Chapter Text
And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk, or Jew;
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell
There God is dwelling too.
The Divine Image -William Blake
16 year old Clara Bell had only taken the customer because she was that cold and hungry. She didn’t do it often.
Every time she went out she’d pray for her safety and every time she returned she'd pray for forgiveness and every night in between too.
But one thing she’d learned was that God’s mercy was not for girls like her.
Now she knew that for sure.
“Let me go you beast!”
She was desperately looking for a way out. Struggling with all her might to keep her voice steady as she shouted because the rest of her certainly wasn’t.
She clutched the stab wound in her side, it was bleeding profusely but she was lucky that she dodged being disemboweled entirely. He was now standing between her and the door. Her pathetic cries echoed in the big empty room.
She slipped in her blood and fell hard on her injured side. The man (If she could call him that) took the opportunity to grab her ankle and pull her roughly across the floor into the moonlight under the lone window. He grinned at her struggling before him, his eyes glinted cold. It was probably the shock or blood loss but she could have sworn they glowed red, like embers.
He loomed over her, slashed her bodice and corset and tore the shreds of them off her body as she screamed and struggled for her life, kicking, punching and biting anything she could. Cutting her hands and arms on the knife as she defended herself.
“Hold still you little bitch!” The man hissed, hitting her so hard in the face that she was, briefly, knocked senseless.
She wasn’t expecting to open her eyes again.
There was flash of light and suddenly she was free from the weight on top of her. There was a grinding shriek, like metal tearing.
“ASMODEUS you MASSIVE twat! What the Heaven do you think you’re doing!?” Boomed a voice.
Clara tried to lift her head to see what was going on. She succeeded in rolling onto her side, into a pool of her own blood. The man who attacked her was facing two other gentlemen. Well dressed, one tall and thin, the other shorter and broader.
The man no longer looked anything like a man, he was huge, seven feet tall at least, and naked, muscles rippling under bright red skin, his feet and hands clawed like eagle talons, a huge erection between his legs.
“I should have known!” The smaller man snapped. “Are things not quite violent enough for you in Hell?”
She blinked in astonishment as the smaller man stretched out a pair of blindingly white wings. He looked for all the world like…
“Little Angel…” The monster said in a voice that made her want to crawl out of her skin. “I haven’t seen you since Sodom. Cowering like a child behind a human’s door. While my beautiful mob danced!”
“Oh up yours Asmodeus you senile old pervert!” The taller, thinner man spat. “Why don’t you f*ck off back to second circle retirement where you belong?”
“I’ve paid my dues Demon Crawley. You have no authority to stop me.”
“Oh Crowley has no intention of stopping you.” The… Clara blinked in disbelief…The Angel said. “Indeed, he is only here to try to stop the will of Heaven aren’t you Crowley?”
The taller man began to flail his hands around uselessly. “Oh no. Please don’t kill Asmodeus. If only I wasn’t so weak from all the punishment Hell inflicted on me.” He monotoned unconvincingly.
The monster turned on the Angel, a picture of pure menace“You DARE to face me? Asmodeus former duke of Hell? Ravager and destroyer, warrior of Satan?”
Out of thin air she could have sworn a large white ball appeared in the Angel’s hand.
“Whats that?”
This, My ignorant friend, is a balloon. A recent invention by one Professor Faraday.” He turned to the other man. “If you wouldn’t mind stepping outside for a moment dear Crowley. There’s bound to be some splashback.” Crowley cautiously backed out of the door.
“What are you playing at you little pipsqueak?”
“It’s made of latex rubber… It’s flexible, fragile and it’s full of…Catch!”
He hurled the ball at the monster, who reflexively put out his clawed hands to catch it, and he… Well… He popped. A shower of gore splattered ten feet around where he once existed. Leaving only a vague smell of sulphur
“…Holy water. ” The Angel finished, a briefly smug look on his face. He then immediately turned to her, eyes full of concern.
Clara’s vision grew dark.
***
Feathers… White and big and clean as a swans… Covering her… Protecting her… She had never felt so safe. White light…
“There now… There there…” A soft voice and a gentle hand on her naked, broken skin. Someone was screaming. Her chest hurt.
