Archive of Our Own ^beta

It had seemed like a perfectly innocuous plant. Back in Eden, Aziraphale had often touched the vegetation. He cupped brilliant flowers in his hands, stroked glossy leaves, trailed his fingers along curving vines, marveled at all the wonders of Creation. Earth was such a lovely, lovely world.

So, he hadn’t thought for a single second about reaching out to touch a gorgeous plant, to run his fingers across the leaves, to appreciate all the beauty and complexity. Plants were hardly under his purview as a guardian, but he delighted in them nonetheless.

At least, until touching this particular plant sent blistering fire through his hands.

Aziraphale stumbled away from it, shocked. He looked down at his fingers and palms, at the red spreading across his skin. It itched and burned, and he didn’t understand. Plants had always been so lovely. How could they hurt him?

And it did hurt. He knew he ought to be far tougher than this. He was a guardian, created for protection, for battle. He should simply shrug off any discomfort, physical or emotional. But he loved Creation…and, it seemed, Creation did not love him.

By the time he returned to his camp, the itching in his hands had become unbearable. He scratched his left palm, and the itching intensified. Rubbing it against his robe also intensified the pain.

“Oh, oh no,” Aziraphale said, chest tightening with panic. He didn’t know how to make it stop. Itching was an entirely new experience, at least on this level. How could he make it stop?

And now it hurt again, hurt worse than he was expecting. He stared at the spreading red patches on his skin, at the white blisters forming. Creation wasn’t lovely anymore, wasn’t friendly. Creation wanted to hurt him.

And certain aspects of Creation had started to hurt each other. Earlier today, he’d seen one human kill another with his old sword. The sight had startled him, made him feel sick. He’d retreated from the settlement and back into an area with lush plants, hoping that the familiarity would soothe him. Would remind him of the Great Plan, that all was right in the universe, that She was watching out for him and everyone else.

And instead, something else had hurt him.

A sob bubbled up from deep in his chest, bursting out of him. Tears trickled down his cheeks. He stared at his hands, hurting, crying from the discomfort.

“Aziraphale?”

He turned at the familiar voice, turned to see a certain red-haired demon peeking at him from behind a tree. Approaching his camp cautiously, tentatively. Still with that same smile and odd friendliness, but no longer quite as wide-eyed and cheerful as he’d acted back on Eden’s walls.

Perhaps he’d been having a difficult time adjusting to life after Eden as well. “Crawley,” Aziraphale acknowledged, voice coming out stiff and pained. They’d run into each other a few times in recent years, but it had been a while since they’d spoken in depth. “What are you doing, skulking about?”

“Heard sobbing.” Crawley sauntered into the clearing, head tilted. Still with that friendly smile, but Aziraphale now recognized the defensive tension in his bearing, the preparedness to either fight or bolt if attacked. “Wasn’t expecting to find an angel. Thought you lot didn’t approve of emotions and vulnerability these days. Mighty warriors of the Lord, free of weaknesses and all that.”

Aziraphale knew perfectly well that he ought to take the bait, to engage in a fight. Perhaps even to discorporate his adversary…but he couldn’t even imagine doing such a thing. Despite the verbal barbs, Crawley was looking at him with such…well. Aziraphale didn’t dare call it kindness, not from a demon. But it certainly wasn’t the look of someone who intended him harm.

Crawley moved closer, lifted an eyebrow. “So. Mighty warrior. Guardian. What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale held out his red, blistering hands. “I-I’m afraid I’m having a spot of trouble. I touched a plant of some sort. It was absolutely lovely, so beautiful, but…it hurt me.”

“Oh. You found one of the plants that causes rashes.” Crawley’s expression wrinkled with distaste. He circled Aziraphale a few times, then stopped in front of him and glanced around the clearing. “I’m really not a fan of those plants. Nasty things. Had a run-in myself not that long after…y’know. Everything went downhill.”

“I suppose this is rather your fault,” Aziraphale answered tartly, normal politeness compromised by the incessant itching and distress. “Seeing as you talked the humans into taking the apple and all.”

