Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When everything came crashing down

Years and years, millennia spent working hard and climbing his way up the ladder only to be sent plummeting towards eternal damnation. There was no way he was going down without a fight.

That’s how he found himself gripping the sharp blade of the silver broadsword and glaring into purple eyes above him.

“It’s a shame you had to leave like this. You really were quite the visionary. Would have made a great leader but now, I guess, I will have to continue to carry the burden of responsibility in overlooking Heaven’s decisions and values,” Gabriel sighs, mockingly returning the glare. In a swift motion the sword is twisted and that desperate grip falters.

Purple eyes watch him as he claws at the air, see his shocked gasp accompanying the anguished expression on his face. He stares back as the purple eyes shrink smaller in the distance, until he can no longer see anything but smoke and then he loses control, sent spinning as he plummets.

All he can see are blackening feathers as smoke fills his nose, fear encompassing his entire being. He gags involuntarily as his eyes and tongue begin to sting with such ferocity. He’s falling. Oh, how he’s falling. With the intense speed and pain, it’s a wonder anything else filters into his mind. Yet he begins to think, mind whirring out of control along with his body. He thinks of questions, always with the damning questions. He wants to cry but he can’t while everything is going so quick and nothing makes sense and he’s falling dammit, so he screams instead.

He doesn’t stop screaming until everything comes to an abrupt stop.

He’s no longer falling, not physically anyway. He struggles to get his bearings, unable to figure out which way’s up, in and out of consciousness every few seconds. Did he hit his head? Does he even have a head anymore because it does not feel like it… and he’s on fire. Plus he’s sinking. Then someone’s pulling him down. How can he go down further?? No, someone’s pulling him up! He then loses his grip on consciousness faster than he’d lost his grip on the sharp sword of Gabriel’s.

When he comes to, everything is aching. He realises he’s laying on his back facing the stars. His stars. Blinking a few times, he realises that no, there aren’t any gorgeous stars shining back at him. It’s just black. The air is smoky with an overpowering smell of rotten eggs… sulphur, he realises, lots of sulphur. As his stinging eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, he discovers he’s lying on an incredibly large rock, in what looks like a cave whose expanse seems to go on for eternity, and he’s surrounded by an eerie red glow.

Other angels - Fallen Angels - are milling about, seemingly having been up for ages. Was he the only one who had lost consciousness? Just his luck he’d miss the start of the party.

He sits up slowly and raises his palms to his eyes, digging them in. He freezes when he hears someone clear their throat close behind him.

“‘bout time you woke. Been worryin’ we’d have to drag you to the Decayer Pit,” the stranger croaks.

“Decayer Pit?” he asks, still trying to rub the stinging from his eyes and get his balance so he could stop swaying where he sat. He felt so dizzy that he was beginning to get nauseous.

“Yeh… Hasn’t been the brightest day. Started chuckin’ the dead ’n’ dyin’ in that pit way over there,” he points at a dark cave in the distance and waits until the other uncovers his face and follows his gaze before continuing, “didn’t wanna have’ta drag your sorry ass all that way, especially not after I put all that effort into dragging you out of the sulphur pool wi’v me”. There’s lighthearted humour in his tone, he notes, and it’s oddly comforting among the fear and confusion he’s currently feeling.

With his face finally uncovered and his eyes focused a little better, he turns fully to take in the appearance of this new acquaintance behind him. He has to hide his surprise when he sees the lanky figure covered in dirt and, presumably, ash. He’s got small twin antlers protruding from his mess of hair and a shy yet mischievous grin plastered on his face. There’s dried blood stuck to his lips and chin which he licks when he catches his companion looking. His strange tongue, still bleeding a little, catches his attention as well and he stares some more.

“Demon tongue. Happened t’ a lot of us. I don’t think you got it that bad though: stick it out”.

Still confused but now mildly intrigued, he slowly lets his numbed tongue emerge from his lips. With a nod, the other man sits back.

“Yep, you’ve got a snake tongue I’d call it. Matches your snake eyes. Not a terrible sight I’ll admit”.

“S-snake eyes? What’re you on about?”

“Your eyes, man! They’re yellow. No, wait, they look golden. Anyway, they’re like a snake’s with the vertical pupil 'nd everything. Remember the designs they had of the first animal species for Earth? Those!”

He rubs his eyes again.

“Best be fixin’ your name then. I’m Furfur- it’s a long story. Nice to meet you…” he prompts.

“Fix my name? What the- what would I change it to? I haven’t got a clue”.

“Well if you’re to have snake features then why not something, I don’t know, snake-y?"

He’s got a point. He thinks back to what they’d discussed about snakes in Heaven. He’d been quite fond of them, actually, and it makes him wonder for a moment what influences a demon’s appearance... It would seem that they definitely don’t get to choose it, but a name he can choose.
“Slide- no. Crawl sounds cooler. Crawl-something. Yeah. Er… Crawl… Crawler. Crawlyle. Crawlz. Ugh. Crawly”.

“Hold on, Crawly sounds good”.

He pauses, silently mouthing it to himself. “I think so too, actually. Crawly. Rolls right off the snake tongue,” with that, he sticks his numb tongue out fully. He smiles as he perks up a bit, feeling the agitation and every other negative emotion that had been simmering within him since waking up here, settle just slightly.

“Ah. Yes. Nice to meet you then, Crawly”.

Chapter Text

Now

Crowley shivers as he locks the shop's door behind him.

Vehicles and pedestrians alike pass by in a hurry as rush hour begins. He pulls his coat tighter around himself as he starts walking in the direction of Nina’s coffee shop.

“Good morning, Crowley. You’re early,” Nina calls when the bell above the door chimes.

Glancing at his watch with a coy smile, he approaches the counter. He leans his hands against the counter with his arms outstretched and hip jutting to the left, ever-present style in his posture. “Got plans. Real exciting plans, of course”.

Nina just stares back waiting for him to continue but instead he simply smiles until she lowers her eyebrows and shakes her head. “Right, yeah, whatever. Want anything to eat? I’m willing to bet you’ve skipped breakfast having changed your usual routine?”

It’s true; he always sleeps until late. Well, if there’s one thing Nina always seems to be, it’s being right when it comes to reading Crowley. It’s a gift. His smile loses some of its confidence but he answers with a quick “nope, got lots to do with little time!” swiping the steaming mug off of the counter and guzzling down every last drop in under ten seconds.

Same as usual then, she thinks, shaking her head again as she watches him stride out the door.

As soon as the Bentley’s door slams beside him, he’s cranking the heater up high, possibly higher than a human could stand, but he’s not human. So. Hot it is.

Pedal to the metal swerving traffic and miracles to switch red lights to green bring a decent release to some of his tension. He loves his car, obviously, and he loves driving her more than anything. Except Aziraphale, but that’s also obvious. He often tries not to think about the periods of time in which Aziraphale has had to hide his keys and give a stern warning to the Bentley itself, to prevent him driving even months after he’d had a bout of, well, sickness. Nearing a hundred years of owning her and he still couldn’t be trusted...

(It frustrated him to no end, but he knows it’s the way it has to be and that Aziraphale will not change his mind, not that he should have to. He was keeping him safe. But it still gave him anxiety to think about not being allowed to drive her for even a day in the future).

Sometimes, like today, he talks to her while he drives. He’s never been the kind of person to enjoy sitting still and quiet while concentrating on the road. Or ever, really, since he is always fidgety and full of energy at times that kept him hyper. Multitasking helps him concentrate, which people never seemed to understand. He could blame it on being a demon (if there were other demons he knew of with these problems). So, to burn some of that restless energy heightened by the anticipation of the day’s plans, he spoke.

It was mostly nothing important, usually. Rambles about his plants and Aziraphale’s eyes and how great his sleep was and Aziraphale’s hands and, yeah, mostly about Aziraphale. How he’d managed to live before they’d gotten acquainted he had no clue. It seemed at times the whole world was in front of him, kissing his forehead, fussing over dusty books, smiling as his eyes drifted closed to the sound of Glen Miller and his orchestra…

Eventually Crowley stops outside a florist. It's a small, vine-covered building that's mostly hidden between other businesses that have bright signage and daunting gentlemen ushering prospective clients inside large transparent doors.

He quickly climbs out of the car and strides toward the door. Once inside, he takes a moment to close his eyes and take in the scents and the overall vibes of his favourite shop, or second favourite shop he should say. He surreptitiously flicks his tongue out to get a more genuine impression. Ah, he notices, the carnations are in season a little early. A soft smile appears on his face while he moves towards the front desk to obnoxiously ring the attention bell. He rings it more than once, of course.

“I swear to the heavens if- Crowley. I knew it was you! Get off it!” a petite woman hurries out from one of the back rooms holding a bundle of cellophane in various colours.

He smirks and takes a small step back away from the call bell, curtseying dramatically. “Good morning to you too, Madame Tracy. Anathema in today?”

“Not today, dear. She’s on her way to someplace fancy where the weather is better,” she replies, setting the cellophane on a shelf beneath the desk. “You just missed her”.

“She needs the getaway," he shrugs. Her and Newt had been having issues lately, he doesn't add. "Well, that’s fine anyway! All is well. Did she leave me…?” he trails off, nodding toward the door to one of the back rooms.

“Oh! Yes! Hold on one tiny moment, I’ll go get those for you, dear”. She dashes back through the door and returns with a gorgeous bunch of flowers that Crowley had specially requested.

“They’re perfect, wow look at them,” he gasps awestruck. Carefully, he takes the colourful bouquet into his own arms and clicks his fingers to send probably-too-much cash into the register. “Sorry to love you and leave you. Too many things on the to-do list I’m afraid!” Somebody, he sounded like the angel sometimes.

And with that he grins ear to ear and strides back to his (im)patiently waiting car.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale hadn’t been so stressed in decades.

The last time he had been this stressed was in 1996. For their 6000-years-on-Earth-anniversary, Crowley felt it was a big one and so he had decided that it would be a great idea to do something “extremely exciting” and “adrenaline fuelling” which is never a pleasant combination when Crowley is the one planning it. He's always had a way of tempting chaos.

Somehow, they’d ended up on a skydiving plane.

One major panic attack and seven bottles of straight vodka later, Crowley was fast asleep in his exasperated angel’s lap for the rest of the night.

But this was a different kind of stress. Today is the day that they had picked nearly 100 years ago as the day they could celebrate their birthdays. Of course they’d elected to celebrate both on the same day because who has time for two celebrations when you’re busy getting the world off of Heaven and Hell’s radar and, well, you know, spending hours snuggling and cheesy stuff like that?

Born out of earthly traditions, they’d agreed the day should be significant in itself. So, the 1st of September became their day, due to them being in Australia at the time and spring had just sprung. Crowley had adored the plants blooming and Aziraphale felt as if he had never been happier than he was in that moment watching Crowley dash excitedly between sections of beautiful garden beds in a quiet park.

“Today,” he started and then watched Crowley look at him in confusion, “we’ll make it today. Every year we will be reminded of this moment, on the first day of spring. When we look upon the birth of this day, we will celebrate our existence; this existence we have spent together. That, we shall forever celebrate”.

Crowley had hidden the loose tears, but Aziraphale saw them anyway, and they left the park hand in hand with a newfound serenity between each other.

So, today being the 1st of September means he expects Crowley to be planning something, if his timely absence is anything to go by. He hasn’t seen Crowley all day as he’d left early and hadn’t been back since. Whatever it is, Aziraphale doesn't know what to expect.

He himself had found a small (but heartfelt and thoughtful) gift for his favourite demon. He had chosen it when he’d been on a solo trip to Edinburgh a week prior, looking for a certain pub he’d heard of that was named after an old friend, The Resurrectionist, and he had wanted to visit it for a while now.

The day trip had turned into a weekend trip and he stayed the night in the highlands, taking the opportunity to visit the famous loch before he left. The main visitor centre of the Loch Ness area proved to be “perfectly splendid” in the angel’s own words. He returned home happily with several trinkets and one very specially chosen gift.

Aziraphale takes it out of its hiding place and carefully wraps it before placing it in a new safe spot for when Crowley returns from his errands, wherever he was. What on Earth could that wily serpent be up to now?

As it turns out, that wily serpent's on his way home, grinning so wide his cheeks ache and a car full of various things he is extremely excited about.

Chapter Text

Crowley hits the brakes.

The Bentley screeches to a halt in the middle of the road, the stench of his tires mingling with the smoky haze that has eerily slithered its way around the car.

Two shadowy figures stand mere metres lurking in front of the headlights. Crowley hisses under his breath as he swings the door open and slams it behind himself. He tilts his chin up when approaching the two demons and lets his fingertips drag slowly along the bonnet of the car.

“And what have I done to deserve this pleasuAH-“ he’s cut off by a strong fist to the sternum then two hands grabbing his lapels and forcing him back upright.

“Shut it, Traitor,” comes Ligur’s growling voice.

Crowley’s lips quirk in forced-smugness while he catches his breath. “T-Traitor? You flatter me-“. Another punch, this time harder. He groans in pain before he can stop himself.

“Crowley, Crowley, Crowley… You just don’t listen, do you? We warned you. And still you failed us. All of us. You betrayed your own; ruined everything… And now… You shall pay. Maybe then you’ll learn to listen! And do as you’re told…” Hastur says. He spits at Crowley’s feet and both demons back away until only their eyes and evil grins are visible through the smoke. Then, they’re gone.

Crowley sags against the Bentley’s bumper but only for a moment as a pair of glaring red eyes emerge from the smoke. Suddenly a new, larger figure terrifyingly rushes towards him and slams its palms against his chest. He doesn’t have a moment’s warning before freshly lipsticked dry, cracked lips are crashing into his.

Then, as quickly as they appeared, they’re gone.

Wiping at his mouth furiously, Crowley gags as a horrid taste assaults his senses for a moment. He staggers back into the driver’s seat, head spinning.

“What the fuck…” he breathes, confusion taking over the shock.

After starting the car and slowly continuing on his journey home to the bookshop, his confusion mounts and in turn, the memories gradually fade.

A mere 2 minutes later and he’s left with no recollection of the encounter but a strange feeling of wrongness.

He shakes it off, electing to ignore it because he has an anniversary to attend to!

***~~~***~~~***

The angel is dusting one of the crime fiction shelves in a back corner of the bookshop when he hears the Bentley stop outside.

He smiles and hurries to his little desk where he sits to don his glasses and feign busyness.

Minutes pass but finally the door rattles open and Crowley strolls through.

“Hello, dear. I missed you this morning,” Aziraphale says.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that, Angel. Had plans and things… but it’s all done now. Now we have time together,” Crowley replies happily as he drops his sunglasses onto the desk and perches on its edge.

Aziraphale removes his own glasses and scoots his chair closer to his demon. Looking up at him, he says, “plans? Do I get to hear what these plans were?”

Crowley mimes zipping lips and tossing the key with a smirk. Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

“When then?” he asks.

“Wait and see, Angel, don’t worry. I’ve prepared some gifts and, well, some decorations. Which means,” he makes shooing motions with his hands, ”which means you actually need to go for a little while, thank you”.

“Right, yes, okay. I’ll just… skedaddle then. Alright. Cheerio,” Aziraphale laughs and makes his way out of the door.

“Skedaddle?” Crowley whispers judgementally with a frown.

***~~~***~~~***

Barely an hour later and Aziraphale’s phone buzzes with Crowley’s contact appearing on the screen. He’s listed as “favourite fiend” because Aziraphale proudly thinks it’s just adorably hilarious, but the contact photo takes the cake. It features Crowley sleeping on the ceiling with a red snake plushie (one Aziraphale bought him as a joke at a carnival one time, but Crowley secretly loves it more than anything) being used as a pillow.

The message simply reads, “come home before I help myself to the snacks :)”.

Moments later he’s swinging the door open and he’s met with a pretty extraordinary surprise.

Standing proudly with the widest grin plastered on his face, Crowley watches the stunned angel enter. His wings are out, as they sometimes are nowadays, showing his excitement as well. The door closes behind Aziraphale and he jumps, which seems to startle him out of his momentary shock. “Crowley, this is… wonderful, my dear… you shouldn’t have gone to the trouble”.

The scene around him is a transformation of the bookshop’s usual interior. The bookshelves have been carefully lined up against the far walls to create an open space. The lighting is dimmed and tinted a shade of light blue. Balloons, yes balloons, float in formation stating “happy anniversary!” Large plates are scattered on the floor to form the shape of a love heart, each with various snacks that are most definitely Aziraphale’s favourites. In each of Crowley’s hands are some very nice and very expensive bottles of wine.

In the centre of the room, there’s a large blue picnic blanket made of the softest material Aziraphale believes he has ever felt.

Before joining him on the blanket, Crowley ducks over to the shelves and disappears behind one. Hidden behind that shelf is the most beautiful bouquet Aziraphale has ever seen; this he is sure of. “Oh wow… Look at that… Crowley, that’s, just wow. I’m speechless,” he coos and holds the flowers so gently like they might break.

“I’m so glad you like them, Angel,” Crowley says, relaxing slightly.

“Of course I do! This is so incredibly thoughtful; I can’t thank you enough,” says Aziraphale. They smile together for a long while.

After they’ve both satisfied themselves with some snacks, Aziraphale moves away from him. Crowley reluctantly lifts his heavy head off of his shoulder and they untangle themselves from each other. Aziraphale stands with a sigh, announces he’s getting old, and disappears upstairs with a promising glance back at Crowley, leaving him confused yet intrigued.

He returns a minute later looking shy, with a glimmer of anticipation and excitement in his eyes. He holds one hand behind his back suspiciously while he descends the spiral staircase and makes his way back over to sit on the picnic blanket. “I got you something too. It holds very special memories. Here,” he says as Crowley tentatively takes the proffered gift.

Crowley carefully unwraps the yellow tissue paper to reveal the gift that the angel had chosen especially for him in Scotland.

He turns it over and over in his hands, his facial expressions unreadable. After a moment, he says softly, “oh, Angel… thank you”. There’s tears screaming to be shed but he’s pulling his angel forward into a hug before he lets them be seen, of course.

Ever so gently, he slides the little gift into place.

A ring. Not just an ordinary ring, too. It’s got a thick silver circumference and a single yellow gem (not quite gold, but the same yellow as his eyes as if they had captured the colour itself). A tiny Nessie is engraved on the bottom side which Crowley touches like he’s found treasure. The gem itself radiates power only the pair can sense.

“It’s bigger on the inside,” says Aziraphale and he hopes it will illicit a smirk or a huff of amusement but instead, Crowley stares back at him in pure endearment, with the softest expression in his features.

“I love it”.

“I’m glad. And this one, dearest, is a kiss-ring. A single kiss to the gem will bring forth its power and with it, memory prompts. I thought the gardens in Australia where we made our promise for celebrating this day, would be a nice starting point. You’ll get the smells, emotions, just… well…”

“Overall vibes-“

“Yes, yes. Basically your average memory prompts, dear,” Aziraphale explains.

Crowley already knows how this sort of thing works, but he’s never seen anything like this one before. A ring, containing memories sealed with a kiss, for use whenever he needs or wants. It’s perfect in every way.

And so they spent the rest of the evening like any other. Together they sat, chatting and drinking the hours away.

“Alright, my dear, it’s time we head upstairs. You need your rest and I’m more than ready to join you,” Aziraphale announces as the clock nears 11pm. They’re not exactly night owls… but often Aziraphale will spend his night reading or drawing or simply be content cuddling up to his Crowley while he sleeps. Neither being would need sleep on a normal occasion, but tiredness often leads to headaches and other dreadful symptoms for Crowley, plus he’s always been really fond of sleep anyway.

Their favourite part of any day is once they’re both comfortably snuggled up under the covers together, anyway.

Crowley alternates between curling himself around Aziraphale in a way that would only be comfortable to someone who’d spent time as a literal snake before, and lying almost perpendicular to Aziraphale with his head on one body part or another. If Aziraphale is sitting up keeping busy, he’s in his lap; if Aziraphale is lying down (the angel’s usual sleeping position being ramrod straight on his back), he’s on his chest. Tonight, since they’re sleepy and snuggling, it’s the latter. He relaxes into the rhythm of breaths and heartbeats beneath his ear and murmurs unintelligibly.

“What was that?” Aziraphale asks him while smoothing his soft red hair through his fingers.

“I said, I don’t feel good anymore,” sighs Crowley, fidgeting with the blanket.

Aziraphale opens his eyes and shifts to look at him with a frown. “How so? Mentally? Or physically? Did something happen?” he asks.

“Don’t actually know, to be honest. I feel like something happened… I just can’t put my finger on it. It’s like I’ve got this feeling I should know something and I’ve had it since I left the florist, I think, almost like I’m missing something important. It’s weird. I know it makes no sense but it’s irritating me”.

“I see. I’m sure you’ve nothing to worry about, Crowley. Sometimes I feel a bit like that, I think. Everything’s alright, okay?” Aziraphale senses a nervousness radiating off of the demon. “Is something else wrong? Or is that what’s stressing you?”

“I just don’t feel good anymore, Angel. I felt so great this evening, don’t get me wrong. I don’t know whether it’s related to this odd feeling or not but both are stressing me at the same time so I don’t know how to sort it, really… and I think I’m getting a headache which just adds to everything else of course,” he replies. The nervousness has been quickly replaced by frustration and exhaustion.

“Oh, that’s not good at all, my dear. Can I get you anything? Or do you think sleep is your best option-“

“Sleep. Definitely go’n’to sleep now, sorry Angel,” Crowley interrupts.

Aziraphale smiles and shifts back into relaxation once Crowley has relaxed, himself. “Of course, sleep well, my love”.

“Thank you… Goodnight… happy anniversary,” Crowley whispers, eyes already closed. Aziraphale leans down and kisses his cheek.

“Happy anniversary, Crowley. I’m eternally grateful”.

***~~~***~~~***

“Did you sleep?”

“Good morning to you too, Crowley,” Aziraphale smiles, watching him stretch out his long limbs.

“Good morning, Angel. Now, did you sleep?”

“I did. It was actually quite peaceful, thank you, so I’m feeling nice and refreshed. And you, dear? How did you sleep?”

“Really well. A wonderful day called for a wonderful rest. I’m feeling much better and despite the earlier beginnings of a headache, I think I slept away the pain,” he replies cheerfully.

“That’s good to hear. Can I interest you in a coffee?” At the eager nod, a mug of black coffee appears atop Crowley’s bedside table, and a mug of white tea on Aziraphale's.

They go through the usual motions of Monday mornings: the bookshop is opened and baked cookies are out (on Mondays Crowley likes to bake with Aziraphale, though he acts like he doesn’t enjoy it, and they encourage customers to leave with a treat instead of a book. It’s worked quite well).

The bookshop’s quiet so Aziraphale has gone upstairs to sort through some books up there, so that he can relocate them to downstairs and eventually find somewhere for them, somehow.

It’s nearing midday when Crowley feels it.

He is close to the door, neatening a shelf of textbooks some kids had skimmed through before leaving for school. There’s a regular couple a few metres away. They’re lovely elderly ladies and it annoys Crowley that he has never been able to recall their names whenever they ask him about something. Today, though, they’re seemingly content to pass book covers between each other, reading the blurbs with half-interest.

He seriously regrets not trying harder to know their names when he feels a rush of lightheadedness that sends his heart racing as he clutches the shelf. The pain in his head that had started the previous night is back with a vengeance and he gags drily. It all happens so fast and he realises he’s on his hands and knees and he’s trembling and his vision is blurring, bright pinks and greens starting to colour the edges of his vision.

Distantly, he feels more than hears one of the ladies talking worriedly to him, “are you alright, what’s wrong, honey, are you okay?” If he were more able, he would glare at being called anything like “Honey”.

“Go get Mr. Fell,” he hears the other say.

Finally, he loses his grip on consciousness and everything goes black.

Chapter Text

Then

Aziraphale sat uncomfortably on a large rock contemplating his next journey, until a whistle behind him startled him from his thoughts.

“Oi!” came the voice and the angel turned with expectant joy in his eyes.

“Crawly” he sighed in mock exasperation as he watched the demon approach. He was clad in basic clothing, though he walked barefoot and had his hands on a long necklace made with various vines and small flowers. It looked quite pretty really, in Aziraphale’s —secret— opinion.

Crawly fiddled with his extravagant necklace, tangling his hands in the twisted vines, a toothy grin spreading across his face as he took the exasperation as a compliment. Aziraphale also had an opinion about how much he liked that smug grin.

“Morning, Angel. How’s everything on your side?” Crawly said in way of greeting and plonked himself down on a smaller rock across from Aziraphale.

“Same as usual, as far as I can tell. Do good; be prompt; watch over; s—“

“Thwart wiles”.

“Yes. That too”.

Aziraphale watched as Crawly smiled softly and looked down at his lap to fiddle some more with his necklace. They stayed in comfortable silence for a moment.

Crawly spoke up first. “I suspect you’re here for the birth as well, then?” He received a weary nod in response. “Bit of a shocking thing, I’ll say. Don’t you think? Like, look at the creation —the birth— of Eve herself. That was a whole thing, wasn’t it? But this…” he paused for a second to stand then continued with more verve, “this was weird. Did you see it? Because I sure did. It was honestly the strangest thing… I don’t know how she did it. Props to Eve, seriously, I’ll take my eyes elsewhere if I am ever in the vicinity of a child birth again. I’ve been wondering would it be the same with animals? I haven’t been paying attention. Sure, I’ve seen some snakes and even a few birds lay eggs to hatch, but for it to, you know, come out. Like that. I mean. Wow, you know?” Sighing, he sank into a seated position once more, having finished his rambling for the moment.

Aziraphale took this opportunity to break his own silence. “Yes, well, it wasn’t exactly what anyone could have expected, I believe. I did see some of it when it was beginning; she was in so much pain and I couldn’t bear to stay and watch. I did my blessings and wished her well, and gave Adam strength in staying by her side. Whatever happened after, was not something I wanted to experience with them. And if you were there, well my dear, I hope it was a pleasant experience for them… Can I hope that, or did you do something?”

“What? Oh, no, I was just there to witness. Downstairs said something about this child having a soul destined to land in Hell? I’m not sure what the fuss is about with that, but they like to spread rumours about whatever they hear. Not much of an imaginative lot down there, but they love to gossip, I’ll give them that,” replied Crawly. “Anyway, if you didn’t see it, let me just tell you now. You’ve got to see it one day. Just once. Only once. You have to experience it one time. But I can tell you that there is no way you could enjoy that, you being you,” he paused at Aziraphale’s pointed frown, “I mean, you’re really empathetic and it looked pretty torturous. I don’t even want to think about it anymore”. He rose to his feet slowly and rolled his shoulders. “Shall we go somewhere else? I need a drink, and we should toast to little Cain. And I’m exhausted”.

Aziraphale stood and brushed the invisible dust off of his clothing. “Yes, I feel a little bit weary myself. There’s a shelter I’ve been staying in just on the other side of this hill, would you like to join me, dear? I just thought since you surely arrived here from afar…” he trailed off, avoiding eye contact.