“There there… You’re going to be just fine…” Her vision began to clear, she was entirely sheltered under the Angel’s wings. His hand was on the gaping wound in her side, and the pain was gone. His hands were running up her shredded arms.
“There now… No more bleeding… All better.” He smiled at her gently, placing a hand on her face, the pain there disappeared too and the swelling around her eye went away “Good girl, doesn’t that feel better?”
He spoke in a singsong voice one would use when talking to a hurt child. She supposed that’s what she was.
“Crowley? I really don’t think you should come back in, there’s residue everywhere.” He called out over his shoulder.
“I’ll bring round the bastard’s carriage.” Crowley’s voice echoed through the warehouse. “Well done Angel!”
***
It was a strange night, but a satisfying one. Azirapahle was content that the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee had nothing more to worry about on Asmodeus’s account, he’d get a pat on the back from head office and Crowley technically did nothing to incriminate himself.
So why was the little ghost still asleep in the upstairs bed? Her business seemingly still unfinished. He closed his eyes and tried to zone into her wavelength. Read the Akashic Record of her life and death. It was, he decided, quite hard for any small soul to find their way home without help, and she had come to him for that. He sighed. He had grown fond of her. Tomorrow, he decided.
Suppressing tears he went downstairs to find young Clara sitting on the sofa wrapped in Crowley’s jacket, still shaking uncontrollably. He was crouched before her holding a glass of whiskey to her lips.
“Its all right… I know… I know he called me a Demon but I’m not like him. You don’t have to be afraid of me.” He was murmuring softly. She took a sip. “There you go sweetheart, one more… There you go.”
Aziraphale was constantly surprised by him. Just when he appeared to be totally jaded and cynical he’d turn around and be unbearably tender.
Aziraphel sat beside her and put an arm over her shoulders. “It was an awful shock for you Clara.” He said, knowing he was staying the obvious. “You were terribly afraid.” In his experience humans needed to have their bad experience validated. Especially when they were in a state like this.
The girl leaned into his side, taking another sip of spirits as her teeth chattered. She had said not one word since they found her.
“And it wasn’t your fault.” Crowley said quietly.
She fell apart then, sobbing into her hands. Whimpering about sin and punishment.
“It wasn’t anything you did Clara. You didn’t deserve it.” The Demon repeated. “No more than a mouse deserves to be caught by a cat.”
“I…” Her voice was a bare whisper. “I went with him for money… I… I’m a whor*… I… A fallen woman…The Bible says…”
“Oh my dear!” Aziraphale pulled her closer. “Some of the best people I’ve ever met have been whor*s… Don’t let the Bible make you blame yourself. God didn’t write it and… Frankly some of the old prophets weren’t terribly keen on women. I’m convinced they were a little misogynistic.”
“Saint Peter was a total arsehole.” Crowley added. “Him and Aristotle could have started a ‘No Girls’ club in their treehouse.”
“Indeed...” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “The main thing is that you’re safe now. And I, as an Angel, only save good people.”
“No one will believe me.” She murmured.
“Um… No they won’t.” He agreed. hesitating a moment. “I want to make you an offer… For you to sleep on…”
She looked at him curiously.
“If you wish, tomorrow, I can remove your memories of tonight. So that you are no longer troubled by what happened or about the existence of… Well… Us.”
“Oh.” She frowned.
“Its a big decision. Not to be taken lightly. But it is your choice.”
After she'd finished the whiskey Crowley wrapped her in one of Aziraphel's tartan blankets and helped her lie down.
“Please…” She murmured. “Please don’t put out the light.”
“We aren’t going anywhere Dear.” Aziraphale told her. “We’ll be right here.” He poured two drinks, set them on the occasion table, and sat in one of the armchairs. Crowley sat in the other.
Eventually the tremors left her body and she drifted off to sleep in the golden light of the bookshop. Whenever she began to twitch and talk in her sleep one of them would wave their hand and quiet her dreams.
They took turns creeping upstairs to check if little Millie was still there. That way they kept watch over the sleeping girls all night.
