Work Text:
London, 1981
It happened suddenly.
Crowley was sprawled on a chair outside a coffee house that served both the most awful and expensive cafe in town*, giggling as passer-by tried to pick up a coin he’d glued on the pavement.
*One of Crowley’s best works, in his opinion.
And all of a sudden, he was hit by a wave of pure, very familiar Grace. His smirk disappeared, snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane.
This was Aziraphale, and he was fighting. Fighting with all he had, burning his Grace furiously. Against him, something dark, feral and powerful was lashing out.
Something demonic , no doubt about that.
Not good.
Crowley didn’t even take the time to get back to the Bentley. He shot out of his chair so fast it tumbled to the ground.
As the waiter turned around, startled by the clatter, Crowley was gone.
He appeared in a walking street, and didn’t even need to search for the right direction. The herd of people screaming and running was a pretty good clue.
Spreading his dark aura threateningly so the terrified crowd parted in front of him like the sea in front of Moses, he hurried towards the source of the commotion. He couldn’t sense the demonic aura anymore, and Aziraphale’s was so weak it was almost unnoticeable.
As he got closer to the angel’s presence, he noticed several humans lying on the ground, unconscious. Crowley wasn’t surprised to see they were all still alive. He had hung out around Aziraphale long enough to know that protecting others was his thing.
“Aziraphale!” he called, searching for a familiar shock of pale hair among the still bodies, “Aziraphale? Where are you?”
Something moved. Crowley was there in a heartbeat. “Angel!”
Aziraphale clumsily tried to get on his feet, and would have collapsed without the demon’s hand grabbing his elbow.
“Angel, what the--what happened to you?” asked Crowley’s horrified voice.
Aziraphale shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts. He remembered the last few minutes. The fight. The howling, ferocious beast. The violent pain. “I… I am not sure, dear boy. I think I may have trouble with my eyesight at the moment,” he added, blinking rapidly to get his eyes back under control.
It didn’t help at all. All he could see was a dark-red veil, and if the awful burning sensation was anything to go by, it wouldn’t change for a long while. He turned to Crowley, offering him a wobbly smile to reassure him, and heard a loud gasp.
"Angel, who did this to you?" Asked Crowley as he took in the state of his friend.
Aziraphale’s eyes were… there was no word for what they were. Not fine was an understatement. The skin on the upper side of his face was red and burned, and there was no way the angel could see. Not with his corporation's eyes, at least. And he’d burned out all of his Grace, so using his ethereal body was out of the question at the moment. Which was a bummer, since the Principality wasn’t lacking eyes in his true form.
Crowley could at least take care of the burning. He tried his strongest healing miracle, and snarled silently at the resistance he met. Whoever had done this was evil, and much more powerful than he was. He wouldn’t be able to heal the angel, just ease his pain. Aziraphale’s corporation would heal on its own, given some time. There was nothing else Crowley could do.
Aziraphale reached out blindly to pat his arm. "I am fine, Crowley," he assured in a raspy voice.
Crowley bared his teeth, seething with rage. "You are not fine, you can't see , Aziraphale! Who the fuck did thisss to you?"
The angel's expression faltered for a second, then he put his brave mask back on. "Is it really important? I will be right as rain in just a few days. No reason to get upset over it, dear boy."
Yes, it's important! Crowley wanted to shout. Knowing who needs to pay for this is important!
Except it wasn't. Aziraphale was hurt. Aziraphale couldn't see. Couldn't read . The most important thing in the world, right here, right now, was to take care of him. To stand by him, support him. Protect him. Not avenge him.
Yet.
Crowley didn’t slow down one bit as the Bentley’s radio crackled with Hellish static. He was used to it by now. Hell loved radio, and had stopped using letters almost entirely since its invention.
“Lord Beelzebub,” Crowley greeted, trying not to yawn too loudly.
He needed sleep. He had kept an eye on Aziraphale for the last three days, just to make sure the angel was back to his usual, fussy self, and was in dire need of a nap. Aziraphale had kicked him out only a few hours ago, ordering him to go back home and rest . He’d stopped by where the fight had taken place, in hope of some clues, since Aziraphale refused to tell him who had attacked him. He needed to find the culprit, and end their existence. Then he would sleep.
Of course his boss would decide that now was a good moment to give him a new assignment. He hummed and nodded along as the Prince of Hell told him about his next target. Easy one, he could do it in a matter of hours. Not funny one bit.
“No problem, it will be done by next week,” he promised. That let him six days to track down the bastard he was after.
"Good. Oh, I almost forgot," added Beelzebub in a bored voice, "there's a wild monster that escaped from the Pit somewhere in London. Try not to get destroyed, will you? I have no one to replace you right now."
"What kind of monster?" asked Crowley, cold dread running along his spine.
He was almost certain he already knew the answer, and dearly hoped to be wrong.
"The acid spitting kind. Hastur volunteered to go after it and take it down. Try not to get in his way, I don't want to play referee in another one of your quarrels."
"I'm not stupid enough to enter a fight with a freaking acid spitting creature from the Pit of Hell ," growled Crowley, who hadn't felt this angry at a certain Principality in a long while.
"If you say so," only said Beelzebub. Crowley didn't have to see them to know they were raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "I want you to report back on that new assignment shortly. Don't muck it up."
Crowley conveyed his best cocky voice. "Have I ever disappointed you, Lord Beelzebub?"
"You wouldn't be alive if you had. Keep it that way," answered the Prince of Hell before cutting off.
Crowley stopped the Bentley on the side of the road, headless of the angry honks around him.