“Sure. Lead the way, Angel”.

***~~~***~~~***

The shelter was better than Crawly had been expecting. It was far more spacious than he’d rested in any time before, and it felt homey in a way. Large shady trees surrounded the place, complete with small saplings spreading among the wildflowers in front of the shelter.

“It’s a tent. Adam has a talent in creating practical things from natural materials and he created this type of cloth that can hold strong and is not impacted by climate. The rain simply rolls off of the edges. It’s really quite neat, I think! Here, we can sit in this side where it sits a little higher and there are seats I’ve set up”. He showed Crawly to a shaded side of the large tent and took a seat, then beckoned the demon to join him in the other seat. Moments ago there had only been one seat made up, but Aziraphale wasn’t going to be a poorly host.

They sat in silence as Crawly sipped from his cup, made from a small hollowed-out log. Inside it was a tasty beverage that Aziraphale couldn’t help but grimace at every now and again when he caught the scent of it. Hell and their odd concoctions…

There they sat for what could have been hours but time didn’t matter as both treasured the companionship with an old friend. It’s not like they often had opportunities like this. Crawly had left his drink unfinished, complaining of tiredness and the start of a headache. Aziraphale had heard Crawly complain of headaches before but they puzzled him since angels very rarely experienced ailments. He dismissed his complaining as usual, and figured the drink had negatively affected him since he was tired beforehand, despite Crawly explaining that’s not how it works.

Some time passed before Crawly’s tiredness became more obviously overwhelming. Their conversations became less animated until Crawly was evidentially struggling to keep up with any input.

Aziraphale was about to suggest they call it a night and get some rest when sudden movement from Crawly startled him to attention.

He jumped forward just in time to catch the demon in his arms as Crawly pitched forward out of the chair.

“Crawley?! What happened, what is it?” he gasped as he sunk to the floor, still holding Crawly who seemed to have lost all energy so suddenly. A quiet whimper that turned into a small groan was the only reply. Aziraphale helped Crawly into a more comfortable position, still wrapping his left arm around the back of his shoulders so his elbow was cradling his head and letting his bottom half slide to the floor in front of where the angel knelt.

Here he was able to get a better look at Crawly’s face and he instinctively reached his other arm around his thin waist to pull him closer to himself. Crawly’s face was scrunched up with his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his eyebrows furrowed to touching. He was breathing tensely through clenched teeth as he continued to whimper.

“Crawly, dear, are you in pain?”

As if in answer to his question, Crawly yelped and seemed to scrunch his face somehow even tighter. Simultaneously, both his legs and his arms involuntarily kicked out and Aziraphale flinched back as his right arm nearly collided with his cheek.

Frozen in shock and concern, Aziraphale simply held the unconscious demon while he whimpered and shook for what honestly felt like years to the angel. Serious dread and concern settled into a pit in his stomach. He felt afraid for this demon, because something was wrong. Something was really wrong and he had no idea what to do.

So he sat and waited it out. Tried to coax some sort of response and even tried reaching a healing miracle towards him to no avail. He just had to wait.

Finally, after what was actually around 10 minutes, Crawly fell silent and still, apart from laboured breathing. As soon as his muscles relaxed, Crawly instantly curled into Aziraphale’s belly. Still frozen, Aziraphale watched and couldn’t help a small sigh of relief escaping.

After a few moments, Crawly rolled onto his back once again and stretched out his limbs. He winced as the soreness set in and he resorted to keeping his eyes firmly closed.

A miracled cloth gently dabbed away the sweat on his forehead and a soft hand replaced it. Aziraphale brushed his hair back repetitively almost as a means of calming himself. He would surely feel much better if Crawly would say something, or at least look at him.

He spoke softly as he shifted to lean on his side propped up on his left elbow. “Crawly, dear, can you open your eyes for me? I’m quite worried about the state you’ve gotten in”.

Crawly shook his head so small anyone else would miss it. Then, he reached up weakly and found Aziraphale’s hand now resting on his shoulder and wrapped his thin fingers around his wrist, and then moved to place his hand atop his hair once more. Aziraphale chuckled softly despite his mounting concerns and resumed his rhythmic stroking atop his soft red hair.

“I must ask you again, Crawly. Can you please open your eyes so I can see you, just for a second I promise, and then you can rest. Please, you—“ he was cut off by yellow eyes prying themselves open at the same time as both of Crawly’s arms scrambled for purchase underneath himself and pushed him weakly into a half-sitting half-lying position. His breathing picked up and his yellow eyes —with none of the white edges visible at that moment— were darting around the room frantically.

Aziraphale sat up straighter and guided him into a better sitting posture and then positioned himself in front of him, gently taking his face in both of his hands. He looked desperately into panicked eyes while reassurances spewed from his lips.

“Where… Why’s it like this… I don’t…” he mumbled and unfamiliar tears sprung to his eyes.

Aziraphale had to mask his expression to avoid showing his surprise and mounting concern at Crawly’s uncharacteristic displays of vulnerability, as well as Crawly’s confusion and disorientation.

“It’s alright dear boy, you’re okay. It’s Aziraphale. You’re okay”.

“Wha’ happ’n?” he mumbled, squinting at the angel in front of him.

“Oh you poor dear, don’t you worry, you’re safe. I promise. You’ve fallen ill, it seems. But you’re okay, I’m here, Aziraphale’s here. I’m not going anywhere”.

Crawly continued to squint and his brows furrowed together. Aziraphale thought he saw the slightest flicker of recognition but it didn’t present itself.

“Can I… Um… Can I maybe find it?” Crawly murmured sleepily, leaning forward to rest his forehead on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale instinctively looped his arms around the smaller man.

“What’s that, Crawly? What did you want to find?”

“Need to,” he looked up desperately into the angel’s hazel eyes and frowned again.

“Ah, sorry. What did you need to find?”

“Find what?” Crawly tilted his head a fraction to the left, a little dazed.

Aziraphale sighed at his scrutinising gaze and tone. After a moment he calmly replied, “never mind, dear. I pray some rest might soothe your jumbled mind. You do love your sleep”. He moved to stand and helped Crawly to unsteady legs. He supported most of the demon’s weight as they moved to the —suddenly (miraculously) wider— bedding. Aziraphale eased Crawly onto the bed and got in on the other side.

The sun had made its way to the horizon and projected warm colours through the gaps in the tent. Crawly’s breathing had finally settled to a normal level, thankfully, which did wonders for Aziraphale’s anxiety. He listened to it even out after random bouts of muttering nonsense turned into quiet snores.

***~~~***~~~***

The first signs of waking came when the sun was crawling its way over the hill.

Aziraphale shuffled aside to give Crawly some space as he stretched out his long limbs with a wince. He imagined those muscles would be much more sore today if they were paining him minutes after the seizure.

Eventually watery eyes slowly blinked open and roamed around the space. When they met the angel’s, he blinked once slowly and his lips twitched in a soft smile. His eyes were back to their normal yellow circles now.

“Hey,” came his hoarse voice and he looked away to clear his throat.

Aziraphale gave him a moment to collect himself and smiled back. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

Crawly closed his eyes again and seemed to think hard about an answer. “Well, I feel better than the last time I woke up, that’s for sure. There’s, um, I’m a little tired still and my concentration is all over the place… But I feel okay. Yeah. Definitely feeling okay”.

“That’s a relief to hear. I’ll be honest with you dear, you had me worried. I don’t know how much you remember or if you’re still confused- wait. I thought of something while you slept. Answer some questions for me? Please?” Aziraphale pleaded with his eyes and Crawly had no way of saying no to them.

“Uh sure? Go ahead, Angel”.

“Right. Yes, okay. I just want to check how your, um, confusion and disorientation is going. You were rather lost last time we spoke, and incredibly exhausted, so let me check?” A nod. “Okay. So, um, first question is just, what is my name, what is your name and where are we?”

Crawly smirked and replied, “that’s three questions, Angel”. At Aziraphale’s blush, he cooperated, “you’re Aziraphale, I’m Crawly… though I should mention I’ve been giving that some thought… not sure I like it anymore. I feel like it’s a bit squirming-at-your-feet-ish”.

“Well you were a snake, dear”.

“Still could be if I wanted to be annoying. But yeah, point is I think I’ll change it once I’ve thought up a better one… Oh, and we’re in your shelter. The tent thingy”.

“Ah, very good. Second question-“

“Fourth”.

“Fourth. Sure. Right, well, can you tell me what you do recall? Of yesterday when we met and came here? What day it was? And maybe even what you remember from when you were taken ill…”

Crawly hesitated before answering, and refrained from correcting Aziraphale on the multiple questions again once he saw how afraid Aziraphale had actually been. “Angel… I mean it when I say this, everything is fine. It doesn’t look it, but I really am okay. Yesterday is a bit messy but I remember the lead up. We met over the hill and Eve had recently birthed little Cain. We came to your tent, sat and chatted… drank? And did we eat? Well, that’s where it gets fuzzy and it’s frustrating and confusing to think too hard on it,” he sighed and Aziraphale nodded in understanding and a touch of sympathy.

“We didn’t eat and you barely drank half of your drink. We chatted for a while but you were so tired and then…”

“Yeah”. Crawly looked down at his lap and tangled his fingers in his necklace still dangling off of him.

“Before long you were asleep in bed without really coming back to yourself. Poor dear, you were completely drained,” Aziraphale sat up too and lifted Crawly’s chin with his finger. Crawly relaxed before he looked away again.

“Yeah, always does. Feel like I could sleep for decades afterwards,” he whispered thoughtfully.

Aziraphale paused. His eyes belatedly snapped to Crawly’s face that still was looking at the seats on the other side of the room. “Always? Crawly, what do you mean? Maybe I’m mistaken but it sounds like you’re familiar with these… episodes”.

Crawly slowly met his eyes and sighed, defeated. “It’s not a big deal really, Angel. I swear. And it’s not like it happens often enough to matter. Sometimes I just… pass out and wake up feeling like I’ve rolled down a hill into blackberry bushes. Other times I remember glimpses of it like I’m trying to wake up but it’s too early and it’s not over yet. That’s scary, if I’m honest. But usually I just a get a little spaced out. The headaches are the telltale sign I’m likely in for a rough night but it’s rare; where it’s more than something really small. Last night was a rare type for me, I swear. I’m fine, Angel”.

“Crawly… How long has this been affecting you?” Aziraphale was pleading with his eyes again.

A beat. Then, “since the Fall”.

“What?”

“Turns out I hit my head pretty bad. I was one of the injured without even knowing it until later. Aziraphale, you’re the only one that knows, the only one who could ever know”. It was a lie. He conveniently left out something that happened during the time of Eden. Couldn’t give his angel even more reason to be worried, right? “I’m serious, Angel, do you understand what I’m saying?” He held his gaze for several seconds until Aziraphale nodded. “Say it. Please. This is so important, Aziraphale, I’m so scare-“

“Yes of course, dear. You have my word, I wouldn’t dream of causing you any more harm. This is safe with me; you’re safe with me. I promise you that, forever, my dear”.

Crawly felt a weight he didn’t realise had built up, lift.

Chapter Text

Now

Aziraphale is sitting on the floor with his back against a bookshelf. It digs uncomfortably into his spine but it’d take the bookshop burning for him to move from his current position.

He runs his long fingers through loose strands of red hair below him, where Crowley’s face is buried in his lap.

At a muffled groan giving away his consciousness, Aziraphale flicks one hand and the bookshop is shrouded in -almost- darkness. The blinds are closed up and the lights are dimmed for when tired yellow eyes pry open below him.

“Easy, darling. Just go slow,” Aziraphale whispers as Crowley pushes himself into a sitting position, breathing picking up.

“Ngk… T’s all good ‘ng’l…” he mumbles while rubbing his sore eyes.

“C’mere,” Aziraphale reaches for him and guides him to lean his back against his chest, wrapping strong arms around Crowley’s middle. Once seated in his lap, again, Aziraphale gives him a minute to wake up a little more before asking him, “are you feeling alright now?”

A second of thought before he answers with a small nod and a sigh, leaning his head back on the angel’s shoulder. “Where’s ev’ryone gone?”

“Closed up shop for the day. Think we’ll just take some time to rest and I can catch up on reading one of my new books…”

“And that couple? They okay?” he asks, a hint of nervousness tinged with shame.

“Dearest, I assure you there’s nothing to worry about, you did nothing wrong. They actually said to me their grandson is nonverbal and epileptic so it’s completely fine, please don’t stress over it…” A single tear slides down to his chin and he hugs Crowley to his chest a little tighter. He hates that he would feel any kind of shame at such a thing, but when you’ve had the time to think about it being a scary experience, well… he’s had a few thousand years to be told off for it. And to think what the forces of Heaven or Hell could do if they knew…

“Good. That’s good,” he sighs and stretches out his aching limbs with a small groan. “How about we migrate to the couch, yeah? Can’t be comfortable sitting on the floor this long”.

“Wonderful idea. It’s only been 15 or so minutes, but I’d much prefer some better cushioning as I’m sure you would too”. Slowly they help each other stand and walk over to the couch, Crowley holding Aziraphale’s arm for support like a lifeline.

Two steaming mugs appear on the coffee table in front of them. Both have little wings, one black and one white. Crowley reaches for the black one happily. “How long?” It’s a question he always asks, to relieve the anxiety of having just woken up from being unconscious for God knows how long, and knowing timing it is engrained into Aziraphale’s instinct at this point.

“Only three minutes, dear. Now, would you like to get some sleep or watch a film or what would you like to do?”

“Well I’m happy to just sit here with you”.

“Yes, well, as am I. But I mean what will keep you occupied”. His angel knows him too well; he wouldn’t be able to sit still without some kind of stimulation even if the world depended on it.

“A film sounds nice. Just put on whatever, really, I’ll probably drift off and nap eventually anyway”.

They land on The Good Place, his favourite show since The Golden Girls. After three hours of casual viewing, Crowley gets up to stretch his legs and get a glass of water. Aziraphale pays him no attention but looks up when he’s startled by a glass smashing.

“Crowley, is everything alright?” he calls, dropping his book and getting up off of the couch. There’s no immediate reply and he quickens his pace.

“Darling what’s wrong, talk to me?” He comes to stand beside Crowley and wraps an arm around his thin waist.

Crowley clutches the counter harder and replies through gritted teeth, “don’t know. Don’t like it though. Hurts. Feel strange”.

Aziraphale is about to help him back to the lounge when Crowley goes limp in his arms, eyes fluttering closed. “Mmph. Crowley? Crowley, can you open your eyes for me, please? Crowley?” He shakes him gently but he’s out cold so Aziraphale cradles him to his chest and swiftly lifts him with angelic strength to carry him up to their bed.

It’s not made but he doesn’t care as he kicks the blankets off the edge and cuddles up to his husband, brushing sweaty curls away from his forehead with one hand and shaking his shoulder with the other, to no avail. Sighing, he lies down beside him and stares at the ceiling, listening to soft breaths beside him.

He finally wakes a couple of minutes later, still complaining of feeling strange and a bit off. Soon enough Crowley sleeps restlessly beside him and they stay like that for a while. The sun is already setting, casting shades of orange and pink upon the walls. This is to be a long night, he thinks.

And it is. That night Aziraphale gets no sleep; not a blink.

He’s busy watching over Crowley as he wakes up almost hourly with splitting headaches that send him throwing up until he falls back to sleep again.

***~~~***~~~***

The next morning he’s no better.

They get up late, it’s nearing 10am when Crowley’s feeling well enough to even sit upright without needing to puke. They take their time making their way downstairs together, and Aziraphale gripping tight in fear he’ll lose his balance. Of course, he’s met with half-hearted protests and defeated grumbles.

This time Aziraphale ensures the lights are off completely, the only slivers of light coming from around the edges of the curtains. He knows they’ll both be able to see in the dark so he takes the opportunity to bring forth darkness to aid Crowley’s throbbing head.

“Is your migraine any better since you’ve gotten up?” He whispers once they’re seated comfortably on the couch, electing to leave the television off this time.

“Still hurts. Definitely not as much, though,” he murmurs in reply and leans his ear on Aziraphale’s shoulder. It’s less than 90 seconds before he’s snoring softly once again.

Aziraphale bites his bottom lip in concern. Heat is radiating off of the demon in waves, making him sweat as well. He drapes a cool, damp cloth around the back of Crowley’s neck and manoeuvres him to lie down on his side on the couch. He gets up and begins pacing and wringing his hands.

He decides on making a phone call to the only person he can think of that might be able to help him figure out what has happened to his poor demon. Something isn’t right and he is willing to bet something or someone has hurt Crowley.

Anathema picks up on the second ring.

“Hi, this is Ana,” she greets cheerfully.

“Yes, I know, dear. I’m afraid I am in rather need of assistance. It’s kind of urgent. Is there a chance you might be available to come by the bookshop today?”

She can sense his anxiety over the phone, it’s that strong. He’s truly failing at hiding it especially from her.

“I can be there in 20 minutes, is that alright, Aziraphale?”

“Wonderful. Thank you so much, my dear. We shall see you then”.

Three knocks at the door signal her arrival, no later and no earlier than 20 minutes after he ended the call.

“You are so reliable, you know,” he greets with a shaky smile as he swings open the door and gestures for her to enter.

“Aziraphale, what is that?” She turns to him, freezing in place.

“What’s what?”

“Tell me what’s happened. Something’s wrong, I know,” she turns back around to look around the bookshop, eyes landing on the sleeping figure on the couch now huddled under blankets.

“Ah, that’s what I was worried about… Crowley’s fallen unnaturally ill, you see. I’m really quite worried something has happened to him. That’s why I called you to my shop,” he explains as he follows Anathema to where Crowley is shivering and snoring softly on the couch.

She reaches a hand carefully towards his face and touches fingertips gently to his rosy cheek. Gasping, she draws back sharply and turns to Aziraphale. “You’re right- this isn’t good, not at all. You must be blocked from seeing it but I can see it so clearly, Aziraphale,” she breathes.

“What is it, Ana?” He takes a shaky step forward.

“I’m- well, it’s a curse, that’s for sure. I can see it the same way I look at people’s auras. But this one… it’s dark, Aziraphale. So dark and vile. The curse hasn’t just weakened him; it’s infected him. It’s taken over his… his brain… it’s poisoned him so, so terribly”.

A sob bursts from his mouth before he can stop it and he brings a shaky hand to his lips. “Who did this to him? I- I demand to know who would put this suffering unto him”. He suddenly burns with angelic fury, overtaking his horror and anxiety for a moment.

“Aziraphale… I’m sorry. I can’t- I just- if I try to identify it, it just goes fuzzy. It’s a blur. It’s blocking me, pushing me out, I can’t… it’s powerful, it’s definitely really powerful. No average demon could do this I don’t think. No, it’s something more, I just can’t quite get to it,” she squeezes her eyes shut to the strain. A hand comes to rest above her heart and her eyes shoot open again to look down. “Crowley”.

“Don’t… don’t hurt yourself, Ana. It’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry,” he slurs tiredly and tears well in his eyes.

She grasps his hand and frowns at him hard. She’s not used to seeing him like this- he looks, frankly, horrible. She’s never seen raw emotion so evident in his expression before (other than the loving or amused glances to Aziraphale she catches at times) as he looks up at her pleadingly.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do, anyway. I’m sorry, but I know you both and I know you’s will find a way to break this. Rest up, okay?” She smiles reassuringly and turns to Aziraphale who is watching with equally soft eyes.

“You don’t have to stay, Ana. I can see it’s draining you just being here,” Aziraphale says.

“Keep me updated, yeah? Promise?” She says as she reluctantly follows him to the door.

“Of course, dear. I promise. We’ll be okay. Thank you, so much”.

As soon as she has left, he returns to the couch, lifting Crowley’s head to sit down at one end and then letting him use his lap as a pillow. He shifts to look up into his angel’s eyes. Aziraphale leans down and presses a lingering kiss to his brow.

His fever has started to abate but he still looks awful so they stay there and rest in each other’s company for the rest of the morning.

LOOKYYYYY:

(use this link if image doesn't load- ao3 hates me)...

https://twitter.com/its_maddiet/status/1715862091871961171?s=61&t=LSPTT-fICjrqXowW-YFl-w

(and this link if needed for the second artwork)...

https://twitter.com/dumbbirdgal/status/1721221977937994135?s=61&t=Z_A52YWkJ2O7o_6lpe_7ug

Chapter Text

Aziraphale sets his book atop the armrest and wriggles his toes, legs numb from the lack of moving and the pressure of the demon curled on top of his legs.

Crowley stretches his long limbs with a sigh and sits up slowly to avoid any lingering lightheaded feelings. He places his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and uses it to push himself to his feet.

Aziraphale is fast and is standing beside him with an arm wrapped around his waist in a blink.

“I’m fine. Just… just give me a second,” Crowley growls but he doesn’t move away for a long moment.

Aziraphale follows him closely like a puppy while Crowley gets his legs working again after having laid down for hours. “How are you feeling after getting some actual sleep?” he asks.

“Oh, much better. I feel like me again, Angel. I feel great, really”.

“Are you sure? Whatever is going on isn’t just going to disappear on its own, dear”.

“And how do you know that, hmm? We don’t even have a clue what the bloody thing is”.

“Well, Anathema identified a curse-“

“A curse, yes. But can we deduce its source, its origin? How to stop it? No. Didn’t think so. So I am going to take what I can get and roll with it and I am going to make the most of the good right now, thank you”.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes but can’t deny him this. “In that case, would you be interested in some tea? Or some lunch? Easy on the stomach, though, we don’t want to tempt the devil now do we”.

It’s Crowley’s turn to roll his eyes. “Whatever. I do need coffee, though. I’m getting coffee now that I can stand straight enough to order it,” he says as he turns in the direction of the shop’s door.

“Order it? I’d imagined we’d stay here, so you can rest”.

“You imagined wrong, Angel. Like I said, I’m not going to sulk around while I’m feeling good as new. Plus, I need some fresh air and I need to do something or I’ll go mad”.

“Right, well, I’m going to pop upstairs and do a quick clean-up,” but Crowley’s already opening the door impatiently. Aziraphale sighs, “I’ll meet you there in five minutes?”

“Yup,” comes the reply as the door slams. Aziraphale manages to keep another sigh in, used to his frustrating yet amusing antics since the Beginning, and retreats upstairs.

Luckily for Nina, the cafe was quiet during lunchtime. She got to enjoy a nice coffee with her wife while she too could get away from her -quiet- shop.

However, the bell above the door serves as a welcome distraction from one of their elevating discussions on electricity usage.

“Maggie, Nina, hello. Coffee please? I’m parched,” Crowley greets as he strides straight for the counter where the two are seated, his eyes beelining for the coffee machine in only half-exaggerated desperation. Him and his coffee…

“Hi Crowley, coffee-o-metre low, is it?” Maggie smiles at him as Nina gets up to fill a large black mug. They started putting aside a few mugs especially for him months ago. Aziraphale thinks it’s incredibly sweet. Crowley acts indifferent, but they know it excites him to have his own mugs at the cafe.

“Yeah,” he replies as he watches Nina swirl the drink around and eventually hold it out for him to take. “Thanks,” he adds, suddenly quieter.

Maggie’s eyebrows furrow in slight concern and Nina’s just about to ask if something is wrong with the coffee when she notices his hands starting to quake. Hot coffee splashes his hands and he hisses, fumbling and nearly dropping it completely.

“Woah, hey,” she breathes as she snatches the mug back and sets it aside, hands instantly back on his with a tea towel.

“Don’t burn,” he tries, breathing heavier now. She ignores him and wipes the boiling drink off of his skin.

“Bull shit. You might not burn but you feel the pain, Crowley,” Maggie is standing by him on his side of the counter now. He looks at her with a confused frown, belatedly noticing she’d moved.

“Done. Easy, see? Now tell us what’s wrong,” Nina leans her arms on the counter top and studies his pale face. “Crowley, what’s wrong,” she repeats after a few seconds.

“Shit. ‘m not well,” he gasps between quickening breaths. Nina rushes round to his other side right as the strength leaves him and he shakily sinks to his knees on the cold floor. “Sorry”.

“No, don’t be sorry, just tell us what’s happening, yeah? What do you need?” Nina says, followed by a soft grunt as she helps Maggie lift him to his feet and walk him to the back room.

“Not good,” he gasps. “Not well”.

“We got that, Crowley. That doesn’t answer us much,” Nina says.

Maggie notices his attention waning and speaks quickly, “do you need to lie down?”

“Mmm,” he hums and blinks slowly to try to stop the spinning while they guide him onto the long couch.

“Alright, yep, there you go, how’s that? Comfortable enough?” Maggie asks. He hums in reply, eyes sluggishly focusing and unfocusing every few seconds. “Right. Nina, fetch a cushion, then maybe fetch Mr. Fell?”

“Yeah, was thinking the same,” Nina says as she prompts him to lean forward so she can ease a cushion under his head. She places her hand on his forehead and he closes his eyes tiredly at the sensation. “He’s pretty warm,” she remarks.

“He did say he wasn’t well,” replies Maggie.

“Yeah, could be,” Nina shrugs.

Crowley opens his eyes once more and glances at them both with confusion and promptly passes out. It’s only a couple of seconds before he yelps and curls in on himself. Anyone else might assume he’s in pain, but they both know he’s actually unconscious; this is how many of his seizures start out.

“Alright, I’ll go now. You okay here?”

“‘course. He’ll want Mr. Fell when he wakes up. And maybe Mr. Fell knows what’s wrong, like if he’s sick or something”.

Nina nods and replies, “be back in a sec,” as she walks out of the back room into the shop.

As she is twisting the sign on the door to “closed” she hears someone start a hesitant jog towards her from behind. She turns around to find Aziraphale making his way to her with a puzzled expression.

“Mr. Fell! I was just about to come find you,” she starts in her most professional calmness.

“What’s happened? Is he okay?” he deduces the problem quickly.

“He’s okay, I promise. He’s in the back room with Maggie. He’s been down less than a minute, he’s alright,” she reenters the cafe with Aziraphale at her side.

“Dear me, I knew he’d find himself in trouble. He wanted to go out, and I let him, alone,” he grumbles anxiously.

Nina stops him from walking any further. “Woah, where’s this coming from? Aziraphale, he was fine when he came in. And he’s at the right place. Don’t start persecuting yourself,” she reasons.

He drops his chin and nods. Then, they make their way to the back room, and Aziraphale drops to Crowley’s side in an instant.

He gently cups his cheek in one hand, his other coming to rest on his chest. Despite the taut muscles spasming under his hands, he calms as he feels his breath and his -rapid- heartbeat going strong.

It’s an odd thing that Nina and Maggie have only partially understood, even now.

From what they understand, his condition is entwined with his being. After many years and eventually a body, Crowley discovered a glaring lack of discorporation. He was able to experience all of the physical problems that a human would associate with a TBI, but without the threat of discorporation or death. Except when something goes wrong, it makes him suffer longer and worse. For example, Crowley nearly aspirated on his own vomit once and Aziraphale had to explain over a box of tissues and Valium that he wouldn’t die, but yes, he would have lingering problems for days. There were always risks that would not allow him to discorporate but would cause a barrage of issues in its wake, and Aziraphale often worried that further brain damage was possible.

