Chapter Text
Aziraphale looked out the window, studying the sky, which was now turning a pleasant orange. He’d gotten up after an hour and a half or so, and carefully tucked Crowley back in.
He’d been feeling a lot more himself then, albeit still cringing at the idea of loud noises or bright lights, so he’d put on a pair of ear muffs to wear while cooking (patterned with tartan, of course) and dimmed the lights. However, he had also decided that he was feeling good enough and able enough to try to make a shepherd’s pie for a late dinner.
It had been about forty-five minutes since then, and the pie crust was almost ready to take out of the oven. At that point, he saw Crowley padding round the corner, letting out a soft yawn. Aziraphale smiled softly. A moment later, he felt the demon’s arms wrap around his shoulders, and his head bury into the pillow-like crook between his shoulder and neck.
Aziraphale placed one hand on Crowley’s arm, and rubbed it slowly. “Did you sleep well, my dear?” he asked, steadily announciating his words to make sure they were clear, and received a sleepy hum of affirmation.
“Are you feeling more here yourself?” Crowley asked.
“Yes, I’m feeling more here myself,” he answered almost automatically (sometimes it was just easier to change the tenses of words than try to come up with an answer, but he was fine with this) and carefully extricated himself from Crowley’s gentle embrace when the timer went off for the pie crust.
He carefully took it out of the oven after donning kitchen mitts, and set it carefully on a cooling rack, the warm, savory scents of crust and filling wafting through the air. “I’m still a bit tired, and I think I probably need a couple of days before I’m back to normal.”
“Well that’s alright then, as long as you’re feeling a bit better now.” Crowley leaned back against the counter, and put his hands in his pockets.
“By the way...” Aziraphale trailed off. “What triggered that earlier?” He felt strange asking that, but did the life of him he couldn’t remember.
“Uhh, well there were some letters nearby you when I found you, maybe something related to those?”Crowley replied, unconcerned by the question. A few spots in the angel’s memory weren’t uncommon, especially when something reminded him of Heaven, and Crowley didn’t mind filling him in.
“What kind of letters?” Aziraphale asked, arranging the pie so it could cool.
“Pretty old ones, they kind of looked like assignment letters.”
“Ah.” Aziraphale said shortly, grimacing. “That would explain it.”
After a moment of silence that gradually turned from awkward to comfortable, and also during which Crowley made a cup of coffee, Crowley spoke again.
“So.. would you do well with a sort of couple days off, a careful with the senses sort of weekend?” he asked, and Aziraphale turned to him as he put away the mitts.
“Yes, I think that would do me good. As you can see,” he said, motioning to the ear muffs, “I might want to stay away from loud noises and such for a bit” After a pause, during which he fiddled with his ring, he then said in a quiet voice, “I also might be a little less talkative. If you’d be alright with that, of course.”
Sighing, Crowley crossed the space between them, and held Aziraphale’s hands with his own.
“Aziraphale, you lovely being. There’s no need to ask for permission; of course I’m alright with that,” he said, his slightly sad tone of voice turning to a far more tender one.
Aziraphale looked down to the floor, vaguely embarrassed that he’d slipped up and fallen into the habit of asking permission for things that shouldn’t need permission asked. He pushed the feeling away gently, knowing little things like that were just a part of healing, and raised his head to face Crowley’s.
“Thank you” he said quietly. “And, um, remind me if I start to slip back into old thoughts, alright?”
“Of course, angel,” Crowley said with a smile, “Of course.”
———
For the rest of the time that Aziraphale spent on preparing the rest of the meal (“I think some mashed potatoes and maybe some rolls would be nice,” he’d said), Crowley offered help where he could, doing things when Aziraphale didn’t quite have the time to multitask, and giving him gentle touches of affection when he wasn’t doing anything.
Later during dinner, the angel explained his choice of pie, the quirks he made to the recipe, and even a story related to shepherds pie from when Crowley had been taking his century-long nap, growing more animated in his joy as he described it all. Crowley listened with a smile.
The next day, Crowley sorted through the letters to separate the Heavenly assignments from the human letters, and after a somewhat raw conversation with Aziraphale, it was decided that the letters should be disposed of, as they served no good functional or sentimental purpose, and were only reminders of worse times in their pasts.
Over the next few days, they made sure to take it easy, finding ways for Aziraphale to keep himself grounded and comfortable while still providing entertainment and ways to get household necessities done. There was also a fair amount of cuddling, reassuring, and comforting, and the days slowly transitioned from careful recovery and recharging to tender peacefulness.
Eventually, activities were picked up again, the weather became better, and things went back to their normal, complicated, lovely, everyday ways.