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Chapter Text

1:

It happens a week after armagediddn't. Azira had asked Crowley over for a night of relaxing, with wine and tiny foods and most importantly to read the next chapter of their current book! As Crowley "didn't read" Aziraphale usually read for him, Crowley seemed to love it.
Lighting the fireplace with a snap of his fingers Aziraphale danced around his sitting area arranging, tidying and fluffing pillows on the couch as he saw needed, His record player playing softly and sang a tune similar to that of a waltz.
Crowley would be arriving soon and he was almost finished preparing when he realised he had forgot the book! so without another thought he hustled to the front of his bookshop/library to find it.

■■■

Crowley's head hit the steering wheel and let out a mighty blast of the Bentley's horn, it hadn't been because of an accident however, currently she was parked between two buildings that blocked the sun from reaching them and leaving Crowley in a dark that reminded him to much of the muggy offices of Hell. He couldn't move, he could hardly open his eyes really, as he clenched his teeth to the point of chipping them if he wasn't careful.

His brain seemed scattered and loud, his eyelids projecting images and moments he thought unfair that he would ever have to think of again, but here they where. He trembled and the space between his bones and his skin crawled and he wondered if Beelzebub summoned flies into his body as payback for betrayal.
His hand hovered over his other arm, black sharp nails threatening to touch the skin given a moments notice.

To say Crowley was not in the best mind state was an understatement.

He hated that these "episodes" happened so often, and at the worst of times. How was he going to explain to his angel why he was late? "Sorry love, got caught up reliving traumatic memories, feeling feelings, y'know the whole she'bang." He's going to inconvience Azira for the umpteenth time in 6000 years and he fucking hates himself for it.

But
now he can't breath anymore, can't think past disappointing Aziraphale, his mind still screaming with memories and now he gives in. He scratches and scratches and grinds his teeth making small whimpering noises as he huffs along with the pain that shoots up his arm when he breaks the skin. His ears ring and he can't seem to focus enough to figure out if it's just him or the still consistent horn of his Bentley.

Then the phone rings, he had tossed it in the passenger seat to mimic company when he first got in the car (which felt silly at the time) and now it seemed to spring to life the second he needed it, like it knew he needed it. Aziraphale's smiling face appeared on the screen, under it, a simple name that he seemed fit to have changed it to after the nottageddon, it's a small name but holds such a big meaning to him: Angel. And right about now he certainly needed his Angel.

Dispite himself he picked up the phone and tried to drown out his teeth chatters "hallo?" He said.
"Crowley, it's half past eight." Said Azira concerningly.
Crowley nearly bit his tounge as a rush of guilt swept through him "isss it?" He laughed "Sorry about that, must've lost track of time-"
"Dear boy, are you alright?" Interrupted Aziraphale, again Crowley cursed. He must've sounded exhausted and letting himself slip with his extended ss was not hiding that fact at all.
"Just fine!" He tried to fake chipper "Traffics hell is all, all crowded and junk. should be getting to the exit soon, I'll be there soon. Promise."
"Alright, if you say so, dear." He knew Azira wasn't excately convinced but was glad he didn't pry.
"I do love you," continued Aziraphale
"'love you too, Angel."
Then they ended the call and Crowley's head fell again as he turned on the ignition. The rest of the way to the bookshop should give him plenty of time to recover, he can't performs miracles on himself but that's where being a celestial immortal has its privileges. Fast but not complete healing, in a short amount of time, It's worked perfectly to hide his struggle so far... why wouldn't it work now?

Chapter Text

"Yes, good bye!" Crowley heard the door slam to his flat and once again he was left alone. He and Aziraphale had been attempting to open an ancient box that had arrived unexpectedly upon his door step that morning, he swore the writing upon it looked familiar but just couldn't place his finger on it and called upon his Angel for some help. As you could tell it didn't go very well.
The two had worked the whole morning but just couldn't seem to make it budge at all. Aziraphale's excessive mumbling as he thought to himself had long since become unbearable to Crowley as Crowley's consistent finger tapping and fidgeting with the box in question (even though the angel had told him multiple times to leave it on the table) had made Aziraphale unnerved. The two began to bicker and argue until Aziraphale had had enough and told the demon he was going for a walk, Crowley simply waved him away and said goodbye with a hint of sour on his tongue...