Something that was almost guilt flashed in Crawley’s golden eyes. “They’re the ones that decided to eat the blessed thing. I just…y’know. Gave ‘em the option. You alone?”

“Um.” Aziraphale winced as the pain in his hands worsened. Oh goodness, it really did hurt. The burning sensation brought a fresh wave of tears to his eyes, and a few escaped. Falling apart in front of a demon… He’d be in such trouble if anyone found out. What would Gabriel say? “Yes, thankfully. The others certainly would not be impressed by my foolishness. I’m an angel. I shouldn’t be affected.”

“Mm.” Crawley gnawed on his lip, rocked his weight from side to side a few times, swayed back and forth. He looked around the clearing again, then made a face and reached out. “Give me your hands.”

“What? No.” Aziraphale retreated a step, sure that it was a trap. Or at the very least, some sort of transaction. Demons were bad. Dangerous. Malevolent.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Crawley said in an irritated tone. As if a demon would never ever harm an angel. As if they weren’t on opposing sides. As if they weren’t adversaries. “Aziraphale, come on. Give me your hands.”

If he had to go to Heaven for treatment, they’d dock his celestial wages as a punishment for being so foolish and soft. And Gabriel would be so disappointed in him. Aziraphale could imagine it now, the disapproving, cold looks from the Archangels, the accusations of incompetence. Oh, look at Aziraphale. A guardian who can’t even keep himself safe from a plant. It would be a complete nightmare. Everyone would make fun of him.

And then there was Crawley. Standing right in front of him, hands outstretched, expression entreating. No condescension. There was an earnestness to him, and that broke down Aziraphale’s defenses.

So, tears still trickling down his cheeks, Aziraphale held his own hands out. Crawley took them gently, with so much tender care that it tore Aziraphale’s breath away. Crawley looked over the rashes and blisters, brow furrowed. Then he narrowed his eyes slightly.

Cool, soothing relief flowed across Aziraphale’s skin. Waves and waves of it, washing away the reddening irritation, mending the blistered patches. Restoring him until his hands were once again unblemished, free of pain.

Crawley held his hands for a few moments longer than necessary, then let go and took a step back. “Mkay. Should be good to go. Just, er, y’know. Don’t touch that plant again.”

“Oh my.” Aziraphale smiled and looked at his freshly healed hands, then wiped away the tears. “Goodness, you must think I’m quite silly. I suppose I could have miracled the rash away myself.”

“Nah, s’ fine.” Crawley swayed from side to side, smile awkwardly lopsided. “Tell you what’s silly, I only figured out that cooling sensations take the pain away ‘cuz I fell in the river right after.”

Aziraphale stared in complete bafflement at him. Demons were supposed to be evil, cruel, vicious. But instead of cruelty, Crawley had healed him…and was now telling an embarrassing personal story in an attempt to make him feel better. “I’m sorry to hear that. Were you injured, Crawley?”

“Nope. Well, aside from the rash I already had. Kinda my own fault, really, I’d just been loosening some rocks at one of the shallow crossing areas. Y’know, people fall in, get wet, take it out on each other,” Crawley said as if that line of reasoning made any sense at all. “After I touched the plant, I kinda scrambled back, slipped on one of the stepping stones I’d just loosened…”

“And then fell in,” Aziraphale said, feeling rather less silly and humiliated than he had a moment ago. Warmth spread through his chest. “I see. Well, I suppose I ought to thank you for sharing your wisdom with me.”

Crawley gritted his teeth, hissed, and twisted to look around for observers. “Keep your voice down. S’ not exactly company policy, demon healing an angel.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s simply…” Aziraphale smiled at him, shocked by how much better he felt now. Not just his hands, although they were back in tip-top condition. But his earlier sadness, his distress… Crawley had tended to those wounds as well, all through a simple act of kindness. “I’m simply quite relieved to be feeling better. It’s fortunate for me that you were nearby.”

Crawley relaxed again and flashed a smile, his eyes soft. “Right place at the right time.”