This all left him seemingly human, yet human treatments provided no aid at all. Not even miracles work (but Aziraphale refuses to talk on that aspect, his mind drifting to its past implications before he always abruptly changes the subject with forced cheeriness).

So right now, they understand that Aziraphale’s relief was because Crowley’s corporation was working normally.

“See, he’s fine,” Nina says reassuringly as she squats beside Aziraphale.

“Yes… yes, I know. However, I do feel a sense of guilt. If you weren’t here… he’d have been alone. And I was later than I said I would be, and I… I don’t know,” he sniffs quietly before the tears can form and stands. He brushes his hands down his coat. “Right, anyway, yes. Thank you both. We are so lucky to have you”.

“Do you need a hug, Mr. Fell?” Maggie asks knowingly and pulls him into her arms. She’s smaller than him but makes up for it with strong arms and very good hugs.

Crowley starts to relax, the only noise in the shop his ragged breaths.

“It’s a curse,” Aziraphale starts, watching him with anxious eyes.

At their confused gazes, he continues, “something happened to him a couple of days ago. We’re not sure who did this, or why, or even how… but it’s not looking good for him. Ana came over and couldn’t even stay long due to a strong negative energy blocking it from any interference. We’re at a loss for now. He’s been so sick, not an alarming amount worse than in the past, but it just feels wrong. He says it feels wrong. I’m scared, honestly, because I don’t want it to continue but I fear it is far from over. I can’t do this…”

“What can we do to help?” Maggie asks when Aziraphale trails off.

“I- what? I don’t expect you- either of you to… help,” he stammers, ever surprised in the face of kindness returned unto him.

Nina and Maggie share a look and that settles it. “We’ll help. Let us help. Please,” Nina says.

Crowley is silently watching the whole exchange with tired eyes. “Please,” he whispers and he receives 6 stunned eyes whipping his way. “Please help. Him. It hurts him. Don’t want him hurt. I can’t help. I need help. Maggie, Nina. Please”.

Aziraphale takes his clammy hand in both of his own.

“Let us help you both, Aziraphale,” Maggie says. She rarely calls him by his name, feeling a dash of nostalgia with respect and familiarity at calling him ‘Mr. Fell’.

“It would be very much appreciated. Truly. Although, we don’t want to cause you stress or use your precious time. So if that won’t be an issue at all, please, please, please be there with us. You both have been such great friends and a bigger help than you will ever know,” says Aziraphale.

“Well then. It’s settled. Let me grab a few things and we will come over right away. No issues at all,” Nina replies and Maggie nods along in agreement.

“Thank you,” Crowley croaks out from where he’s buried his face in the cushion. He lifts his head for air a minute later and it’s just him and Aziraphale left in the room.

“You good?” he asks as Aziraphale helps him sit up and sip some cool water.

“Me? Of course, my dear. Are you “good”, is the real question”.

“M’fine,” he grumbles. “Would be better in a bed though if I’m being honest”.

“You? Honest? Wow, you must be feeling dreadful,” Aziraphale teases.

“Shut up”.

“No. Let’s go, up we get. Let’s head home, nice and slow, yeah? And you will inform me the second you need a break, won’t you…”

“Yeah. Whatever. Just wanna sleep, Angel, let’s move”.

They haven’t even reached the bookshop’s first step when Crowley snaps his fingers and the door swings open. Aziraphale slaps his wrist dramatically.

“Crowley! No miracles, hear me? You’re drained enough, I don’t want you using more strength than necessary”.

“‘m fine,” he mutters grumpily.

“Stop it, I won’t hear any of that, thank you. You just focus on lifting your feet enough to climb the steps safely”. Crowley mumbles something unintelligible with a frown.

They somehow make it to the top in good time, with no unfortunate trips or stumbles up the staircase. Aziraphale leans down to help Crowley sit on the edge of the bed and slides off his stylish black boots.

“Can take my own shoes off, Angel, you know”.

“Just lie down you silly serpent,” he fusses.

Crowley doesn’t mean to fall asleep so soon but he lets his eyes fall closed to the sound of soft humming and warm arms curled around his middle.

Chapter Text

Then

“What- ow- what are you doing?” Crowley hissed, voice a tad higher than normal.

Hastur huffed in amusement and tightened his grip: one hand in his long, red hair; other curled into the fabric of the back of his shirt. He guided Crowley down a secluded hallway in Hell then turned to face a small room.

“You’ll see,” growled the demon Ligur who was looming behind a metal bed frame in the small, dark room they'd just entered. “Close the door, Hastur”.

Crowley barely held back a flinch as it slammed behind him. “Right. Well, good seeing you’s. Best be off,” he tried with a forced confident grin. He managed to turn on the spot with a painful grimace as Hastur’s hand remained on his head, before he was shoved against the closed door from behind.

Ligur cackled behind him and Crowley did flinch this time as hot, foul breath tickled his neck. “No… you best be staying, Crawly…”

“It’s- Crowley-“ he strained beneath the suffocating weight pinning him.

At that, Ligur grabbed his forearms and swung him around to face the bed frame, still pressed up behind him. “Shut your little mouth! You’ll be quiet now, you’ll see,” he said sternly as he pushed forward.

Hastur replaced Ligur to loom menacingly behind the frame. He revealed his brown teeth with a sickening grin that nearly caused Crowley to trip. “That’s right, Crowley,” he mocked, “shut up for once before we make you”.

He struggled a little while both demons hauled him roughly to be horizontal on the frame, but they were larger than him and his strength was no match for them both. He tasted blood when he licked his lips, since he was basically thrown face down on a really uncomfortable surface.

“You’re probably wonderin’ what this’s about,” came Ligur’s deep voice.

“You’ve been up to no good. Actually-” Hastur laughed maniacally, ”actually, you’ve been too good, which is the problem we have, you see”.

“We’ve been hearin’ plenty rumours about you. Sayin’ all sorts of funny things…” Ligur joined in as he strapped painfully tight restraints on Crowley’s wrists and ankles. Crowley growled threateningly in response.

“One popular story featured you saving an elderly farmer’s daughter! And her child! Oh, Crowley, Crowley, Crowley… I feel sorry for you,” Hastur mocked with a frown. “Now don’t you remember what I told you the last time we met like this? Wow, we do keep meeting like this! I said… no one could ever love you. Did you save that poor woman because of love, you poor, poor thing”.

“You’re insane,” Crowley spat, “I didn’t save anyone. I, um, I collected her”.

“Collected?”

“Yeah, you see I had to prevent her death before she was ready. Before her soul was ready! I- I have a group… a collection… and it’s humans I’m turning towards the dark, you see, and-“

“Alright stop! You’ve said enough. We demanded silence from you and- you’re- still- going!” Ligur accentuated each word with a whip to the back of Crowley’s legs.

Crowley froze. His teeth ached jarringly when he released his jaw from where he’d clenched it in order to fight screams from escaping. Keep looking tough, be smart, act confident, he thought. Keep the Crowley flair strong.

“Say what you want, boy. We don’t believe you. And even if we did, it doesn’t matter. Nothing can change what we have planned for you. Be thankful we’ve got plenty of time”. With that said, Hastur shoved both his filthy hands atop Crowley’s head and held him down. His long, broken nails dug into his scalp.

Ligur had some fun with the whip, then Hastur took it up a notch with more creativity. With every crack, he slapped his palms to alternating sides of Crowley’s head, hard.

Crowley soon lost his composure. Sounds slowly turned into jumbled words like ‘stop’ and ‘fuck off’ and ‘please’ and ‘I’ll kill you’ and ‘he’ll kill you’ and ‘no more’ and ‘he’s coming’ and ‘don’t’ and ‘assholes’ and ‘he’ll be here’ and ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘he’ll hurt you’ and ‘it hurts’ and ‘make it stop’ and ‘I want him’ and ‘need him’ and ‘he’ll come’ and ‘help’ and ‘he’ll help’ and ‘angel’ and ‘oh Angel please help’.

“Crowley, you seem to be forgetting what else I said to you last time. No one could ever love you. And no one would ever want to save you. Ever,” Hastur growled. Ligur paused and Crowley trembled and panted. Hastur pulled his hair upward so that he could look into bleary yellow eyes and show off his sickening smug smile.

He dropped him and his face hit the metal painfully. The whip began its work again. He clenched his fists and curled his toes and hissed through gritted teeth and gasped and growled and panted and spat obscenities and slurred obscenities until the whole room faded to black.

The second Crowley lost consciousness, the whip failed in its progress.

Where it had been leaving cuts and scrapes on any visible skin, it no longer would. The previous injuries remained but no matter the force, the whip failed to break any more skin. Ligur looked at it with confusion.

“Give it here, you idiot,” Hastur snatched it from his fist then gave himself a few tries. “What’ve you done to it?”

“What d’you mean? Bloody thing stopped whipping properly itself, you bastard”.

Hastur shot him a hateful glare and turned back to Crowley. He lifted his face up off the metal and shook him. He didn’t rouse. “He’s fully out. Couldn’t even take it,” he laughed derogatorily.

Ligur snatched the whip back and shoved the handle in his rear trouser pocket. Or at least it looked like it went in his pocket.

Hastur produced a switchblade from his own pocket. Engraved symbols representing his name glistened in the low light of the room. He brought the blade to the skin on Crowley’s lower back and attempted to cut him this way. It didn’t leave so much as a scratch.

“What the Heaven is wrong with him?” he whispered and saw Ligur shrug in his peripherals.

Minutes passed and no matter what they tried, nothing worked. They moved onto demonic miracles (Hastur’s bright idea) and that failed too, which they found especially astounding.

Hastur left the room to fetch some other equipment just as Crowley shifted with a low groan.

“Hastur, wait! He’s awake!”

The demon re-entered the room with more enthusiasm than any demon should possess. “Oh look he’s not a complete wuss. He wakes and rejoins the party”.

Crowley tried to pry his face off of the metal and lift his head but the strain on his injuries pulsed and shot agony across his entire being, causing him to gag pathetically.

“You’ll be interested to hear we’ve discovered something,” Ligur drawled.

“Cons’d’r me ‘ntrigued,” Crowley ground out half-heartedly.

“You’ve made yourself immune to our methods and blocked our miracles from affecting you. And we’re going to find out how you did it. Just you wait,” said Hastur. He brought the knife back down to Crowley’s skin, this time pressed to his cheek below his right eye. “Watch”. Crowley hissed. It sliced the skin and warm blood dripped to the cement floor.

Hastur pulled the knife back to his own chest in surprise and Ligur leaned in close to look at his work. Neither made a sound as the knife drew blood on Crowley’s back once more.

“What’re you on about?” Crowley hissed. His vision was swimming and he felt himself being pulled back into unconsciousness.

Ligur sent a crack of the whip to his waist and he took the unconsciousness gratefully.

The whip tore fresh skin and Crowley went limp below it. Ligur smiled and brought it down again. This time, it bounced off skin like before and produced barely a red mark.

“He’s done it again. How?” Hastur paced around the bed in frustration.

“This is new territory. Perhaps we’d better tell Lord Beelzebub,” Ligur murmured.

Hastur ignored him, still pacing. “He’s not doing it himself. He can’t be. When he’s awake it works; when he’s asleep… when he’s asleep it doesn’t. It only happens once he’s lost consciousness”.

Ligur frowned, struggling to keep up.

Hastur had made up his mind, however. “We’ve got to get him to Lord Beelzebub”.

“Yeah, well, that was my idea-" he’s cut off by the door swinging open suddenly and slamming against the far wall. A shadow is all they see as they’re both thrown against the wall and slump to the floor.

“You’re not taking him anywhere,” the intruder growled menacingly, fierce gaze moving slowly to look both of them in the eyes.

“How’d you get in here?” Hastur asked with disgust evident in his tone.

“It’s not hard. And you made it easy coming all the way out here to do your dirty work,” the intruder replied, still staring at them with intimidation. He stormed forward and clicked his fingers to release the restraints. “How dare you touch him”.

“You must be the angel stationed on Earth we’ve been hearing whispers about. Didn’t think he could make allies since he’s too pathetic. But an angel, I just have no words,” Hastur gawked.

The intruder lifted Crowley with a grunt and eased him over his shoulder, careful of his injuries. “Keep it that way,” he said threateningly and miracled them both out of there.

Chapter Text

Crowley was vaguely aware of pain. Caught somewhere between unconsciousness and waking, silence bar a single sound waded through the muck.

Humming.

Melodic humming.

Soft, melodic humming. This definitely wasn’t Hell.

The realisation was so jarring he shot upright before he had even opened his eyes.

The immediate silence following the humming abruptly cutting off sent his heartbeat quickening its pace. The silence didn’t go on for long because as soon as his breathing picked up and he opened wide, yellow eyes, he was met with voices too quiet to understand. Or perhaps he simply couldn’t hear it over his own panic and confusion.

The voices turned out to be one and it was coming from the face in front of him and- oh.

“Aziraphale,” he breathed. The angel met him in the middle as he slumped forward in relief and understanding, frowned foreheads their anchors.

“Oh thank Heavens. Hello dear. I’m sorry you had to wake with such fright”.

“M’fine. Just had to work out how I got out of Hell is all”.

“Well, I had to help you out of there, they didn’t exactly leave you in a bad way but you were -still will be- exhausted. I-“

“Yeah, yeah, I gathered you were to blame,” Crowley interrupted with a roll of his eyes.

“I hardly think it is blame that is warranted. Gratitude, more like,” Aziraphale huffed.

“Don’t even go there, angel”.

After he’d been awake all of ten minutes, Crowley was already fed up with lying around and he wasn’t going to sit here while the angel fussed and watched over him.

He angled his legs and his body to push himself to his feet and bit back a wince. Every slight movement pulled on his wounded skin. Aziraphale had cleaned them but there was little more either of them could do in the way of accelerating the healing. He’d heal much faster than humans anyway.

His legs wobbled and threatened to bend under his weight. Crowley was fast but Aziraphale was faster.

He wrapped a steadying arm around his slender waist and turned to protest. “Crowley, sit back down. You’re shaking something terrible,” he admonished.

The demon didn’t get much of a choice when Aziraphale guided him back. The stand had taken more energy out of him than he had thought it would. He sighed in the face of defeat and disappointment.

“I’m sorry but you’ve been badly hurt, dear, and you’ll only aggravate your injuries. Your body nor your mind can handle the strain. You need to calm down and get some more rest. I’m concerned for your head”.

“I don’t feel like I’ve had a seizure,” he commented with a frown and drooping eyes.

“No, but you don’t want to tempt it, darling,” he replied as he helped his increasingly drained friend be horizontal once more. “So just rest, you sleepy serpent”.

***~~~***~~~***

Hastur managed to steal Crowley away at the first opportunity he got.

He was useful to them now.

Hastur recruited Ligur as ‘the muscle’ while he played ‘the mad scientist’ under Beelzebub’s command. She had taken interest in the newfound knowledge attained by these two idiots and subsequently decided they needed samples of the unique instinctual spell of sorts. They were going to find a way to extract it somehow, even if it took a millennia.

It took seventeen hours.

Chapter Text

Now

“Really, my dear, you mustn’t…“

“We must. We want to, don’t you see?” Nina interrupts Aziraphale with a hand raised defiantly to signify the end of the conversation.

The couple move past the angel into the bookshop dragging their suitcases (filled with not only medical supplies, but their pyjamas and toiletries and snacks and anything they might need for an overnight stay) behind them.

“Very well, then. I’ll show you both to your room and you can leave your belongings and settle in. Do make yourself at home,” Aziraphale says after a minute.

Then left to their own devices, the pair speak in hushed voices, teasing the angel and his manners. They haphazardly leave their things beside the king sized bed and follow their noses to where Aziraphale is pouring four cups of hot tea.

“Help yourselves to the biscuits, and anything that you may fancy. I do insist. And I’ll take this up to Crowley the poor dear, be back in a tick”.

Instead, they trail after him with a handful of scotch finger biscuits each.

Aziraphale sets his mug on the bedside table and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Crowley untangles himself from the mess of blankets to sit up against the headboard with a dramatic sigh. He gets a fond eye roll from Maggie for his struggles.

“Drink some tea, my dear,” Aziraphale prompts as he pushes the warm mug into Crowley’s hands.

“You both got here quickly. Or I must’ve dozed off,” he punctuates his point with a small yawn.

“You did,” Aziraphale and Nina say in unison.

“Oh. Didn’t mean to fall asleep. Didn’t mean for any of this, really… I’m sorry”.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale admonishes, “you’ve nothing to apologise for, you nincompoop”.

“Still. Sucks, right? We could be doing other stuff,” he grumbles, barely caring about the nincompoop part for once.

“We still can. We’ll find a solution and then you’ll be tickety-boo. You just need to rest-“

“Ugh, no more resting. I’m bored, angel. And I don’t want you all to be fussing over me. I’m fine. I can deal with this myself, I have dozens of times in the past. Curse or no curse, I’m a powerful demon, not a frail human, okay?”

“Crowley-"

“And besides, this could be dangerous. Surely you agree, Angel, that there’s no good reason to bring you all into this when we don’t even know what we’re fighting against. The kind of power to do all this and mess with memory recall? You don’t want to find out the hard way. I need to figure this out. I can do this, and I don’t want any of you getting in the way”. He doesn’t say that what he really wants is to keep them safe. Got to keep up appearances, right?

He’s transparent in the eyes of these three, though. They know him too damn well.

“I don’t think you can, dear. The curse is affecting you and I’m sure it’s going to get worse and leave pain and exhaustion for you in its wake. Like you said, it’s powerful magic. You can’t do it on your own,” Aziraphale replies, squeezing Crowley’s shoulder.

“Crowley, I’m sure you want to handle this. But you have to see that by you being hurt… it hurts us. Let us help, that’s what we’re here for,” Maggie gently contributes.

“You won’t stop me,” he murmurs and looks away, crosses his arms. He knows he’s lost this battle.

“Maybe not. But you’ll need your strength if you hope to get anywhere with this, for lack of a better word, puzzle. Rest first-“

“Sick of resting, angel,” he interrupts, “I think it’s having the opposite effect at this point. And anyway, I really do feel fine right now”.

“You said that earlier and collapsed soon after-"

“But I do feel okay. Would I lie to you?”

“Well obviously, you’re a demon,” he replies with a smirk. It’s an old banter.

“Well I’m not lying, okay?”

“Prove it then,” Nina interrupts, “prove to us that you can be trusted to look after yourself. Come on”. Maggie looks at her with uncertainty. Nina doesn’t break eye contact with Crowley.

Stubborn as always, he nods then tips his chin up confidently. This time he is given a chance. Get up, shower, get dressed. Without help. They can’t be serious if they think he’ll struggle with that.

He overestimates his strength when he rises to his feet but saves himself with his quick reflexes. His hand shoots out and grips the bedside table tightly while he bends his knees a couple of times to regain feeling. He breathes out.

Their eyes follow him until the ensuite door closes behind him. No one moves to leave the room so Maggie and Nina take up their posts seated next to Aziraphale.

Letting him get ready alone is one thing but showering in his state with no one around definitely seems like a bad idea. So they wait it out and only move from the room when Crowley finally emerges looking a little more refreshed than before.

Nina bustles the other two downstairs after he sends a glare their way. Make the bed, descend downstairs, easy. He’s fine damn it.

He holds both of the rails as he steps cautiously down each step, glancing up every few steps to glare at the eyes on him.

“Stop staring, I hate having you judging me,” he hisses as he approaches the group sitting on the couch Crowley had stolen from some Nazi-supporting store not long ago. Stealing keeps his big bad status intact, plus they had it coming.

“Just checking how well you can handle things on your own with a curse messing about in that brain of yours,” Nina smirks, knowing she’s won.

“Whatever. I told you I’m fine, it’s whatever…”

The rest of the morning carries on more or less the same. It’s a slow routine, but both couples are glad to finally have some decent time to catch up with each other. The conversations flow between fun and serious; casual chit chat and medical questionnaires.

Nearly spitting her tea, Maggie bursts into laughter at the latest of Aziraphale’s stories.

“He what?!”

“He did, truly. Went right in after them, waist deep. You have my word. And it was quite sweet actually”.

“Seriously, angel, it wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t for the ducks. One of my, uh, rings slipped off and I wasn’t going to let the blasted mud keep it-“

“Oh, stop it, we all know you wanted to help the duckling free of the weeds and back to its family. There’s really no need to hide from your nice actions-“

“Angel.” he growls, bolting upright from where he’d been lying horizontal on the couch with his feet propped on his angel’s lap where he sat tucked into the other end of the couch. “Don’t you dare start- ack! Shit!”

His vision whites out for a moment as pain flares up in his head, so sharp it sends spikes of pain shooting down the back of his neck. The world blurs out of focus and next thing he knows, the other three are loudly trying to get his attention.

It’s overwhelming. He focuses on Aziraphale’s soft hands massaging his neck and shoulders, well practiced in reading his pain.

“Oh, oh Satan I’m- shit, I need-“ both his hands shoot to his lips as he clenches his jaw and his stomach flips.

Noticing the change, and also well practiced in identifying these things, Maggie jumps into action. She’s back in what couldn’t have been more than 5 seconds with a small bin, the kind often found under an office desk.

“Gonna-“ he gasps, nodding enthusiastically as he’s offered the bin, immediately gripping it to his chest like a snake to a hot rock.

As the pain in his head returns with equal ferocity at the sudden movement, he heaves and gasps through what feels like torture until Aziraphale has to hold him upright.

He’s close to rag doll status as the little energy he had ebbs. Trembling, he leans his weight backwards as best he can manage and Aziraphale gets the message. They curl up together on the couch.

“Maybe rest now, my little spoon”.

“There is absolutely no way you just called me little spoon,” he scolds.

“Well it’s true, dear. And I find it creative, how this comfort is named that”.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Just don’t call me that. It’s ridiculous”.

“Shh, just be quiet and close your eyes. You must rest a little longer. You need it, dear boy”.

Maggie and Nina take this as their cue and quietly announce their exit and make their way to the guest room.

“Surprised he pushed through that long,” Nina remarks and Maggie just shrugs. “Honestly, though, it’s seemingly varying in severity at different times, don’t you think?”

“Almost like it’s dormant at times then suddenly worsens and after he’s been through that, he’s fine for a while?” Maggie suggests, having been trying to think of something that makes sense of the curse at the same time as Nina had been.

“Yeah, but that’s not much different to usual though, is it. We’ll just have to monitor and observe, I guess, and see what we can do for the flare ups. For now at least,” Nina thinks aloud. Maggie nods thoughtfully and shrugs again.

The afternoon sun filters through the blinds as they talk, another day pushing its way through time. They don’t know it yet, of course, but they’ll need to move quickly if they want to overcome these first hurdles, or else the coming storm could hit without the proper preparations and support.

Chapter Text

One cold night a few days later, a strong elbow to the ribs startles Aziraphale awake.

He quickly switches on the lamp as he grabs for Crowley’s shoulder, instantly thinking it was a convulsion, but is startled backwards when Crowley bolts upright and scrambles clumsily out of bed.

In a rush, he reaches a far corner of the bedroom and slides to huddle on the ground. His knees curled to his chest and head in his hands, he tries to stop trembling as the adrenaline starts to drop as quickly as it rose.

Aziraphale follows him to the wall and crouches in front of him, gently reaching one hand out to pry one of his hands away from his hair.

He speaks reassurances in hushed tones for a moment before Crowley’s other hand finds his and he lifts tired eyes to meet the angel’s.

“Sorry,” is all he manages before Aziraphale shushes him.

“You do not need to apologise, Crowley,” he tuts. “I know nightmares can be quite jarring”.

Crowley sighs and clears his throat. “I don’t… I- I feel like it wasn’t just a nightmare, Angel. It wasn’t so much terrifying as strange. It felt haunting, like it was more of an overall sense of shock to me than fearful, I think”.

“Oh? What do you mean?” Aziraphale sits down cross-legged, facing him.

“I don’t know… I don’t think I can explain it, really… plus it’s fading fast which isn’t helping, but it’s like it’s pulling me with it, like it’s important and I shouldn’t let go… Someone, it hurts my head to keep a hold of it”.

“Then let it fade, dear. It’s just an awful dream, you shan’t hurt yourself over it”.

Crowley nods minutely, resigned to stop straining to remember and understand his nightmares. Still, he feels like the creatures in his dream weren’t just some part of his warped unconscious imagination. The whole thing felt familiar, but in the way an eerily empty playground feels familiar.

“Come back to bed. It’s either quite overcast outside or it’s early-stage sunrise. The latter means back to sleep, no questions asked”.

Crowley huffs in amusement and lets Aziraphale haul him to his feet. He’s starting to feel fed up with resting and sleeping and being so damn tired.

Aziraphale doesn’t go back into slumber. He’s surprised he even managed to get some sleep just now; he must be exhausted. Instead, he gets comfortable and opens a book, of course.

Crowley eventually resumes his own slumber which ends up much more peaceful since Aziraphale’s calming presence and softly spoken songs soothe him as soon as he begins to stir.

He gets a good four hours in which leaves him feeling much more refreshed than the last time he woke. Yawning, he turns to face his angel and smirks.

“What?” Aziraphale questions when he notices him watching him with that look on his face.

“Oh, nothing,” he replies and the smirk grows.

Aziraphale closes his book and turns to him with a frown. “Seriously, what is it, Crowley? Why do you feel the need to look at me like that?” Aziraphale tries to act irritated but Crowley just finds it even more amusing.

“Nothing,” he singsongs, “nothing at all. Was just observing”.

“…Observing?”

“Yes, observing”.

“And what might you be observing, exactly?”

“Just you and your curly li’l bed hair. And your funny li’l frown, all concentration and stuff”.

“Oh stop it, you”.

“Nah, I like it”.

“You’re insufferable you know”. It’s said a statement rather than a question and Crowley just laughs.

“Anyway, I’m feeling less… drained. Will you be tempted into a hot mug of tea?” Crowley asks as he stretches his long limbs and literally slithers out of bed.

“I think food would be a better option than tea or coffee, dear. What would you say to some breakfast, hmm? I heard Maggie and Nina cooking a minute ago. There could be french toast…” he reasons.

“They’re here, still?”

Aziraphale turns to him with a frown passing as a scold.

“No- I mean- I didn’t expect them to -I don’t know- want to spend their days here,” Crowley amends.

With his gaze lowered to the ground, Aziraphale shrugs. “I suppose we mustn’t be too terrible of company,” he smiles softly and beckons Crowley out of the room.

Upon entering the general vicinity of the kitchen, the sweet smell of blueberries and strawberries hits them. They watch from behind as Maggie and Nina playfully fight over various cooking appliances amongst a mess of ingredients that were likely sent across the whole bench on purpose.

Crowley manages to sneak up on them and startle them both, resulting in more amusement gained than there possibly should have been. But that’s Crowley and his demon mischief for you.