Now Crowley sat alone with the unexpected gift, overwhelmed and disappointed.
He took a deep breath and decided he needed a shower and perhaps a drink, something to calm his nerves.

Crowley stripped and blasted the water, cold as he could get it conciously making an effort to avoid the unforgettable memory of Hellfire.
As he stepped in, he let his eyelids fall and allowed his mind to wonder.
you know how much of a disappointment you are to him? Said a part of his mind
He hates you said another.
Couldn't of kept your mouth shut, could you? His Cerebrum said in unison.
In a way he was used to his mind's constant unfiltered ridicule. It always seemed to have an opinion of its own when ever he did something "wrong".
When are you going to learn not to be such a fucking disappointment? Snapped his Parietal lobe as he pumped shampoo into his palm
You deserve everything that happens to you continued his Temporal lobe
You should just kill yourself-
"ENOUGH." He shouted, nearly screamed. Intrusive thoughts would not be the end of him.

Crowley continued to pour two glasses of wine as he walked around his apartment in barely enough clothing to be considered presentable (I.e a bathcoat and panties). He sprawled on the couch and watched tears of rain slip down the window infront of him "How fitting" he thought and chugged the first of many glasses of wine.

The wine didn't cut it and somewhere along the way he had begun to miracle bottles of heavy liquor and began chugging. He couldn't remember when, but he now sat on the floor of his plant room ranting endlessly about things not even he realised had been bugging him, meanwhile the plants just listened and one even offered a leaf to cry on but was hissed at by the whinning serpent.

"It's just not fair," he cried "this feeling.. this feeling just isn't FAIR." He slammed his hands on the ground with enough force to attempt to distract from the swimming mess of his brain and curled in on him self.
Then spontaneously they where back, the voices in his head that harassed him in the tub had followed him to the floor and found there way through the muttle clog of bubbling alcohol that he tried to fill his head with to be ok for a while. Now they where louder and vicious and some, he noted, sounded as if they where chuckling.
Not strong enough said some
How pathetic said others
But the ones that where the loudest simply screamed at him to do it.
His face crunched and his body flexed as he tried anything to ground himself. But they consisted, not letting him go that easy and as much as he would've hated it in a healthier state he began to agree with them on the labels they tagged him with.
So he gave in...
He scratched, one arm until it burned and blood dripped, then began with the other. It distracted him of the other pain and seemed to startle away the voices one by one. Crowley whimpered and grinded his teeth, similar to that of his last episode and with shaky breaths he was beginning to become relieved.

Until he was interrupted.

There was a small knock on his flats door that broke through the ringing in his ears and the mesmerising feeling of his scratches. It was a knock he'd hears millions of times and for millions of years, it was respectful and brought with it a feeling of safe, a feeling of sanctuary, it was Aziraphale's knock.

His breathing hitched and he panicked (As much as he hated to admit it). The mess he had made wouldn't be cleaned up by the time he would eventually have to let his Angel in. He needed more time, he needed something to hide with.
He snapped his fingers and the pool that was on the floor cleaned itself. While his cuts began the regeneration process he rushed for some clothing, forgetting to sober up however, made the dressing process a restless job but eventually he was ready and he opened the door.

