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Aziraphale protects. It's almost the first thing Crowley learns about him - sheltering curve of a wing, sword given to Adam against cold nights and vicious animals. Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and can't guard his own soft heart.
But a Guardian needs a sword, and Aziraphale has given his away.
Crowley forges himself into a replacement, despite bones that ache like they're the ones being hammered on the anvil, and joints that crack like an army trampling through a forest (breaking every part of his heart, soul, and body in the Fall does that for him, like a human might get a weatherwise ache from a single broken bone). It isn't as if the sword needs to be physical, after all.
He starts at the core, with a voice like steel, honed and polished until it might be mistaken for a silver tongue. He adds a cutting edge of fashion, a razor sharp wit, eyes like blazing fire, and what's left of his heart for a pommel gem. A sword that can hiss from its scabbard of insouciance, and will always return to Aziraphale's hand no matter what else happens.
Who guards the Guardian?
I do....!