and motor oil that had splashed onto the sidewalk. But the woman in question had indeed come to a stop, pink lips opening in an 'o' as she turned to regard him in surprise.

"I, ah, uuuurgh," Aziraphale said, giving up on his greeting as he panted. The woman waited patiently, the crowd around them parting with a level of disinterest as if they were merely fixtures to the sidewalk like shrubs or a mailbox. After taking in a few good gulps of air (which was a bit like inhaling pea soup, considering the weather), Aziraphale did his best to put on a smile far more genuine than before.

"Was there … was there something you wanted to say?" than angel asked.

The woman's gaze left his face to dart over the busy street. Aziraphale caught something unpleasant flash behind her eyes (besides the gaudy eyeshadow) before her focus returned to him. When it did, however, the woman regarded him with a warm expression that left her nearly glowing. Aziraphale always felt a compulsory urge to return such things, however the smile tugging at his cheeks dissipated in an instant as the woman stepped forward to place a hand against his face. She lifted herself up onto her toes to place a kiss on his opposite cheek.

"Thank you."

With a final smile, the woman backed away before turning around once again. Aziraphale watched her, dumbfounded, as she joined the bustling crowd. It took him a moment of his eyes tracking the sequined scrunchie bobbing up and down, before all fourteen and a half of the angel's senses returned.

"WAIT!"

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"Madeleine?"

The woman didn't answer, regarding Aziraphale as if he were placing a tray of severed heads onto the short table before her instead of rather innocent looking biscuits.

They had returned to the bookshop, where the owner had hastily cleared away the piles of books (losing his place alphabetizing by doing in so, as he would later discoverer with a worn sigh) in order to make room for the tray and accompanying teapot. His previous batch of tea had gone cold, but the newer addition of an electric kettle via Crowley – more out of irritation toward the angel's outdated nature than kindness – made quick work of a fresh pot.

Aziraphale settled himself into the seat opposite his companion. Although the clouded glass at their side obscured much of the view from the bustling scene below, a dim glow illuminated their quaint tea party. Aziraphale's sunny expression seemed to prompt the woman to attempt the same, but the effort only left her looking ill.

"I, well, uh," Aziraphale said, wondering where to begin. "I can't say we've met before, have we? I feel like I would remember you."

There was no way anyone could forget that color palette, even if they wanted to.

The woman shook her head. "No, Principality Aziraphale," she said. "We have not spoken before."

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. The gesture seemed to make the woman uncomfortable, so he quickly returned to his cheery expression. "Oh, no need for titles like that," he said pleasantly. "Just Aziraphale is fine, or Mr. Aziraphale, if you're so inclined."

The woman nodded in an almost mechanical manner. Aziraphale was studying her now as if she were a rather peculiar-looking creature at the zoo, and she raised her teacup to her lips more out of a desire for something to do, than a wish to consume tea. She did, however, appear surprised as she drew the cup away. "The tea is lovely," she said, her voice hardly a whisper.

"Isn't it?" Aziraphale said, puffing out his chest. "It's a special blend. I was first introduced to it while traveling through Italy some time ago. Oh dear, when was that? I believe it was a few centuries ago when I was staying with Giovanni's family in the country – lovely people. Odd place for him to set up shop as a cobbler, considering his skills, though. Oh, but his wife did love being able to keep chickens. Terribly messy things, as I'm sure you know, but she was able to trade the eggs for tea leaves. Oh, how I wish it were so easy nowadays!"

Aziraphale chuckled, amused. "I have to get it sourced special from a small Italian province, now. There are planes involved. The kind that land on the water, you see. Oh, what is that province called again? I think …"

A glazed look had fallen over his companion's eyes. Aziraphale cleared his throat, the woman snapping up to sit a little straighter.

"How rude of me," Aziraphale said, pushing away the irritation that no one seemed to ever appreciate the lengths he went to sourcing tea. "I don't believe I've even asked for your name."