"Oh uh... Good evening Crowley, I wasn't sure you would answer," Said Aziraphale, nervously laughing as he practically jumped back in surprise as Crowley swung open the door.
"Why wouldn't I?" He asked trying his best not to slur.
"No reason really... uh, here darling, I got this for you... nice set of champagne for us tonight." He gazed down at his feet "oh... I do hope you will forgive me for my attitude, Crowley. I was overwhelmed was all-" he paused his eyes landing on a spot of blood just besides Crowley's feet. His heart began to pound like the bass in Crowley's Bentley stereo system on a Friday afternoon. Crowley had been hurt? But how? Or by what? His breathing got a little faster as he examined the rest of his Demon, he looked pale (more than usual), his eyes drooped, and his forehead shimmered with fresh pellets of sweat that he must of worked up during a fight? A fight???
"Crowley, where you attacked?"
"Hmm? I-" Crowley's eyes grew wide "NO," he yelped and seemed to sober-up immediately "no, I mean... just nicked myself with a sewing needle, trying this new thing the kids are all doing... 'think it's called a stick n' poke? DIY tattooing at home. I'm not very good at it." He lied.
"Oh, uh... perhaps I could be of assistants? I do find tattoos exhilarating," Aziraphale smiled and Crowley couldn't help but blush.
"No, no it's alright, i can mend my wounds by my lonesome, but do come in... funny enough I have my own wine we could share as well."
Aziraphale brushed off a sense of suspiciousness and entered before Crowley, who now offered the door before him "oh, how splendid!"

Chapter Text

When Crowley walks down the street he's wary. He's always got a sort of suspicion in his eye that if you look close enough through the lenses you could see, Aziraphale has seen it, and he's seen it get consistantly worse over the past year.

They walk hand in hand ignoring the stares they get from unwanted eyes, it's October and it's chilly so Aziraphale dressed the both of them up in comfy layers and matching hats with the ear covers much to Crowley's displease. "You're a serpent dear," he explained "cold blooded and wile. You'll need layers if you don't want to catch a cold or simply become unresponsive." The demon mearly rolled his eyes under his glasses while the angel carried on mearily.

The two sipped steaming teas and watched the water where the ducks usually sat in the summer, it now sat isolated due to the coming cold.
They chatted and made witty gossipy comments about everything, from politics, to the way Gabriel wore his shoes with the aglets tucked in, and at one point Aziraphale had to shield his mouth as they watched a runner slip on some ice. His counterpart swore up and down that it wasn't him but the hardy laugh and toothy grin he spotted said other wise. Aziraphale made sure the man's fractured wrist was healed immediately as an apology for his dearest's crude joke.

It was now nearing dusk and the two had made plans to spend the night together, as they had done for the last 17 months, so they thought it best to began their saunter back out of the park.

"I miss the ducks," commented Crowley as they walked.
"How's about I miracle a magical duck-call to bring them back early? Would have the Migratory-Studies feild in the University rolling." As they walked they passed a group of people decorating the trees around the park, they threw tinsil embedded with small ghosts around branches, had scattered jack o'lanterns along the park-paths and Aziraphale swore he had seen a Skeleton being tossed around like an American-football by two of the buffier looking boys. They looked to be univeristy students,
Crowley best pray they hadn't heard his devious plan Aziraphale thought, giggling to himself.
Crowley, however, slowed his pace suddenly eyeing one younger student in particular.
They had a small stature but a mighty frame, and hair a mass of dark tangles that definetely looked like it needed a shampooing.
Something in his mind seemed to scatter as he registered the familiarity of the stranger and he found himself picking up the pace dragging Aziraphale with him by the arm.
"What's going on?" Aziraphale stumbled as he tried to keep with Crowley's panicked steps "did you see something?" there was no answer and Crowley's hands had gone sweaty, his breath grown choppy and fast.

The two made it to the Bentley and Crowley managed himself enough to click his seatbelt in and start the engine, Aziraphale, meanwhile was still in utter confusion. He cursed Crowley's glasses as they hid the side of his eyes from him. If he had been able to see the emotion within his eyes he would of known this was not his Demon. His Demon was currently drowning in a defense mechanism he hadn't realised he had built for himself in case of emergencies, one that triggered his fight or flight reflexes to slam on the excelleration (similar to that of what he had done after he had strapped himself in) and get him the hell out of there.
"i'm bringing you home, Angel." he finally managed.
"Not without telling me what that was all about, Crowley." stated Aziraphale firmly cletching the panick handle above the door as they sped.
"It was nothing." snapped Crowley "i'm fine."
"Clearly not," he argued "i'm fairly certain anything who is anything would not have reacted in fear of a bunch of young students if they where fine - CROWLEY, WATCH THE ROAD."
Crowley only sped up. He was 100 precent focused on getting out of the area in case it had truely been them or someone who... just... looked like them (he wasn't taking any chances).
He picked at the skin around his thumbs as he drove.

