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On the way to the Bentley, Aziraphale noticed that Crowley was still hopping in a way that would have been comical had it not been for the way the demon’s face was screwed up against the pain. Aziraphale felt he should say something, offer an apology, but words were lost to him. Silhouetted against the bombings to the east, the two made their way to the car in terse silence.
“My word, I didn’t know they blessed the land this far around Churches! Seems like more trouble than it’s worth,” the angel half-apologized with a forced laugh that died in his throat.
Crowley only grunted in response as he fell into the driver’s seat without his normal swagger. Normally they would have taken off as soon as Crowley stepped foot in the car, but the Bentley sat in front of the destroyed church, idle. Crowley’s head fell to the steering wheel and his breathing was shallow. His feet were drawn up away from the pedals, in the closest thing to the fetal position that the car would allow. The atmosphere inside the church had been almost jovial, but now it seemed heavy and fragile.
Crowley smiled painfully and lifted one foot onto his knee to show Aziraphale. The black rubber of the sole had bubbled and melted, in some places melting and fusing to Crowley’s skin. The skin that was visible was screaming red with heat rolling off in waves. Crowley ran a cautious thumb over the outer edge of his foot and yelped in pain, pulling back. Chuckling darkly, he suggested Aziraphale drive. Aziraphale barely heard, all his attention was on the bottoms of Crowley’s feet. With shaking hands he reached out, but Crowley pulled back.
“Oh, don’t worry yourself about that, I’ll take care of it back at my flat, but-” Crowley interrupted himself with a hiss of pain “but I really do suggest you take the wheel, angel. I don’t think I’m in any condition, especially with this human attack going on. Don’t sweat, the car knows where it’s going. It just needs someone confident in the driver’s seat.” Crowley was looking paler with every word, and Aziraphale couldn’t find it in himself to argue.
Wordlessly, Crowley clambered over to the passenger seat while Aziraphale slid beneath him to the driver’s seat. The Bentley gave a low rumble at his touch on the steering wheel and for reasons that Aziraphale could not explain, he found himself blushing. I’ll take us to the bookshop, the angel thought, the least I can do is help him now, after what he did for me. The Bentley seemed to know and approve of his thoughts, because the next thing Aziraphale knew, they were speeding down the dark London streets towards Soho.
It might have been a war-zone, but Aziraphale’s mind remained fixed on Crowley. The demon had remained silent, his eyes closed and his feet tucked protectively beneath his thighs. Aziraphale had only seen the blistered, screaming skin for a moment, but it startled him deeply. He had always viewed holiness as pure and healing; the pain it caused Crowley seemed wrong. It seemed more like the work of Hell, but that thought was banished from his mind as soon as it entered, as it would do no good to get in trouble now. Crowley let out a pitiful moan, pulling Aziraphale back to the moment. “How are we feeling?” Aziraphale looked over, his bright tone not matching the look of concern on his face. Crowley did not answer, and the Bentley began picking up speed. “Oh that can’t be good. Thank you though, dear.” Aziraphale said aloud to the car. The crumbling streets of London became recognizable as they entered Soho and the bookshop finally came into view. They lurched to a stop, and Aziraphale patted the dashboard of the Bentley in thanks.
Stepping out into the night air, Aziraphale nearly choked on the dust of buildings that were crumbling thirty miles east of them. Some of the smaller particles had already settled in the pavement cracks and created a murky film over the bookshop windows. The half-moon created just enough light to cut through the dim, swirling clouds. Crowley had not moved to get out of the car, so Aziraphale walked around to the other side to pull him out. It was awkward, with Crowley being taller, but the angel managed. Crowley made no sounds of protest, just sharply inhaling each time he took a step, causing him to choke on the dust of the blitz.
After what felt like hours, the two collapsed into the bookshop. Aziraphale closed the doors with a snap of his fingers and rose to began dusting off his coat, muttering about tip-top condition and dust on white fabric. The rest of his complaints died on his lips when he looked down to see that Crowley had not moved to stand. The soles of his feel were visible again, looking no better. Aziraphale paced for a few moments, wringing his hands, before he remembered an accident he had once while making cookies. The burn on his hands had looked similar, taunt red skin over warm flesh, and Crowley had helped him by soaking them in cool water and wrapping them. Aziraphale nodded with new-found confidence and strode into the kitchen.
Careful not to think holy thoughts, lest the water become holy by association, Aziraphale filled a large bowl with cool water. Returning to the front door, he picked up Crowley and carried him bridal style to the back room. The image, Aziraphale thinks, would be funny, if his friend wasn’t in pain. Gently, he laid Crowley onto the sofa with his feet hanging off the side. Aziraphale returned a few moments later with the bowl of water, a few towels and cloths, and a handful of bandages.