“That… gormless, imbecile, stupid angel! A creature from the Pit ? What the ever living fuck ? Even an Archangel would need backup for that !”
Cursing angrily, he made a U-turn without paying any attention to his surroundings. He had an angel to yell at.
Aziraphale had lit the candles as soon as he’d seen the Bentley disappear at the corner. He had a report to make, and had waited way too long to do it already. Getting rid of Crowley had been difficult, but the fear of Gabriel deciding to stop by on his own volition was too strong to ignore.
He dearly hoped Crowley wasn’t cross at being shooed out of the shop like this.
In the circle, Gabriel smiled brightly. "So, Aziraphale? Reporting at last? Is the beast dead?"
"I destroyed it," said the angel in a subdued voice.
He could still hear the monster's growls. Feel the excruciating pain as his face burned. He had thought this was the end for him, then. He’d been sure of it. Nothing could hurt this much except Hellfire, that had been his thought.
"Very good!" Exclaimed Gabriel, loudly clasping his hands together. "Do not forget to write an Official report about it, hmm? Now, I have to go, lots of important things to take care of, but good work, champ! Keep it this way and you'll soon see a commendation heading your way!"
"Ah, Gabriel?" Said Aziraphale hesitantly.
"Yes?"
"The… the monster. It was… well, I was just wondering if you knew it was coming from the Pit? It was quite strong," he added with a self-depreciating chuckle, "I, ah, I had some trouble getting rid of it."
The Archangel frowned. "Did you get hurt?"
Aziraphale refrained from smoothing his waistcoat and focused on keeping his back straight and his hands clasped behind himself.
"I sustained a small injury. Nothing too bad."
Gabriel's eyes turned cold. "Are you telling me this simple assignment was too difficult for you, Aziraphale?"
"No! No, of course not! I am not complaining!"
The Archangel pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. "Aziraphale, you have been created a Cherub . Taking care of a tiny creature from Hell should be simple for you."
Not a creature from that place! Screamed a voice inside Aziraphale's head. He ignored it. He was quite good at it, after all this time.
"Of course. You are right, Gabriel. I will pay more attention next time."
"Make sure of it, yes. Honestly, Aziraphale, how could you be so careless as to let yourself get hurt?"
Aziraphale took in his boss' expectant expression, and failed to find the correct answer.
It didn't seem to bother Gabriel anyway.
"Very well, glad this is all settled! Keep up the good work, Aziraphale! See you in five months for your yearly report!"
"Yes, I--"
Gabriel disappeared in a rush of Heavenly Grace. Aziraphale looked at the empty space for a few seconds and sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly.
“... I will see you then,” he finished lamely.
He stood there, too tired to move, as the candles slowly burned down. Vaguely, he thought about making himself a cup of tea, or opening a book, but every idea lost its appeal as soon as he lingered on it.
The only thing he really wanted to do was call Crowley, ask him to come over, and talk about silly things. But Crowley was certainly asleep by now, and anyway the poor demon had more important things to do than to coddle a depressed Principality.
He would ask questions. And Aziraphale couldn’t give him answers. If Crowley knew who Aziraphale had been fighting, he would get very angry. And if he learned it had been on Heaven’s orders…
Better not to think about his reaction.
He focussed on one of the candles, flickering brightly. Flames were always so… soothing.
The doorbell jingled, and a loud slam blew every candle out.
“The Pit ?” yelled Crowley’s voice. “You fought a creature from the fucking Pit ? On your own ? Are you insane ?”
Aziraphale hurriedly snapped his fingers to send the candles away and get the rug back in place over the chalk circle.
Cat out of the bag. Half a cat, at least.
He grimaced as a fuming demon stopped right in front of him, eyes entirely yellow. Yes, Crowley was angry. Better not make it worse.
“Ah, I imagine you found out about it,” he said in a high-pitched voice.
“You think? ” snapped the demon sarcastically.
“No need to get in such a state, dear boy, everything is fine now.”
“No, it’s not ! Why did you go there alone? It could have killed you, Aziraphale! Why didn’t you at least call me?”
Aziraphale could hear the hurt in his friend’s voice. Crowley was thinking ridiculous things, thinking that maybe Aziraphale didn’t trust him enough to ask him for backup, and he needed to reassure him right now, tell him that of course he would have called were the circumstances any different. But it had been an important assignment, and Heaven may have been watching .
Except… except that he couldn’t say that. Crowley would lose his mind, and think that maybe Gabriel had been careless and cruel, when… when in truth he had trusted Aziraphale.
“I…” started the angel, stopping short and clenching his fists.
Get a grip, you foolish Principality. Get a grip, get a --
Crowley’s face softened, anger replaced by concern. “Aziraphale? Are you all right?”
Aziraphale nodded furiously, eyes tightly shut.
For a minute, silence fell over the Bookshop. The angel didn’t dare open his eyes. Was Crowley still here? It was way too quiet. Maybe the demon had decided to go home. Maybe he was too mad at him to talk right now.
Something shuffled in front of Aziraphale, and he suppressed a start.
“I’ll make some tea,” said Crowley’s voice softly, “and there’s an action movie marathon I don’t want to miss. Your couch is the best place to slouch, so I’m requisitioning it.”
Aziraphale gasped. “Requisitioning? It is my couch!”
“Not anymore,” declared Crowley, aiming for the stairs to the flat. “For the next six days, it’s mine .”
“You foul fiend,” mumbled the angel, heading to the backroom to miracle a tv set in front of the couch and snapping his fingers to lock the shop’s door.
He felt so much better already.