Aziraphale stepped out of the car, well... was more urgently pushed if he was honest. Crowley sped away before he could even thank him for the ride home... even though this was certainly not the home he had wanted to be tonight.

Crowley, meanwhile. drove back to the park, by himself this time. Determined to know whether he and Aziraphale would be in danger, determined to know if his eyes had played a trick on him.

He was aware his actions had been bizzare and horrifically orginized. He, himself wanted to leave and bring his Angel somewhere safe and shelter him but the urge to protect the angel was stronger and so he had left him alone with a pounce of guilt that took to his heart.
it's for his own protection he bargained with himself.

Now he silently as possible drove through the park, slowing almost to a stop near the university students who seemed to be taking a snack break from the set up. There they where, the student who had caused him to have his scene, it was just a student, one with similar features to that of the Lord of the Flies, but it was still just a student.
He finally drove off, a feeling of contentment allowing him to do so guilt free, knowing they where still safe in London. But now a shame washed over him.
He probably embarrassed Aziraphale, what would his Angel think of him now? He would have questions, he did have questions that Crowley didn't... couldn't of answered in the moment. He would hate him now, wouldn't he? He felt like an idiot and his eyes began to water and once more his head began to spiral, and fingers began to itch with more guilt than he could possibly handle. A sudden sob broke loose and he couldn't beleive he could make such a sound, didn't think he deserved to make such a noise...

Chapter Text

A table had opened up unexpectedly at London's most luxurious and historical restaurant, one that has invoked lyrics, crafted history, and homed the most delicious of confectionary in the country, but that was just the Angel's opinon.

Aziraphale was quite a fan of this restaurant, and most importantly this table they current sat together in particular. He enjoyed the asthetic of it all, from the piano to the curtain, the cloth covered furniture and definitely the small decorations, you could never go wrong with tiny cutlery.

He sat beside his husband (soul partner really, titles and appearences go hand in hand for humans so they simply went with it), who leaned in a sort of angle that threatened his entire being to fall off the chair at any given moment. He wanted to alert him but currently his mouth was full of Tarte Au Citron and he knew better then to speak with his mouth full. Crowley on the other hand, hadn't spoken a word since ordering himself a coffee when they first sat down, he simply had been staring off into space a pout drawing his features inward.

Aziraphale finished his cake and place the tiny fork down with a satisfied sigh "so I was thinking, Crowley..." he began "Adam had asked for us to attend his birthday party on our last groupcall, and I was thinking perhaps as a gift we could get Dog a tiny shirt. I saw a rack of them in a rather new gift shop in Soho, it said 'life is ruff'-" he caught himself with a laugh "so I may of already baught one... or twelve of them."
No reaction.
He was confused, Crowley hadn't been listening? That's paculier, Crowley always listens to Aziraphale's babbling and even if Aziraphale became aware of his babbling and became self-conscious for a moment, Crowley had always encouraged him to go on... so what was different now?

Aziraphale glanced in the direction of where Crowley's eyes had landed. On a cart, a food trolly to be precise, a food trolly full of little jello cups topped with whipped-cream and he was ecstatic.
"Crowley, dear... are those jello cups tempting you?" He tapped his arm and that had seemed to wake him up.
"Huh?" Went the demon "jello cups?" He looked to Aziraphale who's eyes simply glimmered with excitement. So percisely, as you would of expected from a man whose heart was tethered together with puppet strings, he danced to Aziraphale's whims and gave in to the jello cup (of which he had not been staring at, rather, starring through) just to make the Angel happy. Which worked wonderfully, he was practically vibrating in his seat with each bite Crowley took.