“Really?” Nina gasps, turning swiftly to wipe buttery hands on the front of Crowley’s shirt in revenge.

“Oh don’t start a war you can’t win,” Crowley laughs, eyes sparkling in unconcealed mischievousness.

“Try me,” she smirks and Aziraphale shares an exasperated look across the room with Maggie.

“Insufferable,” Aziraphale mutters, again.

***~~~***~~~***

“Right… so that’s all you’ve got?” Anathema asks.

Aziraphale looks honest-to-God offended; meanwhile Crowley looks sullen.

“Okay then. It’s not great, no. But it’s a start. What about new feelings? Sometimes with curses you might find yourself feeling angry like never before, or sad even?” Anathema tries.

Crowley shakes his head mutely.

“Okay, well, there’s also the matter of the memory block. Anything relevant come back to you yet?”

“Nope,” Crowley says, popping the P.

“Nothing at all?”

He just shakes his head again and crosses his arms.

“Alright… Dreams! How’s your sleep been?”

Aziraphale clears his throat and stares pointedly at Crowley who doesn’t face either of them.

“What’s been happening? I can’t help if you don’t share with me”.

“What’re you my therapist?” Crowley growls.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says flatly, “rein it in”.

Crowley huffs and leaves the room.

Once out of earshot, Aziraphale deflates. “I’m sorry, Ana. He might be somewhat emotional lately, yes. Though, he can be a little tetchy when he thinks he’s being judged… or vulnerable”.

“Completely understandable, don’t apologise. His situation would be distressing enough without the personal questions about it”.

“Yeah, well, he’s never been good with talking about his condition. Can never seem to push past the shame and everything else he’s been put through because of it. Hell always found a way to get under his skin about it, and don’t ever mention the Babylonian, Greek or Catholic influences”.

“I can imagine…” she mutters.

“Actually, no, you cannot. It’s worse, but that’s a story for another day... What did you want to know about sleep and dreams for?”

She inhales. “So, memories have a tendency to lurk in the subconscious or unconscious. A common re-entry of memories is them simply slipping through the cracks and coming through as oddly realistic dreams”.

“Ah, that makes sense, yes. I think I have some useful information,” he says and puts on his best detective smile. “He has been having many odd dreams. Sometimes he’ll wake up in a fright like he’s been ripped right out of the moment, but he can’t describe it properly once he’s awake. He says it’s pulling his attention as it fades, but keeping hold of it is a significant strain, I’m afraid. I had been concerned it was nightmares being stirred up… but what you say makes too much sense”.

Anathema ponders this a moment. “What has he recollected?”

“Nothing, really. Glimpses of strange figures, weirdly specific details of a location he can’t remember, and déjà vu. It all slips away too quickly, though, before either of us can make any sense of it”.

“That’s a problem. We need to see through the memory block, and sooner rather than later”.

Aziraphale looks at her with a questioning frown.

“I’m sorry, Aziraphale, but I can really feel it getting stronger. The longer that curse holds, the more power it gets. Whatever did this wanted him weak or suffering, or maybe both”.

“So we get a hold on those memories coming through? That’s the key?”

“It’s the first important step, yes. We need to know who did this and any other information about how or why, and fast”.

“How long do we have? Before he gets weaker, I mean,” Aziraphale whispers while they move toward the door to exit the bookshop. A cold breeze leaks through where it hadn’t been closed fully, from whenever someone last walked through it.

“I couldn’t be sure. It’s working fast, though, and I can feel his strength diminishing. It’s worse already since I visited last, and for all we know, it might very well be too late. If I’m reading it all correctly, it’s about to get a whole lot worse before it gets better. He’s most likely in the initial stages of being terribly sick... so take good care of him, Aziraphale. Don’t let him out of your sight”.

“Of course. Thank you, Ana. You’re being overwhelmingly helpful, as always,” he says as she smiles bashfully and rides away on her bicycle.

As soon as the door closes behind him, he’s confronted with two faces looking at him in confusion.

“Crowley’s not with you?” Maggie asks first.

Aziraphale looks back with a mirrored face of confusion. “No, what’s the matter?”

Maggie takes a step towards Aziraphale, wringing her hands. “Mr. Fell, did you see him leave the bookshop? Because he walked past us looking uncharacteristically upset and said he needed air to think about a dream or something. When we got up to follow, you were moving toward the door with Anathema… did you see him go out?”

Aziraphale feels his heartbeat quicken as his stomach drops. “No. Oh, the door was open… And he wasn’t outside the door just now. You’re sure he went this way?”

“Only one way he was heading, Mr. Fell”.

“He couldn’t have gone far; it’s Whickber Street,” Nina states, moving to grab her coat.

“We need to find him right away,” he mutters under his breath, “Ana said… oh dear me… she said he’s getting worse faster; said he could already be in the initial stages of a really quite bad burst of illness from the curse. What if he’s confused, out there in the cold alone? We must hurry”.

“Stop fussing, we’ll find him in no time. Come on,” Nina grasps the sleeve of Aziraphale’s coat and guides him and Maggie outside then turning left to set off down the street in search of their demon.

“Yeah. You’re right," Aziraphale breathes after a minute. "I’m sure he’s fine”.

Chapter Text

Then

Crowley absolutely loved this century.

The early Middle Ages, as it would come to be known as by scholars of the future. Europe wasn’t a great place to be, but his hunger for chaos was definitely being fed.

And it was exactly that- chaos. Aziraphale hated it. He and Crowley had crossed paths more and more the last few centuries, and really started enjoying each other’s company after they lost a friend to the Romans. He was a good guy and they both really respected his work, so the three had spent quite a lot of time together. It turned out that having an angel and a demon on his shoulder helped him spread kindness and love, along with what he had learned directly from (and about, thanks to stories his two friends told him) God herself. He even let Crowley miracle some water into wine, which pleased the demon so much he bragged about it for years afterwards.

When their good friend was killed for all his efforts, it was a really rough time and they spent most of it together. They kept their ears to the ground and heard old and new stories and rumours about their friend. “Literally rose up to Heaven? What an unlucky chap” “Crowley!”

Somehow, it was the push they needed and they found comfort in each other… but that’s a story for another time.

Crowley’s busy taking the blame for chaos and telling Hell all about it. He’s sure they love him down there now. So one warm night, sitting on the uncomfortable ground, leaning against a tree, he waited.

Tempting priests was becoming his forte. Can’t go wrong with a bunch of unholy temptations, right?

It’s dark out and the town was eerily quiet. The priest and a few others were milling about inside the Church in front of Crowley. There's no way to get much closer without feeling like the soles of his feet are on fire. So he waited patiently for his target to emerge.

In the dark he can see well enough but he’s too focused on the movement in the Church’s doorway to realise that a couple of teenage boys had gotten close enough without him noticing that he was their own target. He flinched as one of them wrapped a strong arm around his neck in a chokehold while the other shoved his hands into his coat and pants pockets. Both boys growled in annoyance as they came up empty, finding only a couple of low-value coins to steal. Crowley laughed despite the boy’s arm tightening its grip until he was out of breath.

Finally, the priest and his companions emerged slowly from the Church, chatting amongst themselves. The teenagers noticed and acted fast: one bolted into the shadows; one angrily released him from the chokehold and shoved him hard back against the tree, before sprinting off after his friend. Crowley stopped laughing as soon as the back of his head hit the hard tree trunk with a crack.

He didn’t get to see the priest and his companions approach him with curious trepidation; he’s knocked out instantly.

***~~~***~~~***

He came to a few minutes later, confused and aching. It took him a long minute to think but he recognised the lingering effects of a seizure. Well that’s just great, he thought miserably.

He moved to reach a hand up to touch the throbbing point on the back of his head but realised with even more confusion that he was stopped by thick metal pinning his arms to the ground. Come to think of it, the ground itself was hurting him. Burning pain seemed to scorch his entire back and the backs of his legs where the ground met him. Desperately, he tried to get his sore muscles to comply and push against the restraints as much as possible, even just to get as much skin away from the floor as he could.

His movement must have alerted the others in the room as they started shouting at him. He took this moment to finally take in his surroundings and things started to make sense. He was lying on the floor of the Church surrounded by at least a dozen burning candles and the priest he was meant to be tempting, as well as the priest’s two companions.

He opened his mouth to spit obscenities at them when he was cut off by a scream, one which he realised was his own. Intense pain seared into his exposed right shoulder and he turned to look at it as best he could manage. The others were still yelling at him but all of his horrified attention was on his burnt flesh.

He’d been burnt by a blessed cross, of all things. It left a mark which practically branded his skin and sent pain shooting down the nerves in his arms.

“Try the holy water,” the priest instructed from his position towered over the demon.

“Woooooah, woah, woah! No need to get violent! Seriously! How can I help you gentlemen?” he interjected.

“You, demon,” the priest spat, ”need to get out of this man right now! We have plenty of holy weapons at our disposal that we can and will use on you-“

“Wait! Just- Just hold on a second, alright? Jeez,” Crowley interrupted, flinching away from the man aiming a small bottle of holy water at his exposed waist. “Let my brain start working properly again before you torture me, I mean… you lot have no respect”.

“Shut your evil mouth, demon!” the priest yelled. “You are not of this world and you do not belong here. Leave this man now or face the wrath of the Catholic Church”.

“Ah, well, you see… that’s the problem. Can’t go anywhere with you restraining me to the floor now, can I…”

“Your tricks are useless here. Leave this body and return to Hell. This is your final warning”.

He struggled in the restraints, testing their give, but quickly gathered that of course they are holy restraints. His demonic miracles won’t work here anyway. He growled in frustration, seemingly defeated, and decided to play on the fear tactics. He could see in their eyes and their stance that they feared him. Anyone would fear a demon, but this was more than that. He’d unintentionally given them rock-hard proof to give to the Vatican: an epileptic demon. Or actually, in their eyes, the first of this kind of possession to actually be harmed by their holy weapons. Very bad news. Just his luck.

Despite his piercing yellow eyes and inhuman growl, he had no control of the situation. He was right where they wanted him.

“Filthy Satan-spawn! You have chosen to be destroyed”.

“Hold on, won’t that hurt the human I’m apparently possessing?” Crowley tried.

“It’s too late for him: you leave us no choice. To waste time is to risk others getting hurt. We cannot let you cause anymore harm to this world,” the priest spat.

Before Crowley could form a response, the man to his left flicked a splash of holy water at his waist. He choked on his words and panted through the agony as it boiled.

“What the fuck! Seriously?!” he yelled at them once he could manage a coherent sentence.

“Again,” the priest simply said, ignoring Crowley.

“No-“ he gasped and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

After the fifth time, he was sure he had third degree burns across the whole of his belly. Any more holy water damage and he’d probably have no skin left. Thankfully, the next splash didn’t do anymore damage as he passed out a second before it made contact.

The next time he came to, he was convinced he’d been trampled by a herd of horses.

He struggled against the restraints in confusion and mounting fear which immediately caught the attention of the others.

“Be still!” one chastised, accentuating his anger with the cross pressing firmly into the same spot on his shoulder.

He screamed and the man continued to hold it there. He thrashed against the restraints and growled his most demonic growl but the man didn’t let up.

“Stop! Please! Please, stop!” he cried and the cross was finally lifted, leaving him a shuddering, gagging, sobbing mess.

“The demon isn’t as tough as it thinks,” the priest pondered as if he were purely researching a strange phenomenon.

“You sick fucks! What is wrong with you?!” he gasped between gagging and coughing.

Torture in Hell was one thing. This was so much worse. Blessed torture was worse with all its holy wrath. Something that used to envelope him in pure love, now hurt him more than anything.

They didn’t answer him and none of them even cared in the slightest. Of course not, since he was an enemy of everything holy, he’d fallen, he was filth to them.

Plus, they seemed to like using the cross on him as they began chanting and burning him with it again and again.

He’d changed his mind. He didn’t love this century as much anymore.

He still hadn’t fully come around after the latest seizure episode, so he’d blame his messy mind on the way he cried and begged for Aziraphale to come to him the whole time.

After too long, the one with the holy water took a step closer and Crowley squeezed his eyes shut once more, waiting for the inevitable doom.

It didn’t come immediately so he pried one eye open and the other cautiously followed. The ringing in his ears blocked him hearing their yelps as they were thrown backwards, hitting the walls with a sickening smack. All three slumped to the ground without a sound.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to go that far,” Aziraphale muttered as he strode toward where Crowley was craning his neck to look at his rescuer.

“Angel?” he murmured as Aziraphale instantly ripped the restraints away and pulled a violently trembling Crowley into his arms.

“Shhh, dear, yes it’s me. You’re safe. I’m going to get you out of here, in just a tick”.

He carried the exhausted demon away from the threshold and sat down with him on the grass outside.

Once Crowley got his bearings and shook out his very sore limbs, he shuffled closer to the angel and leant on him. He was in too much pain and far too tired to care about looking tough right then. Aziraphale instantly wrapped an arm loosely around the back of his shoulders.

This isn’t over, he thought. Once word gets around, and it will, more will suffer for it.

“What’d you do to them?” he whispered into the dark after a while.

Aziraphale was thankful he couldn’t see the blush that tinted his cheekbones. “They’re fine. Knocked them out, is all. We'll be safe here for a while”.

“My hero,” Crowley murmured sarcastically. Aziraphale simply kissed his sweaty red hair and pulled him closer.

Okay fine. Maybe this century wasn’t wholly terrible.

Chapter Text

Now

“It’s been nearly 20 minutes, he could be anywhere!” Aziraphale throws his arms up in frustration.

Their search route had taken them to the end of the street and they turned around at the fire station, with no luck. They’d walked up the other side of the road to the park, searched the park and stopped.

“But where could he have gone, Mr. Fell? This isn’t like him,” Maggie ponders.

“No, but he’s not really feeling like himself at the moment, is he?” He starts to pace. “Not with that horrid curse infecting his mind”.

“Okay. But you know we can’t leave him alone and just give up, so we have to keep moving. Should we split up?” Maggie asks.

Aziraphale nervously studies the sun slyly setting in the distance. “Actually, I think it’s best we head back to my shop and hurriedly think up a plan, yes? No use wasting time”.

“Let’s just head back that way, come on,” Nina turns and they follow her back to the bookshop.

Once they’d bustled in the door, Aziraphale all but collapses into his chair. “Alright. So. What’s the plan?”

“I say we change the route up a bit to check down side streets and behind bushes. That way, rather than rushing we go out there and search properly. He must’ve stopped somewhere because we didn’t see him walking around Soho…” Nina suggests.

They sort out directions and split up: Aziraphale on the left of the road, the girls on the right. They’ll still be within view and hearing distance of each other but can cover twice as much ground. So it’s settled, and they don extra layers as the afternoon cools. It’s not even winter yet but the weather has been very chilly this month, early.

They set off to the left down the street again, peering around bushes and trees, seeking out a glimpse of red or black. A young man sleeping rough glares as Aziraphale walks by and receives a small loving blessing in return.

It’s taking longer to reach the end of the street this time around. The street is much quieter at this hour while everyone seeks shelter inside their homes, having left the shops that line the street for the day. Aziraphale grows more concerned as the sunlight dulls. He ducks into a gap between the buildings to scan the area and freezes.

Nina and Maggie reach their last nook and glance down the rest of their side of the street at the rest of the shopfronts. They turn to cross the street and look over to where Aziraphale should be across from them at the perfect moment to see him lean behind a stack of rubbish and boxes. He freezes and his wings reveal themselves tucked to his back, so tight they resemble a hiking backpack.

They sprint to his side before he gets a chance to move.

“Oh, oh dear. Crowley, are you alright?” he gasps as he ducks out of the way of Nina and Maggie.

Nina drops to her knees hard on the concrete with Maggie at her side.

“Crowley? Can you hear me? Crowley?” Maggie calls to him as Nina frantically checks him over for injuries. “Open your eyes for me, please, Crowley. C’mon”.

Aziraphale collects himself and stows his wings as he drops beside the others. “Is he okay? Oh dear, I knew it,” he gasps.

“I don’t know… he’s hot to the touch, even in this weather. He’s breathing, barely but there. We’ve gotta get him inside, now. C’mon, help me carry him,” Nina says in a rush and they each get him off of the ground where he’d been huddled limply against the wall.

“We would’ve walked right past him earlier!” Aziraphale curses as they move quickly back towards the warm bookshop.

“It’s okay, Mr. Fell, what matters is he’s home. We’ll get him stable and settled and go from there,” Maggie replies.

The couch becomes a bed, thanks to Aziraphale, and they help Crowley to lie down. He’s still fully unconscious and burning up so it's a group effort to tuck in his long limbs.

In a rush, Nina and Maggie take over, their top-of-their-class nursing training and experience guiding them. Of course he’s not human, but if they don’t get him stabilised soon, it’ll get worse and worse for him. And it’s not safe to play games with a powerful curse that has the ability to reduce a powerful demon to complete unconsciousness.

Aziraphale miracles whatever they need, and he knows they'll work even better when they have everything a hospital setting might.

“He’s still barely breathing, give me an oxygen mask now, please,” Maggie says as she holds out a hand behind her without even looking. Aziraphale brings it into existence, hooked up and ready, and places it in the waiting hand. It’s a good setup, really.

With him unconscious there’s nothing much they can do but external care. A cold-compress collection to start combatting the fever, oxygen and comfort are the main things. Until he wakes up, they can’t attach an IV or anything to break the skin. Bulletproof corporation when he's unconscious, they remember…

They even get him hooked up to monitors and work out a plan moving forward. Aziraphale has never been more grateful than having these two amazing women on their side.

“Ana was right,” he sighs. “She worried he was already worsening and getting into a bad state. I just didn’t want to think he’d be okay then snap”.

All they could do was wait so he decides to get comfortable curled up next to his partner, his darling, his baby, his best friend, his everything. Nina and Maggie leave to shower and get themselves sorted to be on duty to help out, now that the storm has actually hit.

Chapter Text

While the others get themselves ready to spend the rest of the night in the bookshop, Aziraphale busies himself with reading monitors and tracing drawings with his finger on the back of Crowley’s hand.

“…let me be your eyes

a hand to your darkness so you won’t be afraid…”

He whispers the words of one of Crowley’s (secret)favourite (bebop)songs. It’s one Aziraphale knows of every word, string and beat; for it’s one he’s used to soothe a sick and/or scared demon on many occasions.

“…when you think the night has seen your mind

that inside you’re twisted and unkind…”

To Aziraphale’s relief, finally Crowley shifts position, only slightly at first then he begins to stir.

“…let me stand to show that you are blind

please put down your hands

‘cause I see you…”

Ever so slowly golden eyes blink open. He paws at his face hazily, finding purchase on the mask and dislodging it.

“Hold on, sweetheart, leave it on a minute. You’re not doing incredibly well right now and it’s helping,” Aziraphale says softly and reaches to fix it back into position.

Crowley pushes his hands away, however, and tugs it off quickly. Panting, he stammers, “n-no- I-“. He doesn’t finish his warning, instead tossing his head over the side of the bed and gripping the sheets for dear life.

Aziraphale helps hold him as he heaves and retches long past emptying his stomach. Still coughing and panting, plus trembling fiercely, Aziraphale carefully hauls him backwards to lie back down. He miracles the mess away like he always does and brings a soft cloth into existence, using it to gently pat Crowley’s face with it before helping him sit up to take some small sips of water.

Crowley manages several tiny sips before he can’t hold himself upright any longer and slumps against Aziraphale with a soft whimper.

“Gotta be a new record, that. Spewin’ from you callin’ me somethin’ ridiculously soft,” Crowley mumbles lightheartedly.

“What, ‘sweetheart’? Don’t lie, you love it,” Aziraphale counters.

Crowley simply sighs and curls further around him.

“Here, put this on a little longer for me, please?” he requests as he slips the mask back onto Crowley’s pale face. “It’ll help you feel better, ‘kay? We’ll look after you, dearest. Don’t fight us, please, just let us help”.

Nina and Maggie re-emerge at that moment looking more like the friendly professionals they are. Maggie practically skips to them and sits on the edge at the foot of the bed.

“Good to see you’re awake. How’re you feeling right now?” Nina asks as she walks over to set up the rest of the equipment she’d been waiting on him to wake up for.

“M’fine, yeah,” he lies and Aziraphale just sighs in order to stop himself from slapping him.

“Try again,” Nina glares and holds up the IV needle almost threateningly.

He shrugs, thankful for the excuse to lose the mask. “Uh, I don’t know. Ngk. Just feels shitty I guess. I’m hot and sticky and everything is aching but I’m too exhausted to actually get up and move. Honestly, I don’t really know what happened. Think I fell asleep outside… I remember curling up shivering, trying to get away from the bright sunlight but I was so so cold. How’d you find me?”

“After your disappearing act, we all went out searching for you until sundown. Az found you passed out slumped behind a pile of junk down the street and we carried you back. You weren’t in a good way -still aren’t- so you’ve gotta tell us if you start feeling weird or in pain or whatever. It’s important now more than ever,” Nina explains once the IV and the rest is all done.

“What do you mean? Why’s it feel so much worse now?” he asks them.

“It has gotten worse. The curse itself... It’s reached a point where it has actually infected you properly now and it’s making you really ill. I don’t think you can get better on your own this time. We need to work harder at breaking this curse,” Maggie says with a frown.

Aziraphale breaks his silence with another sigh. “We seriously need to find out who and how someone could do this. Tell us everything you know, one more time. And include those dreams you’ve been having since”.

Crowley explains as much as he can for as long as he can while Aziraphale scribes. Watching him elegantly scribble like he’s in his element, practically donning his detective hat, gives Crowley so much warm feelings of adoration it makes his stomach roll over again.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Nina scolds with a roll of her eyes when he says as much, once he’s finished emptying his already empty stomach.

Aziraphale is undeterred by his remarks as always, pushing for more details, trying to get a “lead”. He’s so enthusiastic and dedicated that under any other circumstances he would be hilariously adorable. Crowley throws up a third time.

“Alright, that’s enough talking from you. Lie back down and we’ll get you some more water. And something to line your stomach so you don’t keep throwing up nothing but bile-“ Nina is interrupted by Crowley gagging quietly.

“Oookay yep don’t wanna hear about it. Just thinking about it makes me nauseous. Don’t wanna think about food, don’t wanna think about bile, no thank you,” he scowls.

They leave to fetch water and return with some dry toast anyway.

“You can’t just have one bite, dear,” Aziraphale admonishes when Crowley slides the plate away.

“Watch me,” he huffs.

“Don’t be like that… You can’t keep being sick on an empty stomach, you’ll make it so much worse and you’ll feel awful for it. Toast is gentle on the stomach, it won’t make the nausea any worse,” Maggie insists.

He manages one full slice and half a glass of water before he gives up and they let it go. Aziraphale shoos the ladies to go rest while he helps Crowley get back under the covers, still trembling with ferocity.

“I’m freezing, angel. Don’t need these,” he mumbles as he discards the cold compresses.

“You’re hot to the touch, my dear”.

“No, m’cold”.

“You’ve got a fever, that’s why. I can assure you it’s really quite warm in here”.

“Don’t care. M’cold. ‘nd tired. G’night, angel,” he says sternly and wriggles further under the covers. Aziraphale sighs for the probably millionth time.

“Alright then, my darling. Sleep well. I’ll be right here if you need me, okay? Just let me know”.

Crowley nods, curling up close to Aziraphale like a snake to a warm stone and falling into a deep sleep minutes later.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale senses the change in the environment and sets his book aside. He looks to Crowley whose heart rate monitor’s beeping increases little by little until he’s gasping and tossing the blankets off of himself in a frenzy.

“Hey, hey, hey, woah… easy, dear, you’re okay. You’re at home, you’re awake now,” Aziraphale says clearly. He takes adrenaline-trembling hands into his own.

“They came for me,” Crowley gasps, still glancing around the bookshop as if someone is there, still haunting him.

“Who did, Crowley?”

“I- I don’t… my car was there…”

“Alright, but who else? What can you remember?” Aziraphale prompts almost desperately.

“I can’t remember… I knew one of them. Or… maybe all of them…”

“How many were there?”

“I don’t know. Not many? Angel, I can’t hold onto it again,” he panics.

“Try for me, sweetheart, please. This is important, you know it is… anything you can remember, please…”

“There was- um- shit, I can’t-"

“It’s okay-”

“No, really I can’t, it’s- I- they were in my way… on the road. I couldn’t see them properly but I knew them, angel, I’m sure of that… and ah- I’m trying- I am-“ he gasps, squeezing his eyes closed in concentration and pain.

“You knew them? Were they demons?”

“I’m sorry Angel, ah, I can’t- I- I can’t”.

“The ring!” Aziraphale nearly yells.

Crowley blinks. “What-“

“Give me the ring-“

“I don’t-“

Aziraphale slides the memory ring off of Crowley’s finger. “Okay. Um. What if you think about as much as you can manage of the dream right now. Draw power and kiss it,” he instructs in a rush.

“Wait- I thought you blow on memory gems-“

“I told you it’s a kiss one, remember. Just think and kiss it, quickly!”

Crowley closes his eyes and fights the strain pulling his dream recall out of reach. He clutches his head and his free hand mimes pulling up power from Hell, and in one quick motion, opens his eyes and kisses the large gemstone.

With it, all of his energy seems to pour out of him and he falls back against the back of the bed, breathing heavily.

Aziraphale stares at the ring, near-golden glow reflecting in his bewildered eyes. “It worked. Oh, Crowley, it worked! You did it, my darling, we can use this”.

“T’was your bright… idea, Angel… the ring,” he gasps.

“This could work… this could really work! Crowley, we could use the ring like this and essentially trap those memories that keep retreating when you wake up, and finally work out what we need to know to end this,” Aziraphale ponders with excitement and relief.

“That’s… good… really good,” Crowley strains, lips paler than his face.

“Oh, dear, here… Put this on,” Aziraphale fusses with the oxygen mask a moment and brushes sweat-damp hair away from the demon’s forehead.

“Angel,” he starts, fogging up the glass. “It’s not-“

Aziraphale shushes him, glancing at the monitor readings which are still not very pleasing.

“Was gonna say it’s not helping,” he replies, still breathing heavily.

“Well it’s not going to if you don’t leave it on and stop talking, now is it?” Aziraphale states, but sends off a text to Nina anyway.

“Angel…” he trails off, focusing on trying not to panic. He’s a demon for someone’s sake, he doesn’t need to breathe, much less panic about it.

There’s no stopping the panic once it sets in, though. He knows that from experience. So when he sits up straighter and clutches Aziraphale’s arm perhaps a little too tightly, he gives up trying to fight the panic. Just as fast as the adrenaline faded, it’s back.

“Angel, help, I can’t, I can’t breathe, Angel please,” he gasps, struggling to convince himself that he’s just hyperventilating from anxiety.

“Hey, woah, easy sweetheart. Let’s try calming d-“

“No, Angel, I can’t, oh, nonono, please help me, Angel please, help-“ he chokes out, breaths coming more ragged and strangled.

