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It happened in a flash: the stomach-dropping feeling of seeing headlights dead ahead on a rainy night on a 96 km/h road, Aziraphale's panicked shout of, "CrowleyCrowleyCROWLEY!" and then, of course, the bone-crushing force of the impact itself.
Crowley was the first to come to, slowly and painfully. The first thing that he was confronted with was the hood of his own car, scrunched up like an accordian toward the broken windshield. The second thing was the pain—a blinding, throbbing ache in his head. Blood was dripping from his forehead down his face, but he didn't have time to worry about that because the third thing that he noticed took precidence over everything else: Aziraphale was unconscious in the seat next to him.
"Shit," he muttered, unbuckling his seatbelt and immediately scrambling to make sure that the angel still had a pulse. He relaxed a bit when he found it, fast from the adrenaline but still steady and strong. That didn't mean that he hadn't been injured—on the contrary. Just from a cursory glance, Crowley could tell that he had broken one arm and probably his collar bone, and judging by the blood in his hairline, probably had a concussion, too.
He got to work quickly, miracling away all the injuries that he could detect in and on Aziraphale's body. He stirred, but didn't wake yet, but Crowley could deal with that in a minute.
He had to miracle the driver's side door fixed just to be able to open it, and when he did, he had to steady himself on the side of the Bentley from the wave of dizziness that threatened to knock him off his feet. He took a few deep breaths through his nose to steady the nausea. How in the world could he feel sick to his stomach, he wondered, when he scarcely ate anything ever?
Never mind that—stick to the task at hand. Stop wasting energy on things that don't matter. The second order of business was to attend to the passengers of the car that had hit them.
Before meeting Aziraphale, he might have thought that this was unnecessary. It was their fault, after all, for causing the accident, and the argument could be made that they had to live with the consequences.
However, he knew that Aziraphale would be very disappointed in him if he tried to get away with that logic once he woke up and asked what had happened, so he dragged his sore, bruised body to the other car.
A young man, probably no older than 25, had been driving with two other people about the same age. Their wounds were similar to Aziraphale's: life-thretening without a miracle, but salvageable with one.
With each major injury he took away, he felt himself growing more tired. With a wave of his hand, he set several broken bones, uncollapsed a lung, and patched up internal bleeding. He had to pause for a moment to dry-heave onto the road next to him, but he didn't stop until there wasn't so much as a scratch on any of them.
Next, despite his better judgement, he turned his attention to the cars. His head was pounding, by this point, but if he didn't make this look like the accident never happened, then he'd need to explain it to, well, everyone involved, and that wasn't going to happen. He gritted his teeth through the throbbing headache as he straightened out the cars.
Once everything was finally back in order, he staggered back to the car, threw open the door, and collapsed into the seat. He had a few moments before the kids in the other car would wake up, so he allowed himself to close his eyes and press the palms of his hands to them in the fruitless hope that it might relieve the pain.
"Crowley...?" Aziraphale called weakly, a groggy note to his tone as he came to consciousness.
"Good; you're awake," Crowley replied without opening his eyes. He hoped that he wouldn't have to explain the whole ordeal to Aziraphale, and he sighed in relief when he seemed to remember on his own.
"The accident," he gasped. "Oh, goodness. Was anyone hurt?"
Crowley nodded. "You, for starters," he replied. "And everyone in the other car, and that's to say nothing of the cars themselves."
He pried his eyes open to watch Aziraphale scan the scene of the accident confusedly.
"And you fixed it?"
"Figured that's what you'd have done."
"Which is exactly why I'm surprised you did it."
By now, the humans in the other vehicle were probably waking up, so Crowley put his car back into gear, groaning as Queen began to blast at the same volume at which he'd been playing when they'd crashed. He turned it down, then off, before backing away from the other car and then passing it.
"What are they going to think when they come round?" Aziraphale asked. Crowley shook his head and winced at the pain.
"Took care of that already," he replied. "Drained their car of petrol. They'll simply think they ran out of fuel."
Aziraphale made a sympathetic sound. "And what will they do?"
Crowley rolled his eyes. "Call a tow truck; I don't know," he snapped. "Not our problem. I want to get to the hotel before my head explodes, if you don't mind."
Aziraphale frowned at that. "Are you alright? Were you hurt?"
"Not severely," he said. That was the truth. At worst, he had a minor concussion, but with the stain that he'd already put on himself healing everything else, he really didn't feel like bothering with such a minor wound.
"Would you like me to—"
"—No, Angel," he curtailed. "I don't want you using your magic just yet. You might feel fine, but that doesn't mean you weren't gravely hurt. There's still a threat of discorporation if you overdo it."
Aziraphale didn't seem particularly HAPPY with that answer, but he also couldn't really argue with it.
"Are you going to be alright?" he asked instead of arguing, and Crowley shrugged nonchalantly.
"Aren't I always?"
Aziraphale smiled shyly in the way he always did when he thought of those strong qualities in Crowley.
"I suppose you are," he admitted. His face fell somber once more. "But, if you aren't, you'll say something, won't you?"
Crowley sighed, pretending that the concern was a burden rather than the biggest blessing in his life.
"Sure," he caved. "You'll be the first to know."
They’d been headed toward a cheap hotel to spend the night in, as Crowley had received some unwelcome demonic company in his apartment earlier in the day and he was pretty sure that Aziraphale’s book shop would be the next place they’d go to look for him. They’d traveled farther out of the city than they’d been in a long time, never really speaking about much and happy just to enjoy one another’s company and listen to the same Queen CD over and over until—well, until just now.