The two checked out of the Ritz, Aziraphale opting to pay a rather hearty tip to a waitress whose eyes told him a story of a financial crisis and medical bills. While Crowley just paid the bill and nearly hissed at the price of those Jello cups (not that money was an issue, he could simply summon more. It was just the fact that they where... well fairly expensive jello cups! Quite ridiculous!). Crowley stood by the door and waited for his Angel to finish his good deed for the day when it happened again.
His eyes played a movie right in front of him, clear as day and without the needed extension of unconsciousness, it was similar to a dream but this was clearly not a dream.

"I promise you my dear you and your family will be fine." He smiled fondly to the woman as he grazed her arm with a tender-loving touch, the woman in response to the miracle of the Angels touch began sobbing and took her smoke break early.
He met with Crowley at the door "sorry about that, dear. I could sense that poor woman's admiration and heartbrake for her family and I just couldn't leave," Crowley starred through him "hello? Crowley?" Tried Aziraphale "are you there?"

He stood on the edge of a cloud, gazing horrifyingly downwards towards a bottomless pit that spat fire if you stared for to long. Beside him where the others, "friends" of his as he liked to say, or... the other traitors as the rest of Heaven liked to announce.
They where the reason he was here, the reason he was about to fall.
They had gotten into his head, springing new ideas into the air that his original angelic programming had put up a firewall to avoid. Raphael knew the difference, he did... but something within him had clicked and he became one of the worst things known to angel: curious.
He had started asking questions, ranging anywhere from the whys, the whens and the whose, and somewhere along the way he had asked the worst question in all of Heavens History.

"Why do we have to listen to her?"

And that's how he ended up on the edge of grace-

"Crowley?!" He felt a hand on his cheek and that was enough to drag him back, a longing touch that wanted him near, wanted to help.
"No need to yell, angel," He whispered and face began to blush by all the prying eyes "lets get outta here."

He recalls the screams of the others as they fell down the pit. Gabriel had been the one to do it. He walked with a back straighter than a board that looked like it threatened to creak if he bent the wrong way, holding a rifle of sorts with a bayonet attached to the end that he used to push each of the Angels down. Until Raphael they had gone somewhat peacefully, their actions restricted by ropes that held their hands behind their backs making it almost impossible to fight back even if they wanted to.
As Raphael felt the sharp edge of the bayonet poke his back he took a sharp breath, and wondered why he was cursed to fall and not the archangel who teased the roots of his wings with the knife. "I always knew you'd be the one to go." Commented Gabriel into his ear "when we made the stars, you always had that extra glint in your eyes that has since never went away," he continued and spun Raphael around to face him "I can't wait to watch that glint wither away." Gabriel pushed.
But he didn't fall, not right away anyway.

He had managed to bring his arms around and now hung off of the rifle by a prayer (ironic) his legs left on the cloud as his body leaned over the pit, Gabriel stumbled forward and the crowd around them gasped. "All I ever did was ask questions," Raphael croaked "when did that become such a crime?"
This had been the first occurrence of his hiding, the first time he ever needed to hide an emotion. He hid the immense fear of the fall below under an angry sneer that unbeknownst to him had sent a shiver up Gabriel's spine.

And then he let go. Allowing himself to fall- saunter vaugly downwards.

"-THE ROAD, CROWLEY-," was what he came back to before a
CRASH.
He woke with a ringing in his ears and blood trickling down his forehead, he couldn't remember where he was at first or where they where going for that matter, he knew he was in the Bentley and that damn his head hurt.
He glanced to the right, his vision blurred at first but he could make out a whitish shape. It too was slowly coming to.
Aziraphale called to him but he sounded far, muffled by the sound of head trauma until Aziraphale had managed to snap his fingers and heal Crowley in almost an instant.
Crowley took a deep breath in as he finally rejoined society, followed by a groan that at this point meant nothing.
"Anthony J Crowley you have some immense explaining to do." Spat Aziraphale.

His door popped open.