“Alright, hold on, you’re okay, it’s going to be just fine…” he repeats as he shifts himself to sit closer directly facing him and clutching both of his hands in his own.

“Angel, please”.

“I know, dear, come here…” he sighs as the trembling demon almost dives into his open arms. “Oh, good heavens! You’re boiling, Crowley… no wonder you’re feeling so awful and stressed…” He miracles a new cold pack and holds it to the back of Crowley’s hot neck, making him flinch.

“Just slow down… you’re okay, I’ve got you… focus on me. Slow your thoughts and your breathing, my dear”.

He holds him tightly while he dials Nina’s phone. She picks up almost immediately and clears her throat to let him know she’s coming. 30 seconds and coaxed slow breaths later, her and Maggie join Aziraphale in finding ways to help cool the demon.

“Stop that, you idiots… it’s too cold,” he scolds grumpily once he’s calmed his panic slightly.

“It’s either this or we force you into an ice bath. We have to work on bringing your temperature down or you’ll be much worse for wear. So put up with it for now, yeah?” Nina reasons, matching his tone.

He just huffs in reply and climbs impossibly further into the angel’s lap. He buries his face into the soft belly.

After they’ve tried everything they can think of, and switched out the irritating beeping drip for a new bag, they sit together just listening to the sounds inside and outside of the bookshop.

A while later they check his temperature again and to their united relief, it’s back in normal range, yet still on the warm side.

“Oh! That’s right! Wonderful news, girls! We have a lead!” Aziraphale exclaims out of the blue. “Crowley was able to capture a fraction of his memory from his latest dream just now. We can use the ring; it’s a memory gem with the power to hold traces of memories. When he uses it, it should bring forth specific details that we so desperately need,” he explains.

“That’s so cool!” Maggie says happily. “Does this mean we have a way to follow more leads from more dreams?”

“Exactly that. It holds unlimited memories, but it can get complicated when there are quite a lot being stored. However, I believe it will be invaluable!” Aziraphale says.

Crowley peeks his flushed face out to look at Maggie and Nina for the first time in a while. He sighs and contributes a few words, voice becoming hoarse.

Aziraphale frowns and fetches the cup of water beside the bed. “Drink some of this, all this sweating and being physically sick wouldn’t be doing any favours for your hydration”.

“Ngk. Yeah, ‘kay,” he whispers and takes a long sip.

“Speaking of which, how are you feeling? Any nausea? Headache? Dizziness? Confusion, anything at all?” Maggie lists off the top of her head.

“Ngk,” he says again. “Yeah… All of the above. I’m fine though; no need to worry ‘bout me”.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs long-sufferingly.

“Well I’m really starting to feel nauseous again, which is excellent,” he adds sarcastically. Nina silently passes him a bag while the others look at him with pity.

“Thanks, I guess,” he mutters as he swallows compulsively.

“Hold on. Did I hear that right? Did he just thank me for something?” Nina mocks. She places the back of her hand on his forehead for effect and he slaps it away.

“Don’t get used to it,” he hisses. His tough facade is hopeless, however, when he immediately starts gagging and coughing into the pathetic little bag.

He groans when it’s over, leaning heavily against the headboard. He’s practically drenched head to toe in sticky sweat and he suddenly regrets the pile of blankets he’d tangled himself in when he had felt freezing before.

Aziraphale helps throw the blankets to the end of the bed for later and pulls Crowley close. He miracles away the mess again and miracles Crowley clean of the sweat. It’s the only thing he can help with at this point.

Crowley develops a cough, getting increasingly worse over the passing minutes. Sipping water regularly is no help. He pushes away the offered bags with a shake of his head. “Nausea’s gone for now, thank someone”.

“Try this, my dear. You sound simply dreadful,” Aziraphale fusses, slipping the oxygen mask onto Crowley’s scowling face. He doesn’t resist, though.

“Once your numbers are back up we’ll give you the nasal cannula. Until then, mask it is,” Nina explains but it doesn’t help him feel any better about it.

“And while your body’s so fragile, it needs the supports,” Aziraphale says. “Fragile” earns him a growl that abruptly turns into a coughing fit, frustratingly proving the point.

While he’s not too fevered or nauseous, he gets comfortable and lets himself slip into a short nap.

The sun is well and truly up by the time he wakes and starts feeling worse again. He’s trembling, a little delirious, and has a sheen of sweat across his brows and his rosy cheeks.

Aziraphale had gotten up to go help carry some lunch the girls had made, from the kitchen back to Crowley in the bookshop’s lounge area, and in the minute or two he’d been gone… Crowley had removed every monitor and IV and was currently leaning his arms and upper body heavily on the side of the bed with shaky legs struggling to hold him upright.

“Oh, what on Earth are you doing?” Aziraphale scolds, practically tossing the plate of food onto the bed and rounding on Crowley.

“Hmm?” He looks up at Aziraphale with raised eyebrows, as if he’s surprised to see the angel, instead of the other way around. “W’ss wrong, ‘ngel?,” he whispers, slurring a little.

“What’s- Crowley you shouldn’t be out of bed! Come on, let’s get back into bed, yeah?”

Crowley has other plans, weakly shoving Aziraphale away and dangerously stumbling a few steps backwards. Nina and Maggie catch him so he doesn’t topple over.

“Don’t! Wha’r you doin’ that for? Lemme go!” He panics and squirms out of their grasp and Aziraphale is the one to catch him this time.

“Crowley, dearest, it’s alright. We’re all just looking out for you. You’re being looked after, we’re not going to cause you any harm,” Aziraphale attempts but Crowley’s not focusing. Instead, he’s breathing heavily and trying to squirm out of the angel’s strong hold.

Heat is radiating off of his skin, and Aziraphale winces when he gags dryly, but nothing comes from it.

“I need one of your helps,” Aziraphale breathes when he sees yellow eyes unfocusing more and more and feels him weakening.

Maggie’s at his side in under a second taking half of the demon’s weight to manoeuvre him onto the bed right as he passes out. He breathes a choked off whimper and curls in on himself, every single muscle tensing for a long while then eventually jerking uncomfortably.

“Right, no more leaving his side for even a minute. He’s not stable enough and the fever’s getting worse, making him delirious… and difficult. At least one of us stays with him until further notice, understood?” Nina instructs, leaving no room for question. Not that they’d disagree anyway.

Satisfied with their nodded agreements, she sets to work preparing to reattach the monitors and IV for once he’s stopped seizing this time around. She takes a few bites of her lunch, as does Maggie, but Aziraphale doesn’t take the offered food. He keeps himself occupied with running his hand through messy red hair. Usually he’d avoid touching him while he’s seizing but he can’t resist the gentle motions of comfort, for both of them. His Crowley just looks so poorly and he can’t stand it.

“Seven and a half minutes,” Maggie murmurs when it’s finally over. No one else comments and the air is sorrowful. They each feel helpless in the face of their best friend’s suffering. Maggie gets up and states that she’s getting some fresh air for just a minute now that he’s out.

Crowley coughs and splutters through a bout of sick before he’s even opened his eyes. He doesn’t bother opening them afterwards, either. Instead, he just slumps onto his back once more and breathes heavily through chapped lips. He’ll likely take some time to come around so Nina leaves to fetch some things that will hopefully help cool the fever, leaving just the two of them.

Crowley whimpers softly on every exhale and Aziraphale wonders which one of them will cry first.

Chapter Text

Then

“…Hey, angel”.

Aziraphale turned at the soft voice behind him and forced his shoulders to relax. “Hello, my dear,” he replied quietly and shuffled over to make room for Crowley to slump onto the spot beside him.

No more was said and they sat there for a while, staring out at the city. It wasn’t necessarily a cold night, but the events of the day left a chill in their bones that wouldn’t let up.

Eventually, Aziraphale sniffled and let out a despaired sigh, breaking the heavy silence.

“How’re you holding up, hmm? Are you gonna be okay?” asked Crowley gently.

“How could you even ask that? Heaven only knows… I feel simply dreadful, and I don’t believe that’s going to change in a hurry,” he replied. Frustration and exhaustion were taking over and he was done pretending that it’s fine, because it’s not. Very far from it, actually.

“No, you’re right,” Crowley sighed. His teeth pulled at his bottom lip in concern. “You can stay at mine tonight, if you’d like? No reason for us to be alone in this, don’t you think?” he asked nervously.

“Oh, that would be… well, if you’re okay with it…” A small nod in reply. “Then alright, dear, that would be splendid”. He stood up and brushed the dust off of his clothing. He forced a smile. “Lead the way, come on, off you pop”.

Crowley raised an eyebrow in amusement before jumping to his feet and starting the trek back to his place at the edge of town.

They got there in good time without any trouble and Crowley immediately opened a bottle, poured two glasses and offered one to Aziraphale who took it gratefully.

Hours passed and they drank steadily through 3 bottles well past midnight.

“So, what I don’t get- hic- is what doesn’t make sense, yeah? Is the, um, the whole ritual of it, y’know?” Crowley contemplated aloud, midway through one large glass of red wine.

“Yes. It all seemed a bit extra, in my opinion,” Aziraphale frowned.

“Yeah! Like… what’s the point? It all seems a little bit point… less…”

“Oh, and the poor dear. Carrying that heavy cross that distance, to his own execution. I can’t bear thinking about it”.

“But that’s the thing, angel! They just want everyone to stop thinking about it- hic- and about him! They want people to forget. But they can’t. Because there’s whispers…”

“W-whispers?”

“Plenty of whispers. Secret communications between the humans, all talking about him. And, well, everything about- hic- him. They won’t forget, not ever”.

Aziraphale took a long sip while he thought on that. “Okay. Right, so the Romans won’t really get what they want? They won’t win this? That’s what you’re saying?”

“These humans won’t let them. Jay had too many friends; too many people that looked up to him; too many that owed their life to him. They’re not just gonna get over that, just because some loud idiots tell them not to”.

“Do you think this was all part of the Great Plan?” Aziraphale pondered, veering the conversation in another direction. Crowley gulped.

“Ehhh… Prob’ly. Wouldn’t put it past Her. Seems like Her vibe”.

“I guess it’s ineffable”.

“Yeah, whatever”.

They’re quiet again for a while and Aziraphale drained the last of the bottle into his glass before speaking up again.

“What do you mean by that? ‘Seems like Her vibe’? What is Her ‘vibe’?” he quizzed.

Crowley paused, looking torn between answering or just getting up and walking away altogether. He was far too inebriated for this. “Eh, well, y’know. Means what She usually does or likes to do-“

“I know what vibe means,” Aziraphale interrupted.

“How very modern of you”.

“Crowley”.

“Ugh, fine, but it doesn’t matter really. I was just talkin’ sh-“

“Crowley”.

“Okay, geez. Fine. It’s what She does to us, okay? She looks at someone She likes, thinks ‘oh look at that. They care about things. How sweet. Time for them to lose everything and suffer’. It’s- it’s whatever”.

“Oh, Crowley,” he murmured gently.

“Don’t. Just… don’t. Anyway, the wine’s giving me feelings. I’m goin’ to bed before I get emotional or something gross like that. You should too, don’t stay up too much longer”.

“I don’t need the sleep,” he replied distractedly.

“Well I do, so g’night angel”.

That night Crowley spent more time staring at the ceiling than sleeping, only managing a short sleep once the sun had risen over the horizon.

Aziraphale spent his night much the same in his quarters. He eventually migrated to the house’s entrance and sat down in the doorway to watch the sunrise. Maybe an hour later, he finally heard the soft snores from the other bedroom and smiled softly to himself.

He kept the place closed up and dark, while he tiptoed around for most of the day. The events of the previous day sat heavily on his mind and he knew Crowley was feeling it too. That combined with the alcohol and lack of sleep… Aziraphale wasn’t going to risk waking him anytime soon.

So he sat there alone sipping mug after mug of tea in the silence of the little house at the edge of the city, the quiet occasionally broken by tears dripping onto the table beneath him.

When Crowley did wake, it was just after lunch time. The city was getting louder and Aziraphale was still sitting at the table quietly.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? You must’ve been bored out of your mind, angel,” he said in way of greeting and sat down opposite him, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

“Not really, actually. I quite enjoyed the quiet, it gave me time to think”.

“Yeah? What’ve you been thinkin’ about?”

Aziraphale hummed, debating with himself for how to word it without sounding completely depressing. Crowley got the impression he knew what was on his mind, however.

“Yesterday?” he asked quietly and Aziraphale nodded mutely. Crowley ducked his head and nodded as well. “Yeah, same here”.

Crowley didn’t leave any hints that Aziraphale should be leaving so he spent the next 24 hours in comfortable company with Crowley. They laughed and cried, drank and talked practically non-stop.

On the third day, things changed.

Crowley got up late again and decided he was going to head into the city to refill the alcohol supply and Aziraphale happily offered to stay and prepare something “scrumptious”, as he’d said.

He nearly jumped right out of his skin (literally and metaphorically at this point) when Crowley came crashing in through the front entrance not long later.

“What on Earth- Crowley, what is it, what’s going on?” he shouted when Crowley scrambled to his feet and stumbled over to him, grabbing his shoulders.

“Angel,” he gasped, out of breath and eyes wide. “You’re not going to believe this”.

“What, dear? What?”

“They saw him! The people I was telling you about! They saw him, angel, they really did!”

“Who, Jesus?” he balked.

“Yes! Who else, seriously? They were all talking about it; weren’t even trying to keep it under wraps! They said Jay freaking walked right on out of that bloody cave, angel. Said he spoke, was alive, and literally ascended or something. He’s okay, he’s really okay!”

“Heavenly ascension… that was what they’d said upstairs when he was conceived, remember I told you? It didn’t make any sense without context, but now… Oh my, this is truly wonderful!” he smiled wider than he had in a long time, bouncing excitedly on his toes. Crowley tightened the grip he had on Aziraphale’s shoulders and mirrored his smile.

“Right? He’s okay, Angel!”

Aziraphale grasped the front of Crowley’s coat, almost teary-eyed and practically vibrating with glee. “Oh, this is the most fantastic news, Crowley”.

“I raced back as soon as I heard. It’s been so horrible the last few days; I needed to see your smile. I’ll have to go get the bottles from outside soon, but that doesn’t really matter,” he confessed.

“Oh, Crowley, thank you! Truly.  Gosh, I could kiss you right now—”

A pause. Crowley blinked. Aziraphale froze. He didn’t even breathe as his face dropped and his excited stimming stopped.

“Oh- you know what I mean- heh- I just-“

“Shut up,” Crowley breathed. They were still standing inches apart, hands grasped in each other’s coats. “It’s fine”.

“No, I didn’t- well, I don’t know, it just-“

“I said shut up, Angel. I told you: it’s fine,” he reiterated, staring into his eyes. Neither had moved a single bit. Crowley’s eyes flicked to Aziraphale’s pink cheeks and back to his eyes, then down to his lips, and back up to his eyes. “Really. It’s fine, angel… I wouldn’t stop you”.

“Crowley-“

“I mean- you can, l- if you want-“

“What?” Aziraphale finally took a tiny breath in and cautioned a very quick glance at Crowley’s own lips before darting his gaze up to his nervous yellow eyes. “Crowley…”

They stared at each other for a moment and Aziraphale gulped, finding a shred of confidence and latching onto it. “Are you sure about that?”

Crowley’s face just softened and he moved his right hand to rest his palm over Aziraphale’s racing heart.

“C-can I?” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley gazed at him and managed a tiny “yeah” before a quiet sob burst from Aziraphale’s lips and a second later lips crashed into his.

Crowley gasped on impact and his eyes closed automatically. Everything around them faded out as his mind hyper-focused on every sensation that was hitting him all at once. It was incredible. It captured him and in that moment alone, he knew he’d never get enough of this.

They breathed each other’s air, hands tightened into each other’s collars almost desperately. Aziraphale felt like he was going to melt, or cry, or start floating, or maybe all of the above.

Twelve seconds felt like hundreds while they drank the moment like a drug. As soon as Aziraphale closed his mouth and opened his eyes, Crowley didn’t draw back fully. Instead, in one quick motion, he tightened his grip and pulled Aziraphale flush against his chest and rested his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder. They breathed heavily against each other, clutching each other tight enough to hurt.

They stayed like that for a long while, and Aziraphale gave Crowley enough time to pull back when he was ready. Face to face once more, Aziraphale looked up through wet eyelashes and Crowley looked down, still breathing heavily. Aziraphale cocked his head a little to the side, hoping Crowley would meet his eyes but he wouldn’t.

“Hey…” he murmured gently as he lifted a finger to the base of Crowley’s chin. He guided his downturned face to finally meet his and for the first time in maybe ever, saw genuine, agonising, completely unmasked fear infecting those beautiful yellow eyes. “Oh, Crowley, my dear…”

“I-I’m sorry- I shouldn’t h-"

“Shhh, no, don’t apologise, no, no, no,” he interrupted in horror. “Crowley, that was- gosh- that was the most, um, most amazing thing that I’ve ever done. I- well, I understand if you don’t, you know… but that meant a lot for me. You mean so much to me, Crowley, and if you don’t see me the same way, then that’s fine, of course, but I-“

“Really?” he cautioned quietly and Aziraphale froze again.

“Crowley… of course. I wouldn’t be me, without you. And I know you don’t see yourself as worthy of love anymore - we’ve had that conversation too many times - but I do. I always will. Always”.

“Angel…”

“But it’s okay! I can live with that! You don’t have to say anything, I’ll understand-“

“No, see that’s where you’re wrong. Someone’s sake, Angel, I’m painstakingly crazy for you. I always have been. I just never thought…” he trailed off self-consciously.

Aziraphale tentatively reached out a hand and took one of Crowley’s loosely in his own. “What, you thought you were alone in your feelings?” he huffed a soft laugh. “I’ve been absolutely terrified to even consider you feeling that way for me”.

“We’re just a couple of idiots, then, hey?”

“It certainly looks like it, my dear”.

That startled a laugh out of Crowley and he wiped his tired eyes with his free hand, tightening his hold on Aziraphale’s hand with the other.

They gravitated to the couch and sat a while in comfortable silence, content to simply lean on each other and listen to their harmonious breaths mingling in the quieting afternoon air.

“Can we do it again?” Crowley whispered shyly a while later. Aziraphale answered with his lips, with Crowley struggling to stop smiling throughout.

“I will never stop reiterating that on the inside, hidden behind those walls and masks you barricade yourself within, you’re just a-“

“Don’t you dare say nice,” he growled threateningly.

“-a big softie,” he finished with a smirk. Crowley rolled his eyes in annoyance. “You care so much more than anyone I’ve ever known. About everything. I love it”.

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder causing Aziraphale to laugh fondly at him proving his point. Crowley sighed in defeat and gave in, wrapping his arms around his angel. (His angel, wow, now isn’t that a thing he’s got to get used to).

The bustle of the city packed it in for the night as rain started to trickle onto the roof. Alcohol forgotten, they stayed there chatting about everything and nothing at all for the rest of the evening. They felt happy in each other’s loving company, finally free to share their space at a closer level, at long last.

Chapter Text

Now

“S-sing?” Crowley whispers as soon as he starts to wake.

“Oh… of course, my love,” Aziraphale smiles, happy to be helpful. He begins quietly…

“I’ll be your mirror

reflect on what you are, in case you don’t know…”

The angel lies down beside Crowley and curls his fingers around Crowley’s warm hands. Crowley immediately curls into his side like a snake.

“Oh, Crowley… it’s alright,” he sighs and buries his face in Crowley’s soft hair.

“I’ll be the wind, the rain and the sunset…”

A sob slips from Crowley’s lips and Aziraphale pulls him closer still.

“The light on the door to show that you’re home,” he continues quietly, despite his voice cracking. He may have become close enough to Crowley to see him come apart at times, but he definitely wasn’t used to this vulnerability and exhaustion in his usually hyperactive demon.

Nina returns with a sympathetic look in her eyes and quietly places the things she’d retrieved on the floor beside the couch-bed.

“It’s just the shock,” he whispers reassuringly when she sits down beside them on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, figured as much. Still, he’s surely drained all of his energy at this point”.

Aziraphale nods silently and rests his head on top of Crowley’s, hair tickling his drying cheeks.

“He’s gonna be okay,” she murmurs.

He sighs. “Is he really, though? I hate to admit it but I’m scared, Nina”.

“No doubting it. None of us are going to let anything happen to him. We’re going to figure this out. And besides, he is tough, it’s not all an act”.

Aziraphale huffs a small but genuine laugh.

Nina pats their entwined hands with a small smile before leaving to find Maggie.

“S’ry,” Crowley croaks after a minute once he’s recovered a little.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale leans back a little but Crowley just curls himself tighter against him. “Crowley, dear, don’t be sorry. Not ever,” he murmurs gently.

Crowley just shakes his head, sniffling quietly. He keeps his face hidden for a long moment.

Aziraphale begins to wonder if he’ll fall asleep like this when the demon finally unfurls himself enough for timid eyes to look up at him, then around the room to get his bearings. Aziraphale continues to watch silently and just rubs his back in soothing motions.

“Drink?” whispers Crowley as he shuffles himself into a slightly awkward upright position, kicking any remaining blankets off of the bed entirely.

He holds a half-full glass in front of Crowley for him to take the straw but he’s not having it. “No,” is all he says, looking offended.

“Oh, don’t start that,” Aziraphale says and rolls his eyes.

“Can dr’nk it m’s’lf,” he continues in a hoarse voice.

“Crowley… You can barely hold yourself up let alone a glass of water; you’ll spill it all over yourself!”

“Won’t. Just…” he stubbornly takes hold of the glass as carefully as he can manage and takes a couple of very small sips. Aziraphale sighs.

“See?” Crowley says with a cough.

“Yes. Well done, my dear. Now allow me to…” he replies, exasperated, and takes the glass back before Crowley’s unfortunately shaky hands can make a mess of things. After he sets it aside, he squirms into a more upright position himself.

Crowley immediately leans into him, any remaining strength leaving. “Got an’thin’ stronger to drink?”

“Not happening”.

“Bummer”.

By the time Nina and Maggie return, not long later, Crowley is snoring softly with his head in the angel’s lap. They smile at Aziraphale and work on cooling his ever-present sickly temperature, careful to avoid waking him. They’re in luck; he’s out like a light.

The three of them talk about nothing and everything as usual. Crowley gradually manoeuvres down the bed until he’s lying on his stomach with his arms wrapped tightly around Aziraphale’s outstretched legs and his head pillowed on his shins.

Aziraphale pries the new ring off of Crowley’s finger and fiddles with it. He explains its mechanics as simply as he can manage: a memory at the forefront of one’s mind can be mentally pushed into the gemstone, and this is through physical contact and specifically a kiss. Whoever later kisses the gemstone will be met with the emotive/sensory memory prompts. It’s not designed for human use.

“Though I can share with you. Takes a moment but I’ll get there,” Aziraphale informs them. He closes his eyes tightly in concentration as his lips meet the gemstone. His right hand comes up to his temple and he pinches his thumb and forefinger together, then mimes pulling something away from his head. He opens his eyes and drops his hand as near-transparent whispy tendrils of golden light dance between them. Nina and Maggie gasp simultaneously as a sort of vision encompasses their mind for a moment.

“Oh my God…” Maggie whispers after a moment.

Once they recover from the initial shock of experiencing alien technology, they begin discussing Crowley’s fuzzy dream itself. Aziraphale acts as scribe, elegant handwriting flowing across the page as they collect any details they can, and share any things that they noticed. It’s not enough to decipher what is relevant and it’s too difficult to figure out who was involved, but thankfully the memory ring only contains truths so it filtered out the imagined parts of the dream. Still, it’s a start.

Later that day, they are able to capture some memory remnants from another dream when Crowley wakes briefly. It proves helpful but is too similar to the previous to be close to a breakthrough.

The next time he wakes properly, he’s still in the same spot curled tight around Aziraphale’s legs when he lifts his heavy head and glares at Maggie and Nina like a threatened snake ready to strike. It doesn’t have any effect, of course.

“What?” Nina asks with a raised eyebrow. He just stares back at them, starting to tremble as the fever rises quickly with a ferocity.

“What’re you doing in my home?” he growls, unfocused gaze still trained on both of them.

“It’s alright… you’re not well, and running a fever, it’s making you a bit confused,” Maggie tries. She takes a precautionary small step forward but stops when he flinches a little, still not taking his dazed eyes off of them.

“Come any closer and I will bite you,” he warns.

“Woah,” Nina smirks.

“That isn’t necessary, Crowley,” Aziraphale tuts.

“It is!” he replies immediately. A near inaudible hiss builds in his throat.

“You’re not a snake at the moment, dear,” Aziraphale interrupts, sharing a look with the girls.

“I. Am. Always.” He spares a quick quiet hiss followed by a flick of his snakelike tongue to prove his point. “I’m stuck with it; it’s me. Now go. Get away from me”.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale puts a careful hand on his shaking shoulder.

He raises his voice, “now! Please, just leave me alone. All of you”.

Maggie and Nina walk away promptly, if only to avoid irritating him further.

“I was serious, what’re you still doing here?” he glares at Aziraphale.

“Dearest, I’m not moving. I’m staying right here thank you”.

“No,” he growls, “I said get out. Go away”.

“Crowley… I can’t exactly go anywhere with you clinging to my legs,” he retorts, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Crowley pauses at that. He looks down with furrowed brows to where he is laying then traces his gaze up to Aziraphale and back down again. He drops his forehead to Aziraphale’s knees in realisation. His shoulders sink in defeat and he grumbles unintelligibly.

Aziraphale places a hand atop his head where his hair is already dampening with sweat again. “I know you feel quite dreadful, my love. But you’re safe… we’re here to help you. Do you understand that?” he tries after a couple of quiet seconds.

“Yeah… Sorry,” Crowley whispers.

“Oh, it’s quite alright. Pain and illness make us do strange things. Just as long as you try to remember one thing: that you’re safe, really”.

He nods minutely but doesn’t move, still clinging to his angel. Nothing more is said for a long time; just the sound of their harmonious breathing occasionally interrupted by a frustrated sigh from Crowley as he tries to hold his body still while feverish trembling persists. The girls tiptoe back to their side and they all exchange ideas on where to go from here.

Nina thinks aloud when Crowley’s stopped being restless enough to drift into a light sleep. “Hopefully his fever breaks tonight. The longer it lasts, the more delirious he gets, the less progress we make…”

Late into the night, they set to work studying the little they’ve captured so far, and formulate a collection of theories and important questions. It’s a good, hopeful start.

Chapter Text

Crawly rounded on the demon with the most threatening glare he could muster. He swiftly changed form to no longer be a snake and the demon was shoved roughly against the nearest wall as Crawly pressed his forearm into their throat and leaned in, to harshly whisper, “don’t you dare ever do that again”.

The demon struggled, taken aback.

Crawly growled lowly and continued, using his confidence to hide his desperation. “What the Heaven were you thinking ?” he hissed and shoved the other back, taking a step back himself. “Are you trying to get me killed, because it sure as hell seems like it”.

“Wh- no! I wouldn’t dream of- really??”

