"I can help, if you want me too. I'm good at writing, my teacher said so. And I clean really well." Aziraphale promised Barty as he kept touching Barty's hand. Not just his nails now but looking at his fingers, his palm, the lines that run along it. He didn't know Barty but he liked Barty so far. He didn't seem like a sinner, not really.

"We have to take care of each other now, brother. It's just us, isn't it?"

Outcasts from God but they could make it work. If they stuck together. He stroked the inside of Barty's palm, eyes on it.