Well, that last brain cell has gone with this fever so here’s a ficlet about Zira.
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People could be forgiven for thinking that Aziraphale was a fussy man who couldn’t take care of himself. He ticked every box both for being an absent-minded professor type and the sort of queer man who refuses to get his hands dirty under any circumstances. Most of the people he’d see at book auctions would have laughed out loud at the thought of Mr. A.Z. Fell wielding a sword or protecting a small child.
Crowley, on the other hand, should have known better.
The beast in the middle of the bookshop seemed to be made out of tar and despair. It had a bull’s horns and a massive body that dripped every so often onto Aziraphale’s oriental carpets. It looked at Crowley with one red eye and bellowed.
Crowley sneered at it. He had a first edition Webster’s dictionary in one hand and a knife in the other. In short, he looked like the world’s most unprepared knight.
“Crowley, dear, get behind me,” said Aziraphale as he pulled a full-sized tartan umbrella from the umbrella stand by the spiral stairs.
“Wot? No!”
“Now!” ordered Aziraphale. The beast had lowered its horns and was aiming them at Crowley.
“No! I’m not gonna --” He was cut off as the beast rushed at him. As the horns headed straight for his stomach, he could just barely make out over the beating of his heart in his ears: “Oh, for pity’s sake.”
He braced himself for impact and closed his eyes, holding the Webster out in front of him like a shield. A hideous, bone-chilling shriek filled the air. He opened his eyes to see Aziraphale wielding the umbrella like a sword and jamming it into the beast’s tar-like body. “What part of ‘get behind me’ was difficult to understand?” shouted the angel as the beast flailed and writhed on the ground. He twisted the umbrella, causing the beast to shriek again. A gush of blood-like ooze sprayed across Aziraphale as he removed his umbrella and stabbed again. “This would be quite a bit easier,” shouted he over the screams, “if I were allowed to imbue this umbrella with some holiness.” He jabbed down again. “Which is... hmph... why...”
“Yep, sure thing,” said Crowley as he retreated behind the spiral staircase. As soon as he was out of range, the umbrella in Aziraphale’s hand lit up with divine fury. The beast screamed one last time before it melted away into nothingness. “There we are,” said Aziraphale as reached for the handkerchief he kept in his coat pocket and mopped at his brow. He looked at the burnt spot on the carpet where the beast had been. “Oh, blast,” said he. “My carpet.”