“Then why’d you run your mouth to those imbeciles knowing they’d use any excuse to bring me to my knees, you absolute idiot !”

“I didn’t think they’d take it seriously like that!”

“Wow, you really are stupid. Unbelievable. Dammit, leave now or else,” Crawly glared in challenge.

“Oh c’mon, Crawly,” the demon let out a frustrated sigh. “Crawly”.

“Furfur”.

“You shouldn’t be alone after this… just let me stay here… with you”.

“Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t be, Furfur. Now go,” he replied instantly and wouldn’t look up at his friend even after he heard him exit.

“Wait… don’t go…”

“Shh, dearest… it’s alright now…”

Crowley grit his teeth as he was whipped again, this one harder than the last. Hastur’s words spun like a turntable in his mind. “Crowley, you seem to be forgetting what I said to you last time. No one could ever love you. And no one would ever want to save you”. It hurt because it was true. “Ever”.

Then an angel swooped in and changed that opinion faster than Crowley could catch up.

“You’re wrong! They would! He did! He did… he did… he did…”

“Shhh, I’m here”.

The Bentley screeched to a halt and Aziraphale grabbed the handle above his head and the edge of his seat.

“Oh dear me, I was concerned you weren’t going to stop just now,” he gasped out.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Crowley tutted.

They watched the line of ducks and ducklings pass in front of the car quietly. Crowley spotted Aziraphale heart-eye-staring at him and simply rolled his eyes.

“The ducks didn’t do anything wrong. Not their fault the humans put roads and things in their path,” he explained and continued their drive, pointedly ignoring Aziraphale’s facial expressions and quiet comments.

“M’not nice. S’just ducks, okay? Just ducks. Not- not nice”.

“Oh really? Hah”.

He knew it. He fucking knew this would happen.

He walked towards the bookshop as nighttime settled in, hands shaking in rage and disappointment and fear and guilt. Breathe , he thought on repeat until he couldn’t.

He bent forward with his hands on his knees, gasping and shaking like a leaf. He couldn’t let himself come apart in the open like this, but he was too far from the bookshop.

He pushed the panic back and replaced it with anger. A loud irritated growl echoed from his throat and he stood a tad straighter as thunder boomed and jolts of lightning buzzed around him.

His hands tingled from the panic and electricity, so he flexed his fingers irately and shook out each leg before continuing his walk to the bookshop; to his angel.

His emotions were still heightened but not simmering so close to the surface… for now. He could make it long enough to get inside the bookshop before he crumpled just a little.

The nearest newssheet bursted into flames in a scribe’s hands, in the next town over.

Crowley hated this. Rumours. News was spreading like wildfire and he was struggling to figure out how to stop it. He knew it would get around, a phenomenon where holy weapons worked on ailing someone seizing? The Church was more than interested. Despite a lack of details and the lack of a phenomenon having repeated, the news spread and people were beginning to feel empowered. This wild rumour, coupled with the fear at the time, had spread like its own religion, quickly becoming the normal. Suddenly people with seizure disorders were being diagnosed with possession much easier.

They faced torture until the “demon” was released, often leaving a tragically empty shell of a body. But in actuality, it was an innocent soul that was released, from the hell of this cruel world.

He picked up the pace as the bookshop’s entrance came into view. He stormed inside, slamming the door behind him and causing the angel to jump, startled and immediately concerned.

“What on Earth- Crowley, whatever’s the matter?” he called as he stood and strode to the gasping demon seemingly frozen at the entrance.

Crowley wordlessly enveloped Aziraphale in a tight hug, consciously matching his breathing. Aziraphale sensed that this was what he needed right now and didn’t question him further, just allowed him to hold on to him for as long as he needed to.

Crowley pulled away eventually and wordlessly shuffled toward some seats further inside the bookshop and sat down next to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale listened to him explain quietly, felt his own heart physically breaking.

“It’s in no way your fault-“ he started.

“It’s my doing,” Crowley replied indignantly. He sighed, defeated, before adding in despair, “it’s not fair, Angel”.

“No. No, it’s not fair,” he agreed, but his meaning went far deeper than what Crowley meant. Not just unfair on the innocents who are suffering for it, but unfair that he has to now feel this unbalanced guilt, and especially that he has to live with his injuries in the first place.

“S’not true. M’sorry, m’so, so, so sorry…”

“Oh, sweetheart…”

Nina brought a large black coffee and a medium white tea to the couple’s table with a polite smile.

“Ah, wonderful, thank you!” Aziraphale beamed. His eyes fell closed as he inhaled the warm scent of his drink and gasped in delight.

“Need a room with that, Angel?” Crowley sighed. Nina raised a mildly curious eyebrow at the affection. Crowley looked up and mirrored her expression. “You new here, kid? Haven’t seen you working here before is all”.

“Uh, not a kid-“

“I only meant-“

“And yes. I started last week. My hours were reduced at my job so I’ve had to find another on the side. A friend of mine works across the street and suggested this place was hiring, now here we are. Happy with your drinks?” she answered a little monotonously.

“Quite. Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale chimed in before Crowley could comment.

She smiled half-heartedly and returned to the counter before Aziraphale turned to Crowley and kicked him under the table.

He was interrupted before he could scold him, by a dog approaching their table and barking -more so yapping- at the pair.

“I’m sorry- Dog! Sit! Sorry, he’s not- Sit, Dog!” a young boy said as he yanked on the dog’s leash. The dog continued its show of barking and whining and trying in vain to get closer to Crowley and Aziraphale.

“No, it’s quite alright, I think I may have upset the poor thing when I kicked my husband’s leg just now”. Aziraphale said and turned his attention to the anxious dog. “We were just playing, little one”.

Aziraphale assumed it sensed their lack of, well, humanity. Crowley silently crossed his arms on the table and rested his forehead on his forearms, in what Aziraphale assumed was irritation at the noise.

Dog seemed to realise he wasn’t getting anywhere and finally sat down and stopped barking but was still shaking and whining almost uncontrollably. In response, the boy released some of the tension in the leash, and as soon as he did, Dog closed the distance to the table.

His attention honed in on Crowley and Aziraphale was forgotten. Crowley, of course, paid him no attention so he pawed at his trousers, still whining insistently.

He barked again, becoming restless once more. “Dog, leave them alone,” the boy started to pull him away but was stopped by an older lady, hair grey as a storm and eyes green as a lime.

“Hold on, let him go for a second,” she said, eyebrows knitted together. “Honey, is he trained?” she asked.

“Yes, he’s usually really good with my commands-“

“No, sweetie, sorry, I meant is he professionally trained? Like an assistant animal or-“

“Oh! Yes, he is actually! Well, sort of… he would’ve been if he hadn’t failed the physical tests…” the boy explained.

“I see, yes, I thought as much. My granddaughter has an alert dog who has the same alerting behaviours. It might mean…”

Aziraphale looked at her. “Alert dog? What do they do? I know of guide dogs and some other service animals, but I don’t believe I’ve heard of “alert” dogs,” he pondered.

“They’re for people with medical problems. They alert their owner to oncoming medical emergencies, such as blood pressure dropping, and if the person collapses or something, they’re trained to let another person know of the emergency,” she explained and the boy nodded along. “My daughter has a seizure-alert dog”.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up.

“That’s what Dog was training for!” the boy replied, excited.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows then dropped along with his stomach. His eyes shot to Crowley, face buried in his arms on the table and Dog still pawing at his legs.

“Oh,” she turned to Aziraphale, frowning. “Sorry, but does your husband get seizures?”

Aziraphale was half-listening so he nodded with a hum of confirmation and stretched to put a hand on Crowley’s arm.

“Crowley? Dearest, are you feeling alright?” he said calmly. Crowley pulled his shoulders in and managed a small shake of his head. “Okay, alright, that’s okay,” Aziraphale breathed and stood to come around to Crowley’s side.

The boy quickly figured out what had happened and picked up Dog and went to let the barista, Nina, know. The cafe was otherwise empty and Nina seemed to flick a switch in her mind and suddenly she was in her familiar mindset.

She slid the door closed and turned the sign over and was at their table in seconds. “What can I do?” she asked, pulling up a chair on Crowley’s other side and turning to Aziraphale.

“I- my dear, we’ll be okay,” he started before Nina waved a hand dismissively.

“I’m a nurse, and have been for over a decade. Talk to me,” she said.

“It’s a bit more complicated than you may think,” Aziraphale tried. At her lack of willingness to back down now, he resorted to pointedly tilting his head to indicate the others needn’t be here.

She got the message and guided them out and they left in understanding, without a fuss.

“Crowley, sweetheart, did you want to go back home?”

“Ngk,” he tried, shaking his head. Aziraphale understood that it was coming on; he wouldn’t make it that far.

“Okay, that’s okay… how about we lie down then, hey? We’ll just have a little lay down here. C’mon,” he murmured, moving to help him slowly out of the chair and to the floor.

“Let me grab a cushion from out the back, hold on,” Nina rushed out and returned holding it up proudly. It was brand new and still in plastic wrap which she ripped off and gave the cushion to Crowley. “How’s that then? More comfortable?”

“Mm”.

“Nina, dear. I must tell you. Remember I said it was complicated… just- if you can understand- no matter what happens, he’ll be fine. I swear on it. Any problems and we wait it out, okay? No ambulances, nothing... Understand?” His eyes bore into hers, containing all certainty and angelic ferocity.

She just stared back at him for a long moment before nodding. She trusted him for some reason. This guy she didn’t even know, just gave her an odd feeling of safety and she couldn’t help but to trust in him, even if it confused her to no end.

“Mm,” Crowley hummed again, struggling to open his eyes.

“Shh, stop holding back,” Aziraphale murmured, gently patting his hand.

“Mm”.

“It’ll be alright, we’re here,” Nina murmured.

“Mm”.

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered in his ear.

Hastur’s favourite words resurfaced in his head as he started to slip into unconsciousness, “no one could ever love you,” like a taunting mantra.

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered again and it was the last thing he heard as he was pulled under by the seizure.

“Ngk… you’re wrong… he does, and I do. I do too. I love you. M’okay, s’kay”.

“I love you, Crowley, so much”.

Chapter Text

The snake peered its head around a thick thorny bush and watched the figure standing by the wall.

It stood illuminated by the sunlight shining upon its white robes, honourable white wings tucked against its broad shoulders, and chin lifted in confidence and pride. Two more figures approached: the humans Adam and Eve, Crawly knew.

They moved past the white angel towards a newly-formed hole in Eden’s wall. He watched from his hiding place as it sucked in a quick breath, squaring its shoulders as if settling an internal debate and handed its invaluable sword to Adam. His snake hearing wasn’t as good as his snake eyes, but he understood the gist of the short exchange.

Then the humans left through the doorway Crawly was sure neither of them had constructed…

The angel’s shoulders dropped along with its chin. It chewed on its lip in open concern and anxiety before taking flight and perching solemnly atop the great wall.

Crawly took pity on the angel: Aziraphale, Crawly recalled. He’d been watching it from a distance since coming up to Earth and was sure he was remembering its name correctly. Not that it mattered to him, of course.

Reigning in his own inward contemplations, he quietly slunk his way up to the angel’s side. It barely flinched at the new presence, instead silently watching the humans begin their trek away from the “safe haven”. He returned to the more comfortable humanoid form and watched as well.

Many long, comfortable minutes passed before he broke the silence with a sigh. He never could stay still and focused for too long.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon”…

Furfur found Crawly sat with his knees drawn up to his chest and his back pressed against the inside of Eden’s great wall.

“Been searching everywhere in this godforsaken garden for you,” he huffed as he approached. Crawly simply nodded and sighed, patting the patch of grass on his left. Furfur sat.

“I did it. They can shut up now,” he eventually whispered, without emotion.

“Oh?”

“Yeah… they wanted me to get up here and make some trouble…”

“You okay? What’d ya do?”

Crawly sighed again, burying his head in his knees. He was too tired to care about how he looked right now. “Tempted the humans. God said don’t do it, I said do, they did, bam boom shit happens”.

Furfur chewed his bottom lip in thought. “So what’s got you all out of sorts then?”

“M’alright. J’s tired s’all,” he whispered, slurring a little.

“That’s convincing…”

“Nah, s’just… I dunno if it’s what they really meant downstairs with what’m s’posed to be doin’ up here ‘n’ all that. But it’s over. S’done”.

“Yeah,” Furfur sighed.

“Yeah”.

“Um, you okay?” Furfur asked, a little nervously, when he noticed Crawly’s hands trembling violently and his breaths coming a little harder.

“Mm,” is the only answer he got before he caught his friend from slumping sideways into him with a small cry.

Crawly only remembers coming to with the worst headache he’d had since The Fall and he blamed the sunlight. Furfur was there, staring at him as if he’d just grown a third leg, and honestly, Crawly felt like that wouldn’t have been surprising.

“Ouch,” was all he could murmur before Furfur was cursing him and everything under the sun but Crawly doesn’t remember much of that either.

He does remember, however, pinning Furfur to the wall and making him promise that this secret he had managed to keep for hundreds of years since The Fall, would never get out, ever. Until Eden, this was his secret and dangerous vulnerability. It needed to stay that way and luckily for Furfur, he was able to keep that secret with him too.

“No… d-d-don’t let them… they can’t know… don’t let them know… never ever”.

“It’ll be okay. Go back to sleep, Crowley dear”.

Crawly’d been stupid.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid, I’m so bloody stupid ,” Crawly muttered as he stomped down a secluded hallway in the depths of Hell. He limped his way to an end room that was more like a cell and sank to the ground. He was going to hurt Furfur for this, the very next time he saw him…

He’d neglected to notice Furfur had come to see him again, this time with Fergus, a slightly more threatening demon, at his side. With Crawly caught up in fraternisation with the angel, they’d unfortunately overheard a damning snippet of what he’d said about the worrying possibilities of the whole “eat the apple” business falling under a category of “good”.

Furfur had clearly felt threatened by Fergus enough to run his mouth. And Hastur had taken charge.

Hastur’s sickeningly hot breath wafted into his nose as he got into Crawly’s personal space.

“There will come a day, Crawly,” he spat, “where you will be forced to learn the consequences Hell can and will enforce upon you. And only one thing, an impossible thing, will be able to save you. So I did some thinking…”

Crawly prepared himself for disappointment. Demons didn’t have an imagination anything like his own. The repetitive beating he’d just endured was evidence enough of that.

“Adam and Eve,” Hastur simply said.

“What?”

“Adam and Eve, Crawly! Their connection surpasses anything our kinds have ever experienced. Hence the fact that one day, you will need a connection that matches theirs; that will be the key”.

“Right…” He was no longer following.

“But that’s where you’ll stutter: no one could ever love you like that. No one would ever save you. So don’t you forget it, Crawly”. He leaned in close and whispered -his breath rotten- a snippet, you might call it, of a Great Plan. “…And when feathers of the high and the low converge in the middle, only then will the curse be lifted from the low”.

“But what the bloody Heaven does that mean?” he asked. Hastur was already gone. “The Great Plan; bloody ineffable he says. You’re not wrong there, Angel,” he grumbled and got to his feet.

“Sssstupid”.

“Hush, silly. You’re the most clever being I know”.

Apparently Crowley had seriously messed up this time with the antichrist and the whole apocalypse thing. Wrong places and wrong times, really, but Hell were incredibly annoyed at him regardless.

After he and Aziraphale’s plan had -thankfully- worked and they’d switched back… both Hastur and Ligur clearly weren’t satisfied and had formed their own plan of attack. They stopped Crowley in the middle of the road.

“Traitor” … “You just don’t listen, do you” … “We warned you” … “Now, you shall pay”. Hastur’s words echoed in his head as if trying to hear them underwater. Then they’re both gone but he’s not alone. Another figure ambushed him and smashed their lips to his.

His senses were on fire but his head was spinning and he couldn’t understand what was happening… he gagged and he tried so hard to focus on who that figure was and they were just stood staring at him and it felt wrong and this wasn’t how it happened and he knew that but they were standing there frozen and he felt compelled to identify them and he knew it was important to and everything else was drifting away and this wasn’t real and he looked at them and he tried to concentrate and and and—

He knew them. But that was impossible… wasn’t it? They couldn’t be back… could they?

A cloud of green smoke engulfed them and they were gone. His assumptions felt right and it made him feel sick. Of course Hastur and Ligur had made an alliance with Pestilence. Of course. And whatever curse they’d done up for him definitely wasn’t going to be easy.

***~~~***~~~***

Crowley’s fever finally breaks.

The three tap into his fever dreams using the ring and their discoveries shake them all to their cores. But there are links that have been made and findings that might just be the breakthroughs they’d been needing all of this time.

“Wait,” Nina’s hand shoots to her mouth.

“No way,” Maggie gasps, the information they’d just collected catching up.

“Fuck,” Aziraphale breathes as he pulls the sleeping demon closer as a fraction of the weight upon his shoulders quickly lifts.

Chapter Text

Time seems to slow once Crowley stops waking.

Hours seem to stretch for eternity where all three of their little group sink into their own feelings of helplessness and impatience. It feels like waiting. For something. Anything.

But it had happened too fast to stop. Within the 24 hours since linking their research and formatting a trial timeline of sorts, their focus was torn from their findings. The fever that’s been shadowing their lives of recent, finally, swiftly, breaks. The relief was short-lived, however, as he unpredictably fell ill, gagging through bouts of intense pain in his head and nothing left in his stomach, which practically drained any of his remaining strength. Then, slowly, he slipped away from them. It was as if he let go of the fight. And after he did, that was what set Aziraphale off. He’d been keeping it together as best as he could manage but when they couldn’t rouse Crowley to consciousness, and he couldn’t feel him…

“Just stop. I can feel you looking at me,” he warned in an uncharacteristic voice. He pulled the stoic soldier persona from its place buried deep within him and wrapped it around himself like armour.

Nina’s tooth nagged at her lip as she turned back to Crowley, seemingly lifeless as he lay tucked into the bed, lost in a coma-like state.

Nina and Maggie passed concerns for the angel and his erected walls as he sat at his desk desperately pouring over notes and revisiting everything they’d looked at so far, with no resting for the past two days. It wasn’t as simple as finding the answers and fixing the problem. It was trial and error unless they found a real solution in the research, which was proving more and more unlikely. So he sat there with intense concentration, purposely distracted from the emotions in the bookshop, and searched.

Crowley, oblivious to the turmoil within his angel, slept on. The girls took a ‘glass half full’ stance and thanked the stars for the blissful reprieve their friend could have. While he wasn’t conscious, he wasn’t suffering through the worst of things, and that was something to focus on rather than the sheer hopelessness.

But for Crowley, it was anything but bliss.

He becomes aware of a strange change in environment but the searing pain behind his eyes makes it extremely hard to concentrate on anything but that. At some point, it fades to a dull ache, more uncomfortable than anything and he breathes. He shakes off the soreness in his limbs and eventually tries taking in what surroundings he’s met with. There is an eerie silence surrounding him as he slowly turns in a complete circumference and is lost in the seemingly infinite brightness of this environment. He squints as the light threatens to spark more pain and blinks compulsively, still turning and trying to focus on anything other than white.

He moves to take a step and finds himself unable to move his legs as if they are rooted into the ground itself and when he looks down, however, he’s not standing on anything solid. A pure white fog clouds his feet from view and he realises with a start that he is in fact floating in zero gravity. He tries again to kick out a leg and is still frozen to the spot.

He exhales a shaky breath and watches as its wind pushes the fog in multiple directions for a moment. A soft wind from behind him follows and pushes the fog away from him enough to clear it away from his feet. In the strangeness of things, he hadn’t taken any notice of himself but is startled to realise that his feet are covered in a draping cloth material of pure white as well. A pit forms in his stomach as he drags his eyes up to his chest and takes in the long white robe he’s wearing, and squints at the golden fleece tangling around his neck and chest.

He chokes on his next breath and reaches up to touch the gold when suddenly the wind from behind increases in strength and roars. He is pushed forward by it and loses his balance in the speed of it, still unable to move his legs. He stumbles forward and squeezes his eyes shut while he prepares to fall face first into the ground, somewhere below the fog.

Then the wind is roaring in front of him this time, hitting him with full force on his face and chest. He opens his eyes against the force and he’s not upright anymore; he’s falling. ‘NO!’ he thinks and kicks his finally movable limbs in a panic, fighting to remember how to fly but he can’t find the right instructions in his mind and he can’t feel his wings and he can’t control the speed and he feels tears prickling in his now stinging eyes and he’s going down and there’s nothing but darkness below him and why can’t he remember how to fly—!

He falls faster and faster yet it feels like it stretches for hours. Maybe it does. At some point, he is able to turn his head skyward and can still see the thick white fog but this time there’s something else within it. Like an animal in torchlight, glowing eyes bore into him from above and follow him down, never blinking. Purple eyes.

He panics again and struggles to find a way to stop his fall while not taking his own eyes off of the monster as it follows his descent into darkness. As if noticing him looking, the purple eyes expand in a show of amusement before multiplying like some horror mitosis until there are countless little purple eyes in the sky above him. The white fog turns dark as night and becomes a backdrop for an endless starry scene, purple stars twinkling menacingly above him until he’s somehow surrounded by them in every direction he looks. His breaths come faster and faster and he thinks he’s going to pass out from the sheer terror of falling and the sight before him. Then, as if they’d never been there, everything is dark around him. He blinks hard as he tries to find something -anything- to focus his eyes on other than the pure black nothingness.

A moment later, a voice filters through the roar of air rushing past his ears, rough yet calming. “Don’t panic, I’m gonna help you out here but I need you to stop throwin’ your arms ‘round like that”.

He continues straining his eyes, still falling at record speeds, but can’t find the source of the voice, trying to use it as an anchor point to calm the hell down. He opens his mouth to speak back, anything to find someone, when his mouth fills with water. He tries to choke through it but it’s rushing into him and he can’t stop it… And the taste, oh the taste, it’s horrendous but it’s so unnervingly familiar.

The water fills his mouth, his nose, his eyes and every damned cell in his body as he violently thrashes through the next panic of drowning. “Hey! I said bloody calm down or  I can’t bloody get us outta this bloody mess,” the voice admonishes again. Crowley desperately tries to get his bearings with his currently limited senses and finds he’s no longer falling but surrounded by water, or some similar liquid. He tries to still himself and finds that when he opens his eyes, he’s not even under the water anymore. And someone’s touching him… pulling him along… holding him firmly… carrying him out of the pool when his limbs won’t cooperate in the slightest…

His legs have lost feeling again and he’s guided to lie on the cold, hard floor of some cramped dark room. It’s an empty dungeon-like room that nags at his attention in an oddly familiar way and he tries to sit up but cannot find the strength, collapsing back to the floor instead and accidentally slamming the back of his head against it. Pain erupts in his head and he cries out, and curls himself into a ball. He cowers with his hands covering the sides of his head as if anticipating a strike.

He forces his eyes open and looks to his left and sees the one who has been with him.

“Furfur,” he manages hoarsely and lifts a sore arm to reach out to his friend. Furfur looks at him in bewilderment and confusion, not sure how he knows his name. And Crowley knows, right then, that this isn’t real.

Furfur snaps his gaze to the space behind Crowley where he lays curled on his side on the cold floor of the cell. Crowley feels the hairs on the back of his stiff neck stand at attention and wills himself the courage to face what Furfur is sat frozen staring at. So he turns, cautiously slow, and is met with Hastur and Ligur’s teethy snarls looking at him viciously. A whip cracks in front of his face and he jumps in surprise and shock and feels his head start to throb in time with each whip crack as they creep closer and closer toward him.

He finally manages to slither himself backwards, somehow immediately changed into snake form, but he doesn’t have time to think on it as they both stand over him. The creature atop Ligur’s head is blackened and burned but still alive, and spits what Crowley assumes is venom at him. He flinches back and hits his back and head against a concrete wall, which sends fresh waves of agony through him and he gasps through it. Startled to have hit the wall, he looks around the room frantically but sees no sign of Furfur. And there is no door in sight; he’s well and truly trapped.

The creature spits venom at him again and doesn’t miss this time because it lands bullseye on his face, covering every millimetre of skin. He can’t scream as the venom burns its way deep into his skin but he can miraculously still see, somehow. He stares as Ligur leaves through a door -having appeared seamlessly- and Hastur slams it behind them, leaving him alone in silence. The venom continues to bury into his face and spreads to the rest of his scalp, burning and burning with no sign of stopping. It manages to forcefully convert him back to humanoid form.

The door has changed into a large floor-to-ceiling mirror and Crowley peers into it only to see what is left of himself from the shoulders upwards… Yellow bloodshot eyes sunken into a blackened skull look back at him and he holds his breath while he watches the venom in a liquid form very slowly seep down his collar bones and shoulders, taking everything but bone with it. From outside of the room there is the sound of a garbage disposal whirring to life and nausea stirs within him as high-pitched squeals ring out and he can’t help his mind supplying him with more imaginary horror scenes.

The door creaks open a crack, mirror distorting from the change in angle to look like a funhouse mirror. Crowley freezes as still as a statue and stares, feeling like he’s readying himself for an ambush. Instead, a slender hand reaches inside and places a single ceramic pot filled with soil on the floor and closes the door again. It looked exactly like his own hand.

After a moment, he allows himself to relax, still staring at the door. Unexpectedly, however, a tiny green sprout becomes visible within the little pot. He leans forward and watches in amazement as it grows before his eyes. Up and up it grows and begins to scale the walls. It climbs each wall spreading thick, thorny vines across the bare concrete and up to the ceiling. It wraps its vines around the dim lightbulb on the ceiling and blocks out the light. Each movement it makes, though, causes flashes of light to seep through and cast the room in lightning-strike shapes. Each time Crowley is able to see the room, the vine has made fast progress at covering each wall and is moving towards him.

Fear takes hold of him again as he understands he is trapped in here with this ferocious plant covered in sharp spikes and growing towards him at an alarming speed. He has no way to escape as it wraps itself around him and thorns stab into what is left of his skin. Dark red blood oozes onto the vines and leaves each leaf with a film of red, adding to the horror of the situation and the sight before him. The light flashes every few seconds all while the vines tighten around his body, digging deep into his already chronically aching stomach and suffocating lungs.

He tries to scream but finds that being left with just a skull and other bones from his sternum upwards doesn’t allow for any sound to be produced. And a lack of eye lids doesn’t allow him to screw his dry eyes shut. The searing pain intensifies and he struggles to listen as he hears more voices shouting around him. Increasing in volume as each second passes, he can hear the garbage disposal again and can start to understand the words of the disembodied voice.

“Is that—“ he hears it shout, “a spot?!”

He recognises the voice at the same time as he realises the venom of Ligur’s creature is resuming its trail of destruction down his body. It’s all too much, he’s too overwhelmed by it all.

“Grow better!” he hears right in his ears. The plants are getting their revenge now. This is what he has created. Where he used to create constellations of beauty he now creates destruction and hate all around him. It’s truly suffocating him and he doesn’t know how he’s still alive.