The woman lowered her cup, porcelain clinking as it settled against the tray. She hesitated for a moment before answering. "It's Umbriel, if it pleases you, Just Principality Aziraphale. I am humbled that you would ask."

"Oh, uh, no," Aziraphale said, raising his hands. Umbriel regarded him like a puppy who seemed to sense that they were in trouble, but for no idea why.

"Ah! No!" Aziraphale exclaimed, growing more flustered from Umbriel's expression. "Your name is fine! Lovely name, Umbriel. It's just, my name, you see. You can call me ju– err, only Aziraphale. By itself, hmm? Not to say that I'm not just, you know, but, ah..."

It was clear by the almost dizzying look on Unbriel's face that Aziraphale was fighting a losing battle.

"Please call me Mr. Aziraphale."

"As you would will it, Mr. Aziraphale."

Aziraphale cleared his throat again, drumming his fingers over his knees. He found the woman's oddly formal way of speaking a jarring contrast to her outward appearance that would be more aligned with her telling him to gag on a spoon.

Despite doing everything in her power to emulate a rainbow, Umbriel seemed to dim as she once again lowered her eyes. It took Aziraphale a moment to decipher what had suddenly changed, when he realized there had been a trace amount of authority woven into his previous statement.

A feeling of pity floated to the surface as Aziraphale regarded the demure manner of his companion. She kept her gaze lowered, which was customary when conversing with someone of Aziraphale's rank. Aziraphale's friendly nature from before had likely helped her to temporarily forget this fact, but it now seemed to have come back in full force.

The feeling like someone had placed a hot iron on his chest coursed through the angel. He squared his shoulders, a defiant tone dredging his voice as he spoke.

"You can act how you like, when you're around me."

Umbriel's gaze snapped to his face. It was almost like her body had been released from a mold – shoulders relaxing, head tilting, and lips pulling back in trepidation as she studied him.

"And when I ask you questions," Aziraphale continued, "you can answer because you want to answer them, not because I'm making you, alright? I'm terribly sorry I didn't make that distinction earlier."

Umbriel didn't seem to know what to make of that statement. Neon blue flashed before his eyes as Aziraphale regarded her rapid blinking.

A side effect of her brain temporarily short circuiting caused Umbriel to transition into a default mode of what a person is expected to do whilst drinking tea. It wasn't quite right, however, which was apparent when she snatched four biscuits off the tray and stuffed them simultaneously into her mouth.

It was clear from the startled expression that the action had been a mistake, but Aziraphale pretended not to notice the wide eyes and muffled whine as he waited patiently for Umbriel to power through the dry biscuits. After some tense chewing, and a large swig of tea which helped to clear her air pipe, Umbriel's demeanor seemed far more relieved. Aziraphale felt that this was an appropriate time to give in to his ever inquisitive nature.

"I am curious about something, actually," the angel said. "What, exactly, were you thanking me for earlier?"

His companion shrunk in her seat, but unlike before, there was a manner of squirming akin to a child being asked to tattle on a friend.

"They said that, well, the incident that happened almost five years ago was a test," Umbriel said, keeping her gaze averted. "That it was the Almighty testing us to see if we would be prepared for when the war to end all wars is really upon us."

Aziraphale studied Umbriel with a puzzled expression, wondering where in the world she could be going with this.

"You sided with the … opposition, during the test," Umbriel said, daring to glance at Aziraphale. Aziraphale flashed her an awkward smile, knowing that although the statement wasn't entirely true, it also wasn't completely false, either. Umbriel looked away, brunette curls partially obscuring her face as she dropped her head.

"I … I don't… I don't know if it was a test," she whispered.

For a few seconds, the two of them may as well have been carved from ice. As their table started to mirror the great thaw that happened at the end of the Ice Age (which was all rubbish, as it turned out), Aziraphale caught his jaw drifting open and sharply snapped it shut. The only sound other than the click of the angel's teeth was the ticking of the grandfather clock sitting near the base of the stairs. By that clock's time, it took Aziraphale exactly one minute and thirty–four seconds to come up with a follow up question that he hoped wouldn't discourage his companion from explaining further.