The original plan had been to drive until morning, since neither of them technically needed to sleep and there was a coffee shop a ways away that Aziraphale had wanted to try, but Crowley was relatively sure that he shouldn’t be driving anymore now that his vision was making the road do interesting, wavy things before his eyes. Wordlessly, he took the next turn and hoped that Aziraphale didn’t make too much of their early diversion.
“There appears to be a cheap hotel a bit further down the road if you turn left here,” Aziraphale pointed out, and Crowley was thankful for the directions. He took the turn a bit harshly, feeling his stomach roll again as he did so, but managed to hold it together long enough to get them to the parking lot of the hotel.
“Would you like to stay here while I go in and get us a room?” Aziraphale asked. It was a litmus test, he realized, for how he was feeling: if he agreed to that, then Aziraphale would know he didn’t think he could make the walk to the lobby and back to the car. However, Aziraphale also knew him too well to accept that the opposite were true if he disagreed, because that would mean that he wasn’t sure he could make it, but that he wasn’t about to allow Aziraphale to know that.
The angel might know him well, but he liked to believe that he was just as well-versed.
“Sure,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ll get our things from the back of the car.”
Success, he thought, as Aziraphale didn’t press him for more. He waited until he heard the jingle of the bell above the hotel lobby door signaling Aziraphale’s entrance to finally allow himself to relax. Everything hurt, particularly his head. A dull throbbing felt as though it was threatening to push his eyes out of their sockets, and he dug his palms into them in the privacy of his Bentley.
He couldn’t indulge himself wallowing in his own misery too long, of course, because Aziraphale would be back soon, and if he walked out to find Crowley like this, he’d panic, and he didn’t like it when Aziraphale panicked. Against his will and better judgment, two things that he often found himself ignoring lately, he dragged himself out of the driver’s seat—and immediately regretted it as everything spun wildly around him. He cursed under his breath as he reached out his hand to steady himself on the car, but without being able to really see where it was, he missed, merely brushing against the side of the car as he collapsed against the side of it, clutching his ribs with one arm. He hadn’t noticed earlier when he’d been moving so carefully, but he was relatively sure that a few of them were at least bruised if not cracked. He let himself lean there for a long moment before he forced himself to push off the side of the car, never letting go entirely for fear that he’d fall over if he didn’t have at least some support for balance, and pulling open the back door of the Bentley to get their bags. While they didn’t carry much—it wasn’t as if they needed to change clothes or anything like that—there were a few items, mostly books, that they both had decided to take with them just in case the demons decided to go crazy and set both their places ablaze.
He wanted to sleep, which wasn’t a new feeling for him, but normally it followed intense boredom rather than too much excitement. Tired, he realized, he could call it, and it was a first for him.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice called from behind him. He’d been so engrossed in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed he was near, and it made him startle. Aziraphale frowned when he jumped in surprise, hit his head on the roof of the car, and cursed.
“You scared me,” he accused grumpily.
“I didn’t sneak up,” Aziraphale argued. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look… awfully pale. Paler than earlier.”
Crowley shrugged, which was just as incriminating as coming clean completely. “A bit sore,” he admitted. “I’d like to get inside and have a lie-down.”
Aziraphale was by his side in an instant, gently taking the bag from his grip and slinging it over his own shoulder.
“Let me take that,” he insisted. “Can you make it inside, or do you need a hand?”
Crowley, afraid that he might fall over if he let go of the car and not particularly wanting to consume a faceful of asphalt in front of his favorite angel, was silent. Aziraphale nodded as if he’d answered and took his arm to put it over his shoulders. However, he froze and nearly dropped him when the movement elicited a yelp of pain from Crowley, who then yanked his arm away, then stumbled to the side dizzily. Aziraphale, more gently this time, took him by both forearms and steadied him.
“All good?” he asked. Though it decidedly was NOT, Crowley nodded.
“Touch dizzy,” he said. He let Aziraphale guide him into the room, which was conveniently (or specifically requested to be, Crowley suspected) the one he’d happened to park in front of. Things greyed out a bit and his mind felt fuzzy. The only thing he was very aware of was the fact that he was putting one foot in front of another with his eyes mostly closed, Aziraphale steering him, until he finally came into contact with something soft and sat down. He opened his eyes to find that he’d been placed on the bed.
“Please, be honest with me, Crowley,” Aziraphale leveled. “How worried should I be?”
He shook his head. “Honestly, it’s nothing that won’t heal on its own,” he dismissed. “I’m sure I just need to sleep it off.”
“What can I do to help?”
Crowley rolled his eyes. Aziraphale was always more keen on earthly comforts than Crowley himself. He wasn’t about to complain about that, though, as Aziraphale helped him lie down on the mattress and dimmed the lights so they weren’t as bothersome to his eyes.
“Could you stand a bit of music, or would that be disruptive?” he asked, and Crowley made a vague, “go ahead,” gesture with his hand. Aziraphale turned the small radio/alarm clock on very low volume and twisted the old-fashioned little knob until he found a classical music station. It was soothing, he had to admit, and when considered in conjunction with the cool, dark room and the warm comforter that Aziraphale tucked around him, he didn’t think that he’d been this comfortable in quite some time even despite the throbbing of his head and ribs.
“Thank you,” Aziraphale said softly, “for saving me, earlier. Can’t remember if I said it earlier.”
Crowley shook his head. “You didn’t need to,” he replied. “It was nothing.”
Clearly, that wasn’t true, but Aziraphale let him believe it.
“Well, it was something to me,” he reassured. “Now, you just rest. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
Just sitting beside him was enough, but Crowley nodded, anyway, as he let himself drift off to sleep.