Then, fast as the purple eyes that had just formed stars during his fall disappeared, the vines unravel and shrivel up before falling to the ground as dust. If he could, he would have coughed at it, then choked and cried for a long time. He feels so incredibly weak but doesn’t have the presence of mind to care.

In the resumed light, he notices the vines had deconstructed the walls and he’s now inside his apartment. He can hear Hastur cursing at him from the answering machine he’d trapped him in. Along with this strange turn of events, Ligur is glaring at him from the desk before vanishing miraculously when Crowley meets his gaze.

The last of the venom leaves him then and vanishes as well. It wasn’t a relief, though, because all that was left of him was his bones, his eyes, his brain (which he only knew was there thanks to the searing pain within it) and his feet. The venom hadn’t finished its course and had left incomplete feet being all that was left of his bottom half, apart from bone. When he manages to look at them, they are still in their usual pristine condition except for the red soles of his feet covered in blisters. He’d only seen them get like that after walking through a Church… like being at the beach in bare feet!

The rest of his body seems to catch up with the destruction and starts to melt into what looks, essentially, like putty slime. He watches in exhaustion as his feet first are reduced to a pile of goo, then his bones until all of him was a large puddle. What’s worse is he can still feel everything and see everything but has lost all shape and form of his body. He stares at the pot still sitting in the corner of the room, feeling the ghost of thorns digging into his, well, goo for body.

As he watches it, a boot kicks it aside and it smashes into the wall with a crash. Crowley is one part relieved to see it destroyed and two parts confused as to who the hell just goal-kicked it at his wall. What he can make out of the figure as it storms around the room is a blur of colours and emotions, like synaesthesia. Tan and white bringing a sense of security to Crowley, black and brown bringing forth emotions of anxiety, shades of blue bringing extreme sorrow, red and gold bringing pure unguarded rage…

He hears sniffles, cursing and sobbing until the figure drops to their knees in front of what is left of him. The sight of Aziraphale sends his brain spinning all over again and wishes more than anything that he could reach out and bear hug his angel right now. He’s stuck and realises that Aziraphale’s crying and anger is directed at the fact that Crowley is reduced to a puddle on the floor, with no way of knowing he’s alive and assuming the worst has happened. ‘Oh, Angel, oh no,’ he thinks guiltily and begins to understand that he’s looking like a fresh puddle of demon that’s been destroyed by holy water, and the love of his life is assuming just that and there is not a single thing that Crowley can do to fix that in his state. All of Aziraphale’s emotions mingle with his own and it’s the worst thing he thinks he has ever felt in his entire existence. He would take falling and torture and seizures and curses and honestly anything over seeing his angel suffering with no way to help.

This stirs something within him that pulls and pulls at his attention. He manages to get lost in his thoughts and emotions and leave this horror scene and the rest of the ones he’s just experienced behind and instead he drifts through a plane of nothingness, no physical feelings yet shaken to the core. He knows this isn’t real… he knows that none of his experiences happened like this… but they felt so real and terrifying and painful and he’s still in so much pain… but it’s not real. What is real is his angel. His angel who cares for him, who loves him unconditionally and who believes him to be good. His angel who is watching him suffer without any way to help.

His angel who needs him to be strong. He can’t give up now, when the going gets tough. He can bring forth strength. He can’t leave Aziraphale like this, feeling helpless and missing Crowley so intensely. And his friends…

He knows he needs to start fighting again, no matter the strain. He can’t just lay dormant or the suffering won’t even be able to end. For any of them.

For now, however, he drifts in this space. He’d seen glimpses of reality before the nightmares, which practically feels like an eternity ago now. A voice or a touch or something will continue shining through, he knows. He’ll find himself an anchor point and use that to get back to his angel as soon as possible. He will.

He will.

Chapter Text

“You’re sure about this, Mr. Fell?” Maggie asks shakily.

“Yes. I need to try,” comes the soft reply in the darkness of the pitch black room.

A beat.

Then, a flash of bright light accompanying an agonising scream. A scream of an angel.

***~~~***~~~***

Aziraphale did not intend to fall asleep. If he had to explain himself, he would be defensive and claim he’d been betrayed by his corporation, it being too used to humans or some such.

Maggie and Nina are, however, too clever to mention it -or disturb it- so they opt to tidy the bookshop and close the curtains to bring the environment into darkness. Maggie gently lays a soft blanket around his broad shoulders, making the other roll her eyes. Aziraphale, none the wiser, practically dead to the world, just continues to snore softly into his palm as his heavy head rests its chin there. A stranger passing by would assume he was a hard working gentleman, having fallen asleep at his desk. They wouldn’t be far off from the truth, technically.

Four days straight he’d poured over notes and ran his voice dry from muttering to himself. Four days since his beloved went under this sleeping spell… as they’d been calling it: a fitting name, really.

The infecting curse continues to inhibit Crowley’s ability to do more than breathe. Oftentimes one could hear him cough quietly or whimper even quieter. Once, Nina even saw a tear trickle down his pale face…

It was all getting pretty depressing. Nina and Maggie had spent more time outside of the bookshop in recent days than they had in the last few weeks if only to get some fresh air. They were getting nowhere and nothing was changing so they were beginning to feel a little out of place, honestly. So while the angel finally rested, they leave.

What was meant to be a short outing quickly becomes a day trip to brunch, clothes shopping, grocery shopping (extensively), and finally to their favourite little florists’ shop.

The bell rings as they enter, a welcoming chime that breaks the silence in a calming way, almost magical. Actually, probably magic knowing this place. The shop is empty of customers as it so often is, yet business is booming as if there’s a small cult following- Nina wouldn’t be surprised. They inhale the gorgeous scents in unison as they enter the shop fully and feel themselves relax on the exhale. Newt watches from behind the desk, pausing in his task of writing on a customer’s card in his elegant script. Madame Tracy beams at them as she enters from the back room.

“Oh, good afternoon lovelies! It’s so wonderful to see you both,” she smiles, kissing each of them on the cheeks in posh greeting. “I’d hug you but as you can see I am absolutely filthy”.

Nina huffs a short laugh as Maggie shakes her head and brings Tracy into a strong hug. “I can just shower later,” she states as she pulls back, with dirt already smeared on her arms and chest.

A dramatic gasp is heard from the back room followed by a blur of Anathema dashing toward them and crashing into both at once with a hug, not caring in the slightest about spreading dirt all over them and their clothes.

“I had a feeling you’d be coming and when I heard Maggie I knew it,” she laughs as she pulls back.

“Sure you did,” Nina replies, teasing lightly.

“Well you’re here, aren’t you?” she laughs again. “Can I get you ladies anything? You look worse than when I saw you last, which was not long ago”.

They decline kindly, following Ana to the back room while Tracy helps Newt move some large pots around. “It’s been a long week,” Nina starts.

“How is he?” Ana asks softly. They sit down at a forest green outdoor table set opposite her and feel all their muscles thank them.

“You might as well ask how both of them are, honestly,” Maggie sighs defeated and Ana nods sadly.

“Crowley’s not much different. Aziraphale’s been keeping you in the loop still, yeah?”

“Not a lot these last 2 or 3 days, no… but I suspected he was quiet because he’s stuck inside his own head trying to fix everything, right?”

“Pretty much… after he couldn’t rouse him I think it all kind of caught up with Aziraphale, you know? Like he’d been keeping it together and channelling strength this whole time and now he didn’t have to hide his weary eyes from Crowley… and I think now he just feels hopeless. For a while, it was more concerning to see him so aggressively reaching for solutions of any kind. He was going to contact Hell, Ana. But now, I think he’s just exhausted. He’s exhausted himself and he doesn’t know how to handle it”.

They’re silent for a while as they simply share the moment and Ana takes in the information. “I really wish I could be there, do more to help,” she eventually says quietly.

“Oh… you needn’t feel bad… you’re working hard enough and I think just you being available to talk it through with him -or us- is exactly what is needed more than you know,” Nina replies as she reaches to rest her hand atop Ana’s folded arms.

Ana smiles and sniffles, feeling the pain radiating from them both and finding it hard to calm her own emotions at the thought of her closest friends suffering. Ana had been close with Aziraphale and Crowley for so long that she couldn’t even remember how she met them. And Maggie would come into the shop often to buy flowers for her date, Nina, and eventually they found out they knew Az and Crow… it became a package deal to hang out with any of them from then on.

“Would you like to get drinks?” Ana asks after a minute. She’s met with enthusiasm.

They end up at the local pub and enjoy themselves for over an hour, drinking and catching up, putting their minds onto other things.

As the sun starts to sink to the horizon, the group decide to get ready to pack up and part ways for the night. Nina excuses herself to the bathroom before they leave and as she’s drying her hands, Aziraphale calls. She answers on the first ring and he sounds, frankly, manic.

“Woah, slow down, Az,” she has to interrupt, “we’re on our way back now. What’ve you done, what is it?”

He rushes out the explanation again about some plan he has and something he’s discovered and Nina has to pinch her nose and close her eyes to stave off interrupting him again. They’ll figure it out when they get there and can talk properly.

He hangs up as soon as she says they’re leaving the pub, before she can say goodbye. Sometimes she wonders if anyone else gets whiplash from those two.

“Az called; we’ve got to get back. He was going nuts over something he thinks he’s discovered and wants to try it out right this second but needs our help”.

“Yeah, okay, better get there before he does anything ridiculous,” Ana says with another big hug to them both.

They quickly bid their goodbyes with promises to keep Ana updated and not to let Az burn the bookshop down (again) or anything like that.

It’s a short drive back and they soon pull into to the uncharacteristically quiet street. With snow forecast, winter was starting early and nobody was willing to face the cold night.

They dash through the bookshop’s doors and find Aziraphale pacing between his desk and where Crowley was sleeping. “Hey, Az… run it by us again. What’s the plan?” Nina says as her and Maggie sit themselves by Crowley’s feet. He’s gained another blanket in their absence.

“I think… I think- and hear me out here- there’s one thing we’re missing. We’ve been missing something this whole time, you see, and it’s been really playing on my mind. It’s difficult, but I think I have almost -almost!- figured it out”. He stops his pacing and sets his glasses down, wiping his face roughly. When he finally turns to face the girls, his eyes are redder than this morning.

“Mr. Fell, what’s the problem?” Maggie pries. Aziraphale slumps into his chair and replaces his glasses on his nose.

“It’s not that there’s a problem, per se. It’s all quite achievable. I just don’t know if he can handle it. I mean, say this works and he wakes up and is miraculously cured…” he sighs, ”I’m concerned he will still feel the effects catch up to him and will be really quite unwell- not from the curse but from the procedure I’m looking at. I don’t want to hurt him, I don’t think I could bear it and he definitely does not deserve any additional suffering…”

“What’s the alternative? He stays like this, basically in a coma? Maybe wakes up but is plagued with all the pain and suffering he’s dealt with during this godforsaken curse?” Nina huffs.

Maggie agrees, “if we have the option to fix it, we should take that chance. Maybe it’ll hurt, but he’s hurting anyway, Mr. Fell”.

“I’m worried there’s another way, we’re yet to find…”

“I’m sorry but we have each spent weeks pouring over anything that could possibly help him heal from this and haven’t been the slightest bit successful. How can you worry that there’s anything left to find? You said it yourself… we were missing something and you’ve found it, yes?”

Aziraphale nods, chewing his lip and staring at Crowley’s sleeping face. He looks almost peaceful in the moment with the warm lamp lights allowing his long eyelashes to cast shadows on his rosy cheeks, soft blankets tucked up to his chin.

“No, you’re right… You’re right. Come, let me show you what I’ve found…”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale leads them over to his messy workstation and sits on his chair with a sigh.

“I’ve been going back over our notes to make sense of what we captured in the memories,” he begins slowly, watching them both carefully as he does. “Come round, look at this”. He gestures them around to his side of the desk and they look over his shoulder curiously to see the scribbles on multiple pages in front of him. “There’s this one that keeps tugging at me and I think I’ve managed to understand it now”.

He then picks up the memory ring from where it was nested carefully in a small box beside the stack of mess on the desk. With a click, he engulfs them in one chosen memory that he had been analysing deeper. It’s the moment in Eden after Furfur had stirred trouble for Crowley and Hastur had taken it into his hands to torture him. Crowley, alone and beaten in the depths of Hell, where Hastur paid one last intimidating visit.

…“There will come a day, Crawly, where you will be forced to learn the consequences Hell can and will enforce upon you. And only one thing, an impossible thing, will be able to save you. Their [Adam and Eve’s] connection surpasses anything our kinds have ever experienced. Hence the fact that one day, you will need a connection that matches theirs; that will be the key”…

When it passes, they watch intently as he shuffles the pages out of the way to get to an old black book that’s about as thick as a Stephen King novel. He opens to a folded page and allows them a moment to read its contents.

The book is titled “Biblical Prophecies of Prosper and Perish: 1905 Edition”. It’s evidently a book that humanity would not understand.

Angels below leadership status (leaders like Gabriel, Uriel, Saraqael and so on) have a strictly limited knowledge of details of the Great Plan, so there are books like this that Aziraphale owns which describe just snippets of things the angels were able to understand. Their open page of this book is based on a snippet of the Great Plan that Aziraphale had found himself analysing. The highlighted section in particular reads:

‘and one of these lesser used prophecies recorded by angels still requires some further investigation. In simplified terms, it reads, “And When Feathers Of The High And The Low Converge In The Middle, Only Then Will The Curse Be Lifted From The Low”.’

The exact quote Hastur had ended his threat with before disappearing, within that memory.

The book goes on to describe speculation that this describes the curse of Lucifer being damned to Hell, and potential forgiveness by God and the angels, but the book also ponders whether this riddle of sorts could be about a completely different curse set to change the future of the world. Aziraphale ignores these ideas, for this quote now hits home without the need for speculation.

“Do you recall when we captured the moment Crowley was attacked, and he connected his memory of those who were there to Hastur, Ligur and Pestilence?” Aziraphale asks. Nina and Maggie are a little bit confused at where all of this is going, but nod in recollection of Crowley’s feverish dreams and how long afterwards he’d spent repeatedly murmuring, “it’s Pestilence, Angel, it was Pestilence who did this”.

Aziraphale continues. “It’s all been set up by them. It’s a callback. Hastur has wanted Crowley to lose, forever, and now he’s found a way to get Pestilence on his side. Maybe through a deal, I don’t know. Point is they’ve made this curse and they want Crowley to suffer so horribly… and they think there’s no way we can put a stop to it but I think we can. I think we can save him. Because I’ve been focusing on what Hastur said about the key to the curse and the part about a proper “connection” and how it relates to that quote…”

“So, Adam and Eve’s connection. A relationship. A romantic connection. Aziraphale, he has that with you,” Maggie tries, gesturing with both hands as she processes what he’s saying.

“Exactly”.

“It’s your connection. You’re the key, oh my God.” She has to sit down. Nina joins her, equally shocked.

It’s poetic bordering on gross but it really makes sense, and it’s the flicker of the flame of hope coming back to life. This could work… it might just work…

“We always assumed it would mean the Damned would be lifted back to Heaven. They would return to full angelic status, if you will. But no. No, no, no… it’s not!”

“The high and the low…” Maggie starts, realisation dawning.

“Angel and demon…” Nina finishes.

“I have a plan,” Aziraphale adds. “Feathers of the high and the low converging in the middle, I guess”.

“So, what, you’re just going to put your wings together or something?”

Aziraphale pauses, smile fading a little. “No, Nina, it’s not that simple. When I figured out that it was all connected and that the answers were right there, and it meant that Crowley and I were the focus… it made me fearful. You see, there’s an outdated process that angels would go through to move up (or down) ranks- this was before Earth and the Fall. It was abolished, and rightfully so”.

He takes a shaky breath and Nina leans forward on her seat, gently asking, “this process… it’s what needs to be done to help Crowley?”

“We’ve each tried countless other ideas and processes. I fear this one makes the most sense, and may be our last shot”.

“How bad is it?”

“It’s… quite a painful process. There would be three angels in the room- one archangel for supervision, one angel as an assistant and one angel there with the intention to move ranks. It was initiated by the archangel commanding the assistant, however “assistant” is being kind. They were essentially slaves. They’d be commanded to pluck a feather from their left wing, but not any feather. It had to be the newest, youngest feather there. Now, newly grown feathers were extra sensitive and deeply rooted into the wing, so plucking one took strength and awful pain, but it only lasted a moment. The worst part was yet to come for the other angel. The angel who had earned a promotion or demotion would have to pluck the same type of feather from their right wing, but do so at an incredibly slow pace. If they did it any faster it could cause a spark. Young feathers hold a lot of power and the reason the assistant angel must remove theirs first is because the changing angel’s feather is then electrified”.

“Hold up, what about demons? Would it be different for Crowley if we recreated this process?” Nina asks.

“Not at all. The concept of wings and power is still the same, it just comes from a different place in different ways, meaning Heaven and Hell. But it’s the same at its heart. So, in order for an angel to change rank, or in our case for Crowley to change control from curse back to himself… this is it. And as I was saying, the presence of one young freshly-plucked feather and the removal of another angel’s young feather causes a chemical reaction that electrifies it. If removed too fast it would injure both angels in a small blast. So everything has to be extremely carefully done and then once both are plucked, they are placed millimetres apart which will cause them to miraculously conjoin. They will burn up and with them, the old grace. Or the curse, I’m predicting”.

“Mr. Fell, what do we need to do?” Maggie questions, eager to get the ball rolling now that they finally have something they can try in order to help, having been increasingly desperate to stop feeling helpless.

“I’m not sure if he’s in a state to be taking this pain…”

“Maybe not. But we have to try something. You said it yourself: Hastur wants him suffering. Maybe he wanted him weak and drained to hurt him himself, or maybe he thought it would kill him. We don’t know-“

“No demon nor angel can enter this bookshop. He’s safe here,” Aziraphale interrupts.

“That’s good, yeah. But what if he tries? Or what if he finds that Crowley is suffering this badly, just like he’d envisioned. He wins, right?”

There’s tension in the air suddenly. It’s all been coming to this and they’re all scared. Aziraphale especially.

They wander into the rest of the bookshop to sit by Crowley. His sweat-lined brows are knitted together in a pained grimace, and he’s breathing heavy.

“He may be in a coma but he’s in pain, constantly. We can’t leave him to suffer like this any longer,” Nina says calmly.

“I think we should look at starting the procedure then,” he breathes out a sigh, lost eyes not moving from Crowley’s pale face amongst the blankets.

“Yeah,” Maggie replies. There’s hesitation in her voice.

They begin setting up to help Crowley be comfortable in the lead up to pain. In an attempt to get ahead, they apply an oxygen mask to cover his mouth and nose and tuck him into the soft blankets. Maggie dabs at his forehead with a cool, damp cloth as they wait for Aziraphale to start.

First, he needs to get to Crowley’s mind just enough to allow him to pry Crowley’s wings out of the plane and into physical wings.

He takes Crowley’s right hand in both of his and closes his eyes. All is still and silent in the room as he does.

Chapter Text

Crowley chokes back a sob when he rounds the corner and sees it.

The night is dark, so dark that he cannot make out anything at all, not even a distant star in the sky. Despite the near-nonexistent visibility, he picks up his pace to an almost sprint towards the only light in the town. The whole time he repeats a single sentence in his mind over and over and over again.

His thoughts border on a prayer, so loud he swears he can physically hear them…. ‘Don’t let it be fire, don’t let it be fire, don’t let it be fire, oh please don’t let it be fire’…

He trips and falls again and again but powers forward until he’s down crawling, sweating and panting in front of a wall of flames. The whole building is on the verge of collapse but he can’t just sit there and watch when he can hear a baby crying from just inside those front doors. He climbs to stand on shaking legs and marches to the entry with renewed strength, slams the doors open and— he is thrown backwards. An explosion rocks his whole being which sends him sprawling onto the hot pavement outside again.

“No!” he cries out but pushes to stand again. He stumbles back up the steps and through the entry searching for the baby which he can still hear screaming so close but so hard to find. “I’m coming, I swear to you I will find you,” he calls breathlessly, growing frantic as the smoke clogs his throat and sears pain into his eyes. It throws him off for a moment when he is reminded of the Fall and he loses his balance again, crashing roughly into a bookshelf.

A whimper escapes him and he stares at the old books now scattered among the ashes in the room and realises with a sick twist in his stomach that he recognises those books. They’re the rarest ones Aziraphale has ever owned, so there is no way a random building has them on a dusty bookshelf…

He scrambles backwards in horror and crashes into another bookshelf causing an avalanche of books to fall around him into the ashes. He can’t breathe. It’s more than the smoke and the dust and the ash being stirred up; it’s a deep rooted panic clawing at his mind and body from within and he chokes on it. He really can’t breathe.

The crying has long since stopped and has been replaced by his own raspy voice, crying out in agony on every exhale. He watches the dust settle and wheezes as his eyes finally spot a figure curled up in the far corner of the room. He drags his uncooperative body to the figure and finds a man covered in soot and timber as he sits crushed under bits of the collapsing building. The man holds a pile of blankets and Crowley chokes anew when he unfolds it to find nothing but dirt… and a pacifier. It doesn’t make sense - nothing makes sense but he can’t stop the icy fear holding him in place, leaves him simply staring.

He takes in the man’s appearance and he figures he shouldn’t be as horrified and surprised to see his angel in his place. That pushes him over the edge and he’s scrambling to get out of the building but his legs won’t work like they should. The overstimulating cacophony of sounds surrounding him force him forward, breath by breath, hands clawing at the ground yet somehow making quick progress. The sounds begin to turn eerily quiet and he realises he’s hearing a loud creaking sound over everything else. He doesn’t want to look up - knows what he’ll see. But he does.

The building collapses around him.

He flinches at every crash and feels himself giving up. No one will save him now. And why should they? And why should he want to be saved, anyway?

***~~~***~~~***

Aziraphale blinks slowly as the environment comes into focus. He tests his balance and shakes out his limbs, feeling floaty and disconnected. It’s gross. He hates it.

He’s tried this before- a long, long time ago before the Fall. He’s always hated it and not just the discomfort and disorientation it brings, no, he hates it because it feels wrong. Morally and existentially.

He forces himself to release a tense breath and get a move on. He walks among a darkness which feels like a void and he hopes for something -anything- to centre his focus on to find Crowley. It won’t be easy but if he can just get through to him a tiny amount, he can help Crowley loosen his wings into reality. He feels blindly with his hands along a wall and follows it to a corner. He rounds the corner and he sees it. Fire.

“Of course it has to be fire, of all things,” he whispers in dismay. He creeps through the darkness heading towards the orange glow carefully, growing more anxious with each step. The roaring grows louder in his ears as he nears the burning building and he squints desperately to try and make out the structure through the haze of flames and smoke. It’s blurry round the edges and looks like a half-finished painting. He thinks it could resemble his bookshop but it’s too subtle to be understood.

He makes it up the first step before he is forced backwards a few paces by a strong gust of hot wind, followed by crashing and a massive cloud of smoke hitting him. It takes a few moments for it to settle but Aziraphale is already pushing through the debris when he hears a hoarse voice - definitely Crowley’s. He finally finds him a shaking wreck huddled in the centre of it unharmed, physically at least. He’s murmuring nonsense and Aziraphale knows he won’t be able to get through to him in this state, especially since he knows that it feels impossible to get through to someone when within their mind in the best of times. Aziraphale doesn’t move immediately though, just stares as his own emotions wash over him for a moment. Everything blurs in front of him and he blinks through the tears that have started to form.

“Crowley,” he breathes, voice breaking on the second syllable.

He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed him until now, even watching him tremble in the darkness of his ill mind’s tricks and nightmares. But it is him, right there with him… His Crowley, awake and unharmed in this place.

He shakes off the shock of it and moves on autopilot to his side, taking one of his arms and slinging it over his shoulders, hauling Crowley to his feet. Crowley just stares at the ground, watching his feet as if he cannot fathom the idea that he is able to move right now. Aziraphale figures he would be taken aback himself if a mysterious presence suddenly started guiding him around an unfamiliar place. Once out, they sit together on the bottom step by the dark street and breathe for a moment. Crowley -very slowly- comes back to himself and looks around the street. A light is climbing over the horizon like a sunrise, bathing the street in a warm glow. The street is empty, however, so it leaves an uncertain and nervous pit in the stomach.

When the endless sky has made it to its blue hue, Aziraphale attempts to reach out. It consists of a word or two, spoken softly but surely. He pushes his words into Crowley’s direction like he is forcing his words into the demon’s mind. Several tries later and he starts to grow anxious that this will never work. Crowley just stares into the street’s shops’ windows in silence with no sign of recognising his presence there with him. Though Aziraphale won’t give up on him, ever.

Finally, something changes and Crowley stiffens, flicking his eyes in Aziraphale’s direction. Azriaphale freezes and holds his breath a moment before reaching again. He whispers, a little louder this time, “I’m here, darling,” and watches the fog of his breath blow into the frigid air, like tendrils winding their way into Crowley’s ears. Crowley blinks once, twice, three times in silence before shooting forward and tackling Aziraphale with his whole body into an aggressive hug. Aziraphale laughs, startled, and finds himself tearing up again. “Hello, Crowley, my dear”…

***~~~***~~~***

Crowley feels Aziraphale laugh more than hears it. There’s a rushing in his ears that matches his rapid heartbeat and he can barely manage to pry himself off of the angel. “H-hello,” he croaks, looking at Aziraphale with so much disbelief and adoration he might actually explode.

He’s seen Aziraphale in most of his dreams and thought of him while he drifts, even heard him during the flickers of reality that he chases to no avail. But this is different, he knows. This is real, completely and utterly real right now. He reaches a shaking hand out and pokes him, to be sure. Aziraphale huffs a laugh again, tears readily flowing now, and Crowley melts. He brings his hands up to Aziraphale’s cheeks and holds his face, catches the tears while he stares at him, taking every centimetre of him in.

After a long moment, he drops his hands to his lap. “You shouldn’t have come,” he sighs, forcing himself to look away.

“What- I’m sorry, what on Earth are you talking about?” Aziraphale scoffs, wiping his wet cheeks.

Crowley looks to his hands in his lap and fiddles with the bottom of his coat. “You shouldn’t be in my mind, Angel. It’s horrible for you. Trust me, I remember. Plus, you can’t pull me out- you know that. And it’s not safe here”. He’s right- while Crowley stays unharmed by the things his ill mind conjures up, Aziraphale is unprotected here.

“I know that. Which is why I haven’t come through before now… but Crowley, dear, I need you to listen to me and then I will leave, I promise. I need you to do one thing for me. Allow me to help you, please. You have no idea how unbearable it has been these last weeks,” he wipes fresh tears away and pauses to breathe through his emotions. “I don’t want you to get hurt, I know me being here is going to cause you more nightmares… but honestly? You’ve been going through much worse as of late, and I have to try and fix this. I can bring you back, darling, just let me try…”

Crowley watches him. He’s crying now, full body sobs that make it irresistible to pull his angel close. “Angel, I— I don’t know what to do, I’m sorry. I’ve been trying, I swear I’ve been trying! I can’t help, I’m so sorry…” He starts crying too. He wants to stay like this forever in this moment, wants Aziraphale to distract him from the pain and the fear that claws its way into his awareness at every chance it gets. But more importantly, he wants to wake up and hold his angel and Nina and Maggie and Ana, Satan, he’ll hug everyone in the bloody street at this point.