"Oh, well, uh ... and why is that?"

Well, no one said it was a particularly groundbreaking question.

Umbriel took a rattling breath. Out of pure habit, Aziraphale reached into his breast pocket and produced a handkerchief. He leaned slightly over the table and presented the small, tartan-patterned cut of sage green and brown cloth. Umbriel eyed it suspiciously, ultimately deciding that it would be bad manners not to accept the offering, and pinched the cloth between manicured nails that a carnivorous bird of prey would find most satisfactory.

"I was on the M25 roadway about five years ago when … when it happened," Umbriel said. She dabbed the corners of her eyes on the cloth. It twinkled with a merry blue as she pulled it away.

"The Almighty's children all stepped out of their cars," she continued, her voice wavering, "and they kept repeating, 'Hail the Great Beast, devourer of worlds!'"

Umbriel shook her head. She wiped her eyes more forcefully, streaks of black mascara now accompanying the eyeshadow taking over the pocket square.

"That wasn't them!" she said, meeting Aziraphale's gaze with a pleading expression. "I could feel it! Something had called to them; called out to the darkness in their hearts! And then … and then the fire. And they couldn't escape. They also … they also didn't want to."

Aziraphale had a sixth sense (well, probably more like 7th or 8th) when it came to the simple fact that someone needed a hug. He had found it to be generally quite helpful, except during the times that he was in the company of an old friend who would cross his fingers as if (ironically) warding off evil whenever Aziraphale threatened to take the action.

Aziraphale swiftly got to his feet and circled the table to put his arms around Umbriel's shoulders. She stiffened, trying to pull away.

"What? Why are you –?"

"It's alright," Aziraphale said, holding her gently. "It's alright."

Umbriel let out a small whine, her head resting on Aziraphale's shoulder. When the angel reached up to gently pat her hair, he was slightly startled to find he could feel waves of anguish and confusion rolling off Umbriel as she relived the memory. The very fascination that he was learning something new was the only thing keeping him from pulling away in shock.

"I couldn't … I couldn't help them!" Umbriel muttered into the camel-fur jacket. "They wouldn't leave the flames! I took a little boy by the hand and tried to drag him away, but he kept laughing as if he were having the time of his life. He wouldn't stop chanting those horrible words even as the heat became too much and he … and I …"

Umbriel pulled herself away to wipe her eyes again. The idea that Aziraphale's pocket square ever resembled anything beside a Jackson Pollock painting was quickly becoming a thing of the past.

"I … I used a miracle to keep myself from discorporating. And I just stayed there. And I watched. I watched as they all burned."

Aziraphale let out a long sigh. He observed Umbriel empathetically as she blew her nose into his pocket square.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," he said softly. "The humans got the benefit of coming back to life and forgetting the whole fiasco, but I suppose types like us weren't so lucky, hmm?"

Umbriel met his gaze, black splotches beneath her eyes and a red hue touching her slightly upturned nose. She sniffled before looking away in embarrassment.

"Your ha–handkerchief," Umbriel said, holding up the now rather pathetic looking cloth. "I'm s-sorry. I'll have it cleaned."

"Think nothing of it," Aziraphale said gently. "I probably have more than I need, really. I can fetch you a fresh one if you would like, my dear."

Aziraphale leaned back to avoid the flurry of curls threatening to blind him as Umbriel shook her head.

"No, please, I'm alright," she said. "I shouldn't have lost my composure in the first place."

Aziraphale regarded her with a pitying smile. He straitened and reached for the teapot. "Here, let me get your cup. And please help yourself to more biscuits; Heaven knows I certainly don't need them all."

Umbriel dutifully reached out to grab another madeleine. Aziraphale winced as he caught his mistake.

"Oh! Only have them if you want any, alright?" he added. Umbriel's hand faltered, but she still lifted the biscuit to her mouth to take a bite. Aziraphale sighed in relief. He returned to his seat and settled himself in as he waited for Umbriel to compose herself. Five madeleines (one at a time, this time around), three sips of tea, and one instance of a pocket mirror being produced from a puffball-like purse seem to do just that.

