Where the Mountains Meet the Heavens

Feel the Earth Move (Pre-Dynastic China, 1831 BCE)

Chapter illustrated by the wonderful Tamsly.

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Aziraphale tried to move his wing once more, to drag it out from under the fallen wall. No good. He was trapped at a ridiculous angle with no way to gain enough purchase or leverage and the pain that shot through him with every movement suggested his wing was broken, which was frankly terrifying. Noxious gases were filling his head with strange thoughts and colours making it hard to concentrate on making miracles, even if he wasn't completely drained from trying to evacuate the village.

The last thing he wanted was to give himself a divine revelation.

He could wait until his powers returned fully, although he was currently draining them just to make the pain bearable, keep himself from dying of exposure, and combat the hallucinogenic effects of the gasses. Or he could suck his pride up and ask Heaven to get him out.

If he reached Michael, that wouldn't be too bad. Even Gabriel would probably praise him kindly for saving as many humans as he could, even if he would sniff at Aziraphale's carelessness in getting trapped himself.

If he reached that new Dominion, Sandalphon, who was rumoured to be the angel of Intercessional Prayer — well. Sandalphon would help him, of course. One angel to another. But Aziraphale, who would never have admitted it for a moment, didn't trust Dominions, and suspected they didn't trust Principalities. He was a helper, there was no way of getting past it, and Dominions were by their very nature smiters.

Sodom's destruction was only sixty-six years in the past, and Aziraphale was not yet ready to see anyone involved yet, for fear he would forget all his angelic restraint and punch them in their smug faces. That would cause paperwork, and possibly a recall to Heaven.

Mind you, so would discorporating out here.

He could try a direct appeal to God. He closed his eyes. "Please, Father, don't let this prayer go through anyone else. I know you won't intervene directly, but if you could just send someone to help. Someone sympathetic, who won't lecture."

No answer. She never did reply much, even in the old days, even when spoken directly to. She would just smile, or sometimes offer a kiss, which made things feel better but didn't really seem useful once you recovered from the bliss. For all they weren't supposed to have free will, She did tend to leave them to themselves. Aziraphale supposed he would have to get himself out of this mess himself.

"Hullo, Aziraphale." A voice that was warm, familiar and above all happy to see him. "What have you been up to?"

It was demonic intervention. There was no way the Serpent came from Her. It just felt Heaven-Sent.

"It's a new thing called an earthquake," Aziraphale explained, trying to stretch his wing. Agony went through him, and he shuddered.

"I'd help if I could," Crawly said a bit miserably, "but, you know. Infernal power on an angel. Might do more harm than good."

"Get me out of the way of the poisonous gases and I can heal myself." Aziraphale hesitated. "If you hadn't moved the wall—" He looked up, full of gratitude.

"Don't talk about it." Crawly's voice was gruff. "Here we go, angel. Might hurt." He put what felt like a surprisingly strong arm around Aziraphale's waist and hauled him to his feet. Aziraphale put all his effort into not screaming. These fragile corporeal forms...

Crawly chattered to him as he steered him down away from the former spring, and Aziraphale felt that it was to distract him from the pain. He caught himself shooting little grateful glances at the demon, and tried to control them.