And Aziraphale knows that he can’t stay long and will lose Crowley’s attention soon. “Just one thing I need you to do, darling. Just one thing. Allow me this,” he whispers.

Crowley nods, sniffs and stands up. “What do I do?”

Aziraphale doesn’t provide the explanation, there’s not enough time. Straight to the point, he asks for his wings. All Crowley has to do is relax them, and allow them to fall back into the Earthly plane. It’s not an easy task from here but if he knows one thing, it’s that Crowley will never give up on him.

Crowley looks at his angel for a long moment, revelling in his presence while he can. He knows that as soon as he squeezes his eyes shut and puts all of his focus on allowing his wings to move, it’ll drain his strength. But worse, he knows that he won’t have Aziraphale’s presence anymore. He’s astonished that Aziraphale could reach out to him like this in the first place and hold it for this long.

Eventually, he has to wipe his own tears and look away. It’s completely silent this time and he forces his eyes closed tightly. He pushes his thoughts to the edges of his mind and feels out for his essence. It feels so far away and out of reach but he pushes further, so far that he can just brush it. Like an electric shock, his wings jolt back from him and are sent away, pushed into reality. His knees hit the ground and his eyes fly open once more. He looks around desperately, despite knowing Aziraphale is gone, and feels his shoulders sag when he is only met with the world fading into the illimitable vastness of space and its stars surrounding him once more.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale cries out as his mind is forcibly shoved back into reality. “ Crowley! ” Tears already start to fall down his cheeks.

Maggie hushes him and pulls him close for a moment while he catches his breath and regains control. Suddenly there’s a crash as an IV pole stand is knocked over, startling the group seated on the edge of the bed. Nina is quick to help support Maggie when she is almost knocked off of the bed by a blur of feathers.

“Holy shit! Is that—“ Nina cries, taking in the huge black wing now curling instinctively into Crowley’s side. Aziraphale, a little shocked himself, turns to the girls in time to see both faces go paler than a ghost as they stare at the bed in mixtures of wonder and barely-contained horror.

He draws in a deep breath. Humans always take quite some time to wrap their minds around this sort of thing, even if they have been introduced to their “world” for a while now. “Please don’t be alarmed. I’m sorry- I know your first instinct is to be afraid but I promise you that there is not a thing to concern yourselves over, my dears”.

“Did you just give us a Be Not Afraid spiel…”

“Um, I suppose I did. A little butter upon bacon I’ll admit. Are you alright, though?”

“Just… taking it in, s’all”. Aziraphale follows their gaze and stares with them at pristine charcoal feathers fallen to rest beside Crowley’s settled form. The blankets had been blown aside by the wings blasting into reality, replacing the blankets by themselves.

Aziraphale returns to Crowley’s side and gently runs his cold hand down Crowley’s left wing, smiling softly as it instinctively relaxes beneath his fingers as they comb through the tight feathers. He doesn’t want to take the next steps; would much rather sit by his side and hum his favourite tunes while he soothes his love’s feathers.

Crowley whimpers extremely quietly, coughing a couple of times in his sleep. It’s just enough in that moment to push Aziraphale onwards. He squeezes his eyes closed and brings forth his own wings, much more gentle in their emergence, and simultaneously tucks them close to his sides as much as they will allow.

Nina and Maggie just about choke on air.

In one swift movement, Aziraphale takes a short white feather between his thumb and forefinger and he pulls.

The sound is sudden and loud and grating. It only takes a second but the pain is so intense in that moment that his vision whites out and he has to curl in on himself. He mentally shoves his wings back away from reality. Sounds continue as Aziraphale clenches his jaw extremely hard. It’s too loud and he wants it to stop and he’s about to scream at it when he realise he’s already crying, and that the sound is him whining through gritted teeth.

He takes a short, shaky breath and blinks through watering eyes. His next few breaths each come quicker and shakier than the last until he’s sure he’s falling off of the bed until Nina and Maggie are there, holding him up and talking to him.

Knowing how to stay calm is one thing but trying to climb down from sudden panic is a completely different kettle of fish. He listens and he learns to breathe again.

A minute or two passes and he glances down at the pristine feather held tightly in his clammy hands. “I can’t do it. I can’t do this to him, I just can’t,” he mutters in a broken voice.

“We’re right here, it’s going to be alright…” Maggie murmurs, not entirely convinced herself, but keeping up.

“We can’t know that. We cannot be sure it will help at all, and could be useless. Honestly, we cannot be sure that this won’t make the whole situation worse,” he continues. He moves to lower himself down beside Crowley in bed and curls into his overly-warm side, burying his face into a much cooler wing. He inhales very slowly before speaking again. “Just… give us a moment. I just want to hold him before we do anything else. Then… well, we know what to do”.

“Of course. Sing out when you’re ready. Take all the time you need,” Nina says softly, professional yet familial. They head upstairs for the time being. Then Aziraphale and Crowley are alone again in the quiet of the bookshop.

Chapter Text

Then

As Gabriel forced Aziraphale to hold still with his too-harsh grip on both shoulders, agony poured into him like a gushing tap. It was always Gabriel taking part in these kinds of things.

The pain crescendoed for a long moment before it began to peter out at a terribly slow pace. Through gritted teeth, he panted, the sound of his ragged breathing echoing in the otherwise silent room. Every tense muscle and stretch of skin ached intensely, and he felt his head throb in time with his fast pulse. Sweat that had built up on his brow began to seep into his eyes. His eyes stung stronger with unshed tears, and he strained to keep his sore eyes open to stare at the trembling figure across the room. A tear snuck its way free and slid down his hot cheek while he inhaled determinedly.

Not breaking his gaze, he struggled to stand on aching, weak legs. He held strong and refused to stumble despite the lingering pain soaring through his entire being. He didn't dare look in Gabriel's direction when he heard his tormenting voice speak up for the first time in a good few minutes.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel addressed him anew, “you now stand before me a principality. You know your responsibilities and we expect you to conduct yourself in a manner appropriate to your new standing. Well done, you may rest now. We shall call on you in some time”. With that, Gabriel smiled in a way that showed all of his white teeth like a predator giving a warning snarl, and then he left, slamming the door behind him.

The figure in the corner flinched at the sound, curling pristine wings tighter against himself so that only red curls could be seen behind them. “Hey…” the principality whispered as he took a small step forward on his still weak legs. “It’s just us now. It’s over, my dear fellow”.

Teary golden-brown eyes peaked out to watch as he got closer and sat down in front of him on the cold floor. All Aziraphale had to do was open his arms and the other angel leaned into him, letting himself be held. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered into Aziraphale’s shoulder where he buried his face.

A quiet sob escaped before he could stop it and he held his trembling friend tighter. Aziraphale was too used to seeing him be the strong one who was always in control. The one who could convince anyone anything and evidently had the confidence and courage of a lion. Seeing him crumble hurt more than he could have imagined. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I’m so, so sorry”.

“Don’t apologise… You couldn’t have known it’d be me. And I don’t blame you. And I’m alright, I promise”.

Aziraphale inhaled shakily, “no angel should have to suffer through that at the benefit of another. I’m so sorry”.

His friend shushed him and wrapped his own wings around the pair. Aziraphale instinctively reached to comb his fingers through the closest clump of feathers. They sat like that until both finally stopped trembling and the pain was nothing more than a bad memory. After a while of quiet comfort, Aziraphale sighed and helped his friend to his feet and then they moved together towards the door. “Will I see you again?” asked the angel with red curly hair and golden-brown eyes, and a shy smile.

“Of course. We’re friends, are we not?”

“Certainly,” he smiled, usual character returning, and slowly turned to leave the cold, eerie room. Aziraphale watched him go. Guilt still tugged angrily at his heart, not just for being the cause of the angel’s painful procedure, but also for the odd desire to run.

To run would mean to put this behind him. It would also mean to be far from this strange yet alluring angel he considered a friend yet they kept meeting on odd occasions. He wasn’t like the other angels, and it scared Aziraphale. In fact, Aziraphale was more scared for this angel who so easily made criticisms of the Almighty; who smiled in the face of Archangels’ punishments; who was so creative and intelligent… but so... stupid. Aziraphale wanted to run as far from that as possible.

But he couldn’t. There was nowhere to go. Obviously. And part of him couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing the angel again.

Perhaps he wouldn’t need to worry much longer anyway… As it turns out, there was a pivotal war on the way in Heaven.

Chapter Text

Now

“You hold there and I’ll hold… here. Oh, this is so much harder to manoeuvre without his assistance,” Aziraphale says shakily. He shuffles his body to sit further down the bed next to Crowley, holding the edge of his right wing to spread it out wide. He ever so gently combs his fingers through the few tertial feathers, closely examining them. He quickly finds the newest one, 2nd from the edge, and pinches it between his fingers.

He takes a couple of deep breaths to steady his hands as he glances at the rest of the wing, checking there are no newer feathers. He knew Crowley had recently -painfully- lost a tertial so he was most sure that he would find the youngest feather there. Satisfied that he has the right feather, he returns his attention to the small black feather gripped in his fingers.

Turning to Maggie who holds Crowley’s right shoulder, he nods slightly in reassurance before turning to Nina and repeating the motion while forcing a small smile. Nina returns the sentiment but her creased brows give away her concern and anxieties.

“It’ll be over before you know it. He’s still completely unconscious; won’t even know what’s happened,” Maggie attempts to convince them with an overly cheery expression. The anxiety is almost as obvious in her eyes, too.

Aziraphale takes another steadying breath and squeezes his eyes tightly closed. Then he begins to pull. He goes so slowly that it’s almost imperceptible, separating the feather millimetre by millimetre. A sound so quiet at first begins stirring in the room, and nobody notices with their breaths held and all attention on Aziraphale’s movements. The sound builds quickly until it’s a noticeable throaty growl and Aziraphale peeks open his eyes, still moving the feather slowly, to peer down at Crowley.

The others haven’t noticed a change in Crowley, but Aziraphale can see it, he knows him. The most minuscule creases at the edges of his eyes, the slightest tightening of his lips, the way he hasn’t taken a breath since Aziraphale looked at him… Aziraphale pauses.

“What’s wrong?” Nina whispers timidly, tension in the room thicker than anything she’s felt before.

The low growl fades into a very quiet whine and then they are met with silence again. Aziraphale watches Crowley’s chest rise and fall normally once more.

“He’s feeling it,” Aziraphale whispers, feeling something between despair and horror at the development. “He’s feeling it,” he repeats a little louder. The three of them stare down at Crowley feeling completely uncertain. Aziraphale, however, seems to recover quickly and resumes plucking the feather with the same precision and slowness. Nina narrowly avoids flinching and grabbing Aziraphale’s arm, instead letting out a gasp and questioning, “wait, what the hell are you doing that for? He is in pain-“

“I know. I do, but we need to do this. We need to fix this and we can’t just stop now. There is no other way, I need to help him now. I need to do this so he can rest again. So he can be alright…” Aziraphale attempts to answer their unsaid questions, then closes his eyes and pulls a little more. It’s seemingly taking forever to do, but they trust he knows what he’s doing, and watch like hawks in incredibly tense silence.

Approximately 5 seconds in and Crowley starts making noise again, this time in the form of quiet wheezing in his breaths that gradually get louder until it sounds as if one could hear him breathing upstairs. Luckily there’s no roughness or struggling to it, it’s just sound. Aziraphale squeezes his eyes shut tighter and keeps pulling.

60 seconds later and there’s an audible crackle like a tiny version of lightning striking ground. Aziraphale immediately uses his free hand to press a palm to the completely still wing next to him and mentally shoves the black wings away from the physical plane.

Crowley shudders and begins to quiet down, face twitching slightly like he is having a bad dream. Aziraphale practically shoves the feather into Maggie’s hands and gathers up his demon into his arms. He holds him like this for a few minutes until his own breathing calms and the tears he’d felt fall begin to dry. There’s silence as he eventually tucks Crowley into the blankets and stands, brushing himself off and building his internal walls back up.

“Ahem. Okay,” he starts, ”those feathers can’t get anywhere close just yet. Needs to cool momentarily. Please, pass me that one”. Nina hands him the small white feather and leaves to fetch the three of them some tea, noticing her hands are shaking. Aziraphale turns to Maggie, noting the slight tremble she has as well, and takes the little black feather into his other hand. They take a moment to just breathe and watch as the black feather shines with a glow that doesn’t exactly pass as gold but doesn’t have anything closer to be compared to.

Nina returns and sets their drinks on the coffee table, then comes to sit next to Maggie who has moved next to Aziraphale on the edge of the bed. Aziraphale watches intently as the glow fades to a barely visible shimmer and brings the two feathers together, careful not to let them touch. It emits a buzzing sound that is more similar to a hive of bees than electricity and it starts glowing again, this time even brighter and an orange hue to it. Aziraphale lets go of the feathers and they stay suspended in the air, almost touching and starting to vibrate. They each hold their breaths again and watch in amazement as the two feathers drift closer to each other until they practically melt into one. They merge into a dark shade of grey which is in a stone shape. The orange glow continues around the shape and obscures it from view to look like it is on fire. A minute later and the shape is gone, the glow fades to nothing and they are all left in sudden silence.

“Did we do it?” Maggie starts a few long moments later.

“The process was done, now we just have to wait, I presume,” Aziraphale replies as he sits staring at the space the feathers had been moments ago. Nina wordlessly hands them their mugs of hot tea. Aziraphale takes a small sip before handing it back with quiet thanks and moving in beside Crowley on the bed. He swiftly gets under the covers and curls into his love’s side. The other two take the hint and leave them alone.

Aziraphale stays still as a statue until he hears the shower water start running and feels his walls crashing down. He mentally slips and falls, sobbing into the pillow as he holds Crowley tight to his body, leaving no gaps between them.

Crowley lies unmoving for the rest of the time that Aziraphale can manage to stay awake, so he lets himself drift off into a sleep that is neither peaceful nor the least bit restful.

The night goes on, same as every other night lately. There’s no way to know if the curse has been broken or anything. He’ll just be waiting. Waiting. Sleeping. Dreaming. Waiting. Waiting. Wait—

What.

“Wait, what?” he thinks hazily.

Something’s changed. He can feel it. But is it good? It doesn’t necessarily seem… bad. But he might just be dreaming.

He ignores it and falls further into a restless sleep.

Chapter Text

The first thing he notices is a searing heat in his shoulder, a bubbling, blistering agony that quickly takes over.

The second thing he notices is a sound. Where that sound is coming from is completely unknown to him and he struggles to focus his attention on it, what with the pain shooting through his shoulder and into the rest of his being. The third thing he notices is the smell of… salt? It’s an odd scent to notice in the current situation but he cannot help but focus purely on the salty air wafting through his nostrils. He starts to imagine a beach.

Easily he drifts into a peaceful dream where the expanding pain is nonexistent and the unnerving sounds don’t reach. Instead he’s lying alone on a beach somewhere distantly familiar as the sun sets behind him. It’s not long before the warmth that the sun had kindly provided fades away, and he finds himself missing it. He shivers, goes to wrap his arms around his legs and finds he’s in snake form. Confused at this development, he slowly opens his eyes.

The beach disappears. The sand is replaced by satin sheets and the harsh sounds have long since vanished. The starry sky fresh after a sunset is replaced by a dark ceiling and a couple of chandeliers empty of light. He shivers again, struggling to make his muscles work.

A dull ache pulses in his temples and he closes his eyes once more, in time for the cold chill to be replaced by a warm body pressing into his side. It fits perfectly. It feels just right like it has always been there. He reopens his eyes.

Aziraphale. His angel lies fast asleep curled into his side with dried tear tracks on his cheeks. Ah, the salty smell. Careful not to wake him, Crowley slowly manages to shuffle his way up to the bedhead. He leans forward feeling momentarily drained and rests his face in his sweating palms. He doesn’t move when Aziraphale stirs awake but feels himself relax and a small smile creep onto his face.

***~~~***~~~***

The first rays of morning sunlight seep into the room from the edges of the windows. Aziraphale shifts his aching body just enough to hide his face in the shadow of Crowley’s gorgeous body. It takes all of 2 seconds for him to realise how out of place that is, his eyes flying open and looking straight into perfect, beautiful, gorgeous, golden eyes.

“Crowley,” the word falls from his lips in a weak whisper. He’s frozen in place as he refuses to break the eye contact, not breathing nor blinking.

“Hey, Angel,” Crowley whispers back, voice cracking from lack of use, and Aziraphale blinks.

“Hello dear—“ he breaks off as emotion floods into his words and he nearly chokes. Crowley frowns a little, his angel’s face a painting of too many emotions to decipher right now, and then only just manages to catch Aziraphale as he practically launches himself into him. Aziraphale clutches him, barely holding back sobs as he squeezes him against his chest tightly.

“…Angel?” Crowley mutters after a few moments. “You, uh, you alright?”

Aziraphale sniffs and leans back with a forced smile on his face. “I am. Well, you see, I’m better than alright,” he sighs. “More importantly, how are you feeling? Oh, dear, I’ve been negligent. Tell me, are you in any pain, what do you remember, any dizziness, any auras, are you feeling sick, how’s your head?”

“Angel, I’m okay. Honestly, I feel okay,” Crowley says in a way that suggests he wants to roll his eyes. He’s pretty dazed and the crippling exhaustion he’s starting to feel isn’t helping. Aziraphale gets to his feet to continue fussing but -luckily for Crowley- Maggie walks in at that moment.

The tiredness in her face instantly disappears the second that she sees them. She fumbles for the nearest bookshelf to sit her coffee mug on then dashes toward them, almost completely tripping over the IV pole (for the fifth time this week) in her haste. Nina emerges and mirrors Maggie’s actions and within seconds they’re both at a very surprised Crowley’s bedside.

Maggie gently pokes him on the shoulder while Nina sort of waves her hands around in the air in front of her in bewilderment. “I- but- oh wow- h-hi, oh my God,” Nina manages. A small shy smile slips onto Crowley’s lips as he watches them in bewilderment.

“So it worked?” Maggie turns to Aziraphale after a second.

“It certainly seems to have,” he replies, wringing his hands together.

“How is he, do you know? We need to check him over of course. Has he said anything about, well, anything?”

Crowley interrupts them, frowning. “Um. Can we just pause for a second? I am right here, I can hear you, you do realise? Hi. Would you all stop fussing for one minute and talk to me?” Silence answers him and he finds himself revelling in it while it lasts.

Aziraphale clears his throat first. “Yes… sorry dear. Unfortunately we’ve just been pretty worried as of late. Can you help us out and tell us how you’re feeling?”

Crowley takes in their exhausted faces and a familiar pang of guilt hits him. Right. He’d forgotten the whole curse thing since waking, honestly, and they had obviously been through significantly more troubles than he was aware of. Bugger.

“Headache, no big deal. Throat is a bit dry and I’m bloody exhausted. But I’m going okay. Think I’m on the mend,” he says proudly, feigning strength he was seriously struggling to muster. Six doubtful eyes sweep over him top to toe and before he can protest, Nina is grabbing for his arm, BP monitor in her other hand. He shivers again. Aziraphale melts into his side as if all of his energy was sucked from him right then and reaches his hand up to feel Crowley’s face.

“Running a temp?” he asks Crowley who shrugs in reply. He’s starting to shiver persistently, whole body trembling every few seconds. And drops of sweat are beginning to appear on more than just his palms. Maggie fetches him a cup of water and prompts him to drink it and he downs it in a few seconds.

“Amazing. Isn’t water just amazing, guys? Gals? Guyyyaaallllsss?” he coughs a little, settling back into the pillows. Nina reaches over and feels his face and frowns a little at feeling how much it’s heating up.

“I’m goin’ to give you something to help with the temp, not sure if your body is trying to burn the remaining illness out of you or just struggling to recover from recent events…”

Crowley nods and fights the heaviness in his eyelids. He watches the medicine enter his veins and sighs. “Can I sleep for a bit?” he grumbles.

Aziraphale wants to ask him ‘haven’t you slept enough? You finally just woke up!’ but he hums assurance instead, settling into the pillows with him and nuzzling into his shoulder. That’s how Maggie and Nina leave them, content together, to hopefully start to heal together.

Chapter Text

A little over an hour passes before Nina and Maggie return to the bookshop with their arms loaded with grocery bags. Aziraphale looks up from where he’s been fussing with a disorganised bookshelf. He has one hand pressing his phone to his ear and the other hand propping up some books against one side of the shelf.

“Yes, well, Nina and Maggie have just arrived with the grocery shopping, I’ll let them know you’re on your way. Thank you, dear, we shall see you in a jiffy”.

“Who’s that?” Nina asks as she roughly sets down the heavy bags in the kitchen area. Maggie does the same and shakes out her arms, hissing in pain as she does.

“Anathema. She’s going to pop ‘round and check in on everything. She’s leaving her shop now so she'll be here soon. Better put the kettle on,” Aziraphale explains, moving to help the ladies unpack the shopping.

“How’s he been?” Maggie speaks up after a long while. Aziraphale just shrugs a little disheartened as he returns to the bookshelf once more. They follow him, waiting for him to offer more information. When nothing more comes forth, Nina frowns.

“What’s the matter with you,” she asks in concern, “that you’re not talking to us? Something happen?” Aziraphale just shrugs again in reply and continues his task. Maggie steps forward and places a hand on his arm causing him to pause.

“You okay, Fell?” she asks quietly. He just nods silently without moving any more.

“Wanna come sit?” Nina tries, so he walks over to her and sits down tiredly as if he were a puppet and lost his strings.

“I am coming to realise I have been asking so much of you both without offering much in return,” he starts nervously while wringing his hands together in his lap. “And now things are changing, again, and I don’t know how to ask you for anything more… I know you said you wanted to help, but how could you want to stay around while it keeps continuing and everything is so unsure…”

“Aziraphale…” Nina murmurs, reaching out for his arm. They don’t get the chance to unpack this as a sharp knock at the bookshop’s door interrupts them. Aziraphale stands immediately, brushes invisible creases out of his clothes and strides to the door. Anathema enters with a smile and wraps him in a warm hug, which he melts into.

“Oh, Az, it’s so good to see you,” she says quietly as he pulls away, plastering a smile on his face. Nina and Maggie follow suit pulling Ana into their arms.

“I’m glad to see you too, Ana, thank you for coming by,” he says, following the other three to the kitchen area to pour some cups of tea. Ana gratefully accepts her hot mug and enquires about Crowley, still sleeping peacefully in the lounge area. She notes the change in her senses since she’d last been able to visit him.

“It’s better, in here. I mean, I’m still sensing something off-putting lingering but nothing like the strength and the evil we’ve been dealing with here. I’ll talk with him when he wakes up but it’s good; it’s really good,” she notes, to the others’ great relief.

Aziraphale always trusts her intuition. He doesn’t feel entirely at ease, however, and leads her to Crowley’s bedside where they each take up a seat. “Thank you, Ana,” he whispers and takes Crowley’s clammy hand in his. “I’m sure whatever’s happening to him is far from over but it is wonderful news to hear the wretched curse has left him”. He leaves out the part bouncing about in his mind: for now. He’s finding it harder and harder to convince himself that things could be looking up, when they still know so little. If -when- he finds those awful demons who started this… smiting won’t even be considered.

“It is looking up,” Ana comforts him, “and you best believe that curse isn’t coming back for him. It’s lost its power; like a parasite it will wither without its host. I’m barely picking up anything but residue, even sitting here right now. It’s good, Aziraphale”. He nods and smiles a sad smile, turning his attention to his love’s calm face, tucked into the blankets and sleeping soundly.

Maggie stands then, clearing her throat. She retrieves a thermometer from seemingly nowhere and reaches down to Crowley’s face. After a brief pause, she reels it back in and stares at the reading, chewing on her bottom lip. Nina leans in to look over her shoulder and comments, “still pretty high up there, look,” and takes it from Maggie to show the other two.

At that moment, Crowley decides to stir awake. They’re alerted by a muffled groan as he pulls the blankets over his face and stretches out his long legs. Aziraphale reaches to touch the mop of red hair atop his head when Crowley makes a sudden move to sit up. Swiftly, the blankets are thrown back and he somehow manages to get the strength to sit up at about a 75° angle, before he’s being steadied by too many hands and voices filtering in telling him to “slow down” and “lay back”. But he’s not listening to them as he grips the nearest arm with all his strength (which may not be very much). Maggie notices his pale face turning a subtle shade of green.

“Wait-“ she manages before being cut off by Crowley whimpering followed by a short gag as he doubles over. The others can only watch as Maggie shoves a bin into his lap just in time for him to empty his -already empty- stomach.

Aziraphale holds him up with one hand pressed firmly to his chest and another wrapped around his now trembling shoulders. It’s only half a minute or so before he’s finished and leans heavily into Aziraphale who climbs up to sit next to him on the bed and pulls him close. He gently wipes sweaty curls out of his face, shushing Crowley’s quiet whimpers between hiccups. Maggie leaves with the bin.

“Might be time for a hair cut,” Aziraphale ponders as he continues to hold Crowley close against his side. Nina returns with a cold towel (Aziraphale must’ve missed her leave to fetch it) and drapes it across the back of Crowley’s neck, causing him to immediately reach back to grab for it. His hand is caught by Ana this time and he whines, trying to push her away.

“No, it’s t-too c-cold,” he stutters through chattering teeth and heavy breathing. Aziraphale just rubs a firm hand up and down his shoulder trying to comfort him a little.

“You’re burning up, honey; it’s that or an ice bath,” Nina reasons, crossing her arms over her chest. Crowley pointedly glares at her before turning his face into Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale takes the chance to lean back so Crowley can lie back down and cuddle into him more comfortably, which Crowley obliges.

“Ang’l, ‘m dizzy,” he murmurs after a while, voice muffled by Aziraphale’s shirt. Nina hears him, though, and pokes him on the arm.

“Just a second, Crowley, hang on. Don’t go passing out before we get this sorted,” she says, taking a syringe from Maggie and injecting it into his arm. “We’ll use this medicine to bring your fever down again, okay?”

Crowley just presses his face more into Aziraphale’s shirt, trembling still. “What kind of dizzy?” Aziraphale whispers as he presses a light kiss to his hair.

“Bad d’zzy,” he whispers, bringing both hands up to cling onto the fabric of Aziraphale’s shirt. Aziraphale looks up at the others already moving the old IV out of the way and pulling their chairs closer to the bed. Anathema frowns, leaning closer imperceptibly.

“Oh, that’s okay, darling. Don’t worry… I’m right here,” Aziraphale whispers, squirming to get more comfortable as the bed miracles slightly larger once more.

Crowley feels another kiss to his hair as he begins to lose consciousness. He feels himself tense up just as everything goes black.