Umbriel took a deep breath before finally meeting Aziraphale's gaze. She smiled, and Aziraphale noted the same glowing expression she had given him out in the street.

"It wasn't a test back then, was it?" Umbriel said. The question appeared to be rhetorical as Umbriel continued to speak over Aziraphale's stuttering.

"It was real. It was the real war to end all wars. And you stopped it. You saved them; you saved the Almighty's children from being completely obliterated, didn't you?"

"Oh, well, um," Aziraphale said, caught off guard by the sudden shift in Umbriel's demeanor. "I, well, I didn't do it all alone. And, well…"

Aziraphale trailed off. His brows furrowed together as his expression grew pensive.

"But … why are you happy?" he asked. "Judgement Day is a day that most angels view as being one of great celebration. Why would you thank me for stopping it?"

The panicked look returned behind Umbriel's eyes, and Aziraphale feared that she might up and disappear then and there. But as soon as Umbriel's fleeting gaze landed on the window, her expression softened. She gazed down at the clouded blotches making up the people milling below like a new parent regarding their child from the window of a hospital nursery.

"Watching over the Almighty's children has been my job since the moment I came into existence," Umbriel said matter-of-factly. "The idea of no longer being able to look after them and watch them grow only brings me pain."

Aziraphale clasped his hands in his lap, a slight twitch to his lip being the only thing to reveal the thoughts churning beneath the surface. Umbriel kept her attention on the window, a dreamy look to her eyes as she ignored Aziraphale entirely.

"I believe our tea has gone cold," Aziraphale said, reaching for the pot. "How about I go refresh it, hmm? Please help yourself to some more biscuits. If you want – only then – yes."

Aziraphale didn't wait for any confirmation before turning about and descending the stairs. He hooked a left, passing the grandfather clock and mixed rows of organized and disorganized books (alphabetically, of course) before placing the teapot down on a small shelf. He picked up the receiver of the antique phone hanging from the wall, and dialed the number he knew by heart. It was practically the only one he ever called, most days, so he was able to enter the number almost subconsciously while his mind whirled.

After a few rings (too many, by Aziraphale's standards), there was a click on the other end of the line, followed by a relaxed drawl sounding like it came from someone who found the act of answering the phone far too blasé.

"Yeah?"

"It's me," Aziraphale said, cupping his hand over the microphone as he lowered his volume.

"Who else would it be?" the voice said in contempt. Aziraphale ignored the comment as he plowed on.

"I have a Guardian here."

"A wah?" the voice said. "Did you say a Guardian?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said softly. "And … and she's different. I want you to come down here."

"For a Guardian?" the voice said, accenting the question with a grunt indicating a good stretch. "Are those things even capable of coherent speech?"

"They're not imbeciles, Crowley. They're simply lower than us– err, me– on the hierarchy."

"I thought they were like, I dunno, jellyfish or somethin'. Just floatin' around keeping humans from being late for work and helpin' 'em get their food out of the microwave when it's just so."

"Don't be patronizing," Aziraphale warned. "She needs to like you."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the insulted scoff from the other end of the line.

"And why, might I ask, should I give two shits about what a glorified tree topper thinks of me?"

"Because," Aziraphale said, his gaze drifting upward. "I have an idea."

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Crowley parked the dark colored Bentley directly on the busy street corner in front of Aziraphale's bookshop. It was quite illegal for him to do so, and it always caused a great level of irritation for fellow motorists who now how to account for the rather large blind spot that could result in a head–on collision with oncoming traffic, if they didn't cautiously squeeze themselves through. Despite numerous complaints, for some reason the parking violation always seemed to be overlooked by police and parking enforcement officers alike; said officers forgetting about the problem entirely the second their eyes left the car. And so Crowley frequently succeeded in making the inner–city London commute that much more intolerable, while simultaneously ensuring that his own parking arrangement was never an issue – a win–win, in his book.