Unsure if Crowley could hear him but unwilling to hurt him without warning, Aziraphale spoke, “Now Crowley, this will likely be…unpleasant. But I have to get your shoes off before anything else can get done so - right.”
Setting to work, Aziraphale removed his jacket and folded it carefully on the chair next to Crowley’s head. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and unbuttoned his collar and waistcoat. With a steadying breath, he untied the thin laces of Crowley’s sleek shoes. The shoes did not slip off. Willing his hands to still, Aziraphale reaches to the bottom of Crowley’s right foot. He used his index finger to separate the melted shoe from the demon’s inflamed skin. Crowley shifted in discomfort, but did not pull away. Aziraphale moved slightly and did the same with Crowley’s left foot. Finally, both shoes come off. Aziraphale regards them for a moment, their corrupted soles and warped sides, before tossing them to the side.
With the twisted leather off of his feet, Crowley seemed to relax into the sofa. Aziraphale took one of the smaller clothes and dunked it into the cool water, watching as it washed the dust of his hands. Slowly, tenderly, the angel took the damp cloth over Crowley’s right foot in small circles. The demon hissed and then was still. Aziraphale knelt at the end of the sofa, never ceasing the circular motion. It reminded him of a story that humans told of the young man that he and Crowley had watched crucified. How he had washed the feet of those he served as an act of love and devotion. Aziraphale never understood it before. Now, in this moment, he understood that some sentiments transcend words.
Moving to Crowley’s left foot, Aziraphale set the first cloth aside. He shifted to soak a second cloth. A hoarse voice spoke from above him.
“Angel? Angel, are you there?”
“Right beside you. That consecrated ground did a number on your poor feet, I’m afraid.”
“I thought you lot were healers. It feels like I met with the business end of a cheese-grater.”
“It rather looks like it. Stay still. It’s my fault you were in that church anyways. It’s the least I can do.”
“You’re a real blessing. Saving those books of yours used up all my miracle-energy, so I think these will have to heal the good old-fashioned way.”
“I’d say so. Now quiet. I’m working here.”
“Whatever you say, doctor.”
Aziraphale used the same circular motion on Crowley’s left foot, starting at the heel and working his way up to the toes. The sounds of the blitz had finally ceased and the only breaks in the silence were Crowley’s sighs of relief, the soft swish of water in the basin, and Aziraphale’s practiced hands on cloth. His ancient books looked on as, for the first time, Aziraphale offered true kindness to someone he’d always considered an adversary. Not a quick miracle, not staying out of the way, but a genuine time-consuming act born out of concern. A flush of guilt colored the angel’s cheeks as he wondered how many acts of kindness Crowley had done for him. He wondered which of them was truly good.
“Needing help doesn’t make you a bad person, you know.” Crowley answered, as if he’d heard Aziraphale’s thoughts.
“Of course not,” Aziraphale shot back, “I should know, I’m an angel. I help people all the time.”
Crowley continued to look expectantly at Aziraphale, sunglasses discarded on the coffee table. The silence had become tense again, made heavier by their eye contact. Aziraphale was the first to break, setting the second cloth down to grab a towel. With the same care, he dried Crowley’s feet and wrapped them in fresh bandages. When he looked back up, Crowley was still staring.
Aziraphale felt a strange sensation in his chest. This had been much easier when Crowley was unconscious. Now he was unsure what this meant for him. He wandered back to the little kitchen to put his supplies away, lost in thought. If he was truly helping a demon, was he really an angel? Was Crowley really a demon? Could they trust their respective head offices? Could they trust each other? Aziraphale was sure he would have to give it some thought, but something within him, something more powerful and more sacred than anything he’d felt before told him that yes, he could trust Crowley.
“Crowley, I’ve been thinking,” but Aziraphale looked over and cut himself off. Crowley was fast asleep on his couch. Not passed out from pain, but peacefully sleeping. The lines around his brow were less pronounced and his breathing had deepened. Oh. Crowley trusted him. Crowley believed that Aziraphale would look after him, protect him, make sure the doors were locked and that he could let his guard down. And Crowley was right.
Aziraphale wondered how long this had been part of their Arrangement. He knew he should be afraid, they were both heading into dangerous territory. But somehow, all he felt when he looked at Crowley sleeping there was divine peace. Aziraphale knew that no heavenly or hellish forces would come between them now. They were right where they wanted to be, on their own side.