Aziraphale's head swiveled as the tinkling bell heralded his old friend's arrival. He watched Crowley with an expectant smile as the demon sauntered toward him, hands stuffed deep within the pockets of a familiar tailored black suit jacket. Like any time the demon entered the bookshop, the temperature rose by a few degrees, and Aziraphale's extensive liquor collection did the closest thing they could to crying out in fear.

Crowley came to a stop just shy of the worn woven rug marking the center of the bookshop. A frown settled on his face as he studied what could only be the angel Aziraphale had mentioned during their call. Said angel was looking back at him as if his hair was a bubblegum pink instead of the regular auburn. Although, considering her pallet, a wild hair color may not have been underappreciated.

Crowley tilted his head, his nose wrinkling as if he smelled something unpleasant.

"You look like the physical embodiment of a vomit-stained carpet from a dying chain of third-rate bowling alleys."

Umbriel's lips pursed in confusion. "W-what?" she muttered.

"Ah! Ahahaha!" Aziraphale laughed, his voice straining. "I told you he has an air for comedic quips, no? I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse us for just one moment, my dear."

Aziraphale's forced smile vanished as he turned his back on the fellow angel. He tilted his head toward the back room before trotting away. A quirked eyebrow was shot Umbriel's way before Crowley took his sweet time joining Aziraphale.

"Be nice! Be nice! BE NICE!" Aziraphale hissed the second Crowley stepped into the small space. Crowley bumped his shoulder against a packed bookshelf, muttering to himself as he looked about the cramped enclosure.

"You know that's outside my league, angel," Crowley said, brushing dust off his black jacket. "Demons don't do ni–"

"That's a lie, you know it, and we're moving past it," Aziraphale cut in. He nudged Crowley aside to peek out the entryway to the back room. A relieved sound escaped his lips as he spotted Umbriel still standing toward the front of the shop, hugging her elbows in a nervous fashion.

"And what's with this 'my dear' business?" Crowley asked, saying the term of endearment as if it were painful. "You know 'er?"

"Well, yes, I do now," Aziraphale said, turning to meet Crowley's gaze. "She's very sweet; the whole 'Guardian' thing is quite endearing – I'm scratching myself over never going out of my way to talk to one, before."

"Kicking yourself," Crowley corrected. "And I don't know what game you're playing at, angel," the demon continued, lowering sunglasses down his nose as he studied Umbriel. "But I can tell you right now that it isn't gonna end well."

"You don't even know what my idea is yet!" Aziraphale said, offended. He watched as Crowley placed a finger on the bridge of his glasses, serpentine eyes disappearing from view.

"No, angel, but I know what she is, and so do you. You know very well that a Guardian could never be here by their own accord. She was ordered to come here."

Aziraphale's smile faltered, but every bit the angel, he chose to look on the bright side. "Well, yes, of course," he said. "But that doesn't mean that she doesn't actually want to be here."

"If she's spent more than two minutes in your company, than the answer is no."

A teasing grin adorned the demon's face as Aziraphale swatted him across the arm.

"She thanked me for saving the humans, Crowley," the angel implored. "She was genuinely grateful! And it got me thinking – oh, you'll like this – it got me thinking that she can't be the only one, can she? I mean, Guardians were created for the sole purpose of looking after the Almighty's children, and giving them a helping hand when they can. It's quite possible that there are more out there like her that would sympathize with us, yes?"

Crowley shifted his weight, a dubious expression falling over his face. "And why in the hell would we care about that?"

"You said it yourself, didn't you?" Aziraphale said, his smile turning coy. "Five years ago, you said that the next war wouldn't be between Heaven and Hell, but between humans and ... um ... everything else."

"And?" Crowley said, shrugging his shoulders.

"And," Aziraphale said, his blue eyes twinkling, "we may not have to do it alone, don't you see? If there are other Guardians out there like her – ones that have spent centuries doing nothing but caring for humans – then they would want to fight for their well-being, wouldn't they? And there are some of your kind like that too, aren't there? Lesser demons? I mean, obviously they're not doing the same work as Guardians, but they've also been spending a lot of time here on Earth and maybe, just maybe, they would also want to side with us when the time comes."

Aziraphale tucked his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he swelled with pride. Crowley seemed far less enthused, watching him with a blank expression. The demon tilted his head to-and-fro in contemplation before nodding slightly. Aziraphale's smiled widened.

"I think that's it," Crowley finally said. "Out of all the centuries I've known you, I think that's the closest you've ever come to having literal horse shit fall from your mouth."

Aziraphale sputtered. "Horse shi–! how dare–!"

"You're talking about Guardians, angel!" Crowley exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "Their version of miracles is winning 8 quid from a scratch ticket, or having an extra tie handy when your coffee gets jostled in a crowded lift on your way into the office. What could they possibly do to help us fight any sort of war?"

Aziraphale cleared his throat, standing up straighter. "I'm sure they can do more than that. And I think we can use the support, no matter how much or how little help they could provide. Every little bit counts, hmm? It can't just be the two of us against everyone else, Crowley."

"Why not?" Crowley said, as if the question was perfectly valid. Stuffing hands into his pockets, he leaned to peer out the entryway. "We got through bloody Armageddon that way, didn't we?"

"We most certainly did not!" Aziraphale said, aghast. "There were plenty of others helping us out, as I recall."

"Humans," Crowley said, returning his attention to Aziraphale. "There were plenty of humans helpin' us out. And there will be again, if they want to fight for this world."

"Of course," Aziraphale agreed. "But what could it hurt to have others of spiritual nature also standing with us?"

"Not ones like that," Crowley said. The look like he had smelled something vile returned. "Guardians only do what they're told. They'll side with us if you ask them to, angel, but they'll just as quickly join Heaven's army the second someone else commands it. And that–" Crowley tilted his head toward the front of the store "– that thing was sent here to do something. Spy on us, probably – give the other angels information to see if they can figure out how to get rid of us; it can't be trusted."

Aziraphale's brow furrowed. The gesture was one Crowley had seen hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times before, and he knew exactly what it meant. Irritation rose up in the demon's gut.

"Her name is Umbriel, and she's not a spy," Aziraphale said firmly. His serious expression flickered momentarily. "Well, perhaps she is a spy, but I don't think she wants to be. And there's something that I think I might be able to do to help her."

"Do what you want," Crowley said. He leaned through the doorway, stalking toward the front door. He passed by Umbriel without a glance, although the lesser angel backed away as if even a slight brush from the hem of his jacket would cause her to set aflame. She had never been in any real contact with a demon before, so the idea was perfectly plausible in her mind.

"I'm not fool enough to get caught up in this, and neither should you, angel."

Despite the demon not lifting a finger, the door swung open with enough force to cause it to kick back and close with a loud bang. The two angels continued to stare at the entryway as they picked up the demon's muffled yelling as he shooed a flock of pigeons away from his car. The yelling stopped, followed by the scream of an electric guitar, more muffled cursing, and squealing tires which quickly faded away as the Bentley sped off.

And with that, Crowley was gone.

"Ah, well, yes, that was Crowley," Aziraphale said. Umbriel regarded Aziraphale with a baffled look.

"He'll come around," Aziraphale added amicably. He stepped forward and reached out to grasp Umbriel's hand.

"In the meantime, there's a proposition I would like to make, my dear."

A/N: Thank you for reading! Just a quick few things- this story is based entirely off the TV series, since I haven't yet had a chance to pick up the book. So if there are any readers who pick up inconsistencies between the two, that's why.

This is also a story that has only seen my eyes since I mainly just wrote this for fun and kind of just wanted to get it out there, so if anyone happens to spot any spelling or grammar errors... It's all on me. Haha (I'm open to anyone who would politely want to let me know if they spot anything to be fixed if they so desire)

I'm always open for constructive criticism, so don't be afraid to tell me your thoughts if you wish. And again, thanks for reading!