"Out..."
"Wait I- I just wanted to-"
"Go, Angel!" Spat Crowley.

"I am not leaving until you tell me what's been happening," the angel placed his foot down. "Don't think I haven't seen the way you've been acting dear, your shutting me out, Crowley. i can see your hurting and I honestly only want to help-"
Crowley hissed and Aziraphale jumped, he never hissed at Aziraphale.
He burrowed his forhead into the steering wheel "The only way you can help me is to leave me alone." He practically growled.

It's for his own protection

"Crowley, please-" pleaded the Angel.

The demon only snapped his own fingers.

Chapter Text

When Aziraphale blinked he was sat at home with a cup of tea in hand and a book. The book was one title he had meant to read to Crowley a few years ago, one of many books that have since began collecting dust on his many book shelves.

The cover read; The Forgiveness Garden
he'd recalled showing it to Crowley a few times, the story reminding him of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.
He opened the first page, there was a stickynote plastered to the introduction.

------

Crowley cursed, he spat, clawed, thrashed, and released telling cries. He had always wondered where his breaking point was and it seems he had found it.

Hurting Aziraphale had sent him into a spiral. He knows logically the angel wouldn't be really hurt by a simple car accident, but what if he had been? What if Crowley somehow had managed to get him disscorporated?? And he ended up a back in Heaven, back with the angels?? With no vessel, and no way of coming home. After they had dealt with the etheral lot, he doubted they'd even allow him to apply for a new body, and besides that, there was no way on God's unintuitive earth that the serpent was going to allow Aziraphale to face the Angels again... not alone atleast.
This all happened because of some stupid dissociative-episode and he can't find a single inch in his entire being that doesn't want to just chug a gallon of holy water.
But he doesn't.
No.
That would be to easy.
Instead, the scratching returns... not just on his arms this time. He moves to his thighs after his arms, the back of his hands, then to his chest, the back of his neck then to his face. He's never made it this far before. There are raw scratches everywhere now and they feel like prickling fire on his skin.

He had made it to his flat atleast before this, he felt it rising in his stomach as he froze the m25 just to make it in time. Now it had reached a climax.

He dug the palms of his hands into his eye sockets and whimpered as his eyelids flashed pictures of the fall.
It had felt so real at The Ritz, at the door, and in the car. he had disappeared from this year and ended up sometime back over 6000 years ago, he felt every emotion, every trickle of fire that engulfed him.
Now he was in his flat, in his living room, on the floor, surrounded by shattered peices of statues, glass and fluff from the couch, reliving every horrible memory again but this time he had grounded himself, forced himself to stay in the moment but the feelings where still there, and he couldn't stop his heart from pounding against his chest.

He needed to get this out, it was almost over but he couldn't finish this alone this time around, he needed help. the worst of it was over, and it was safe enough.
All he could do now was wait, hope and wait and (dare he say) pray that Aziraphale had gotten note.

------

Help.
At flat.

The words where smudged and the note was crumpled but as soon as the Angel had read the words, nothing else mattered.
He flew for the first time in years, the idea of traffic a burden at the moment and he needed to be there now.

Aziraphale was not dunce, the angel, in his own opinion, just had a different set of skills compared to the rest of Heaven. Deduction was not one of them, as could be noted when he and Crowley spent 11 years watching over the wrong boy without him realising, for a fact, that he could indeed sense Warlock in all regards (you can't sense the anti-christ!! Stupid!), a similar thing can be noted about the amount of love the angel felt in Tadfeild that first day, it was a strange pulsating love for the village and it should of set off all of the alarms in his celestial being, but it didn't. He wasn't completely oblivious though he was just slow.
And he hated that about himself...
It was something Gabriel always made fun of him for (That and... the weight). If he had just put two and two together sooner he would've seen how much pain his love had been going through, the suffering he'd been doing alone, he could've helped so much sooner than now.

------

He felt as if the world was crashing jn around him all over again. The pounding in his head wasn't subsiding, only increasing and his skin wanted more. He made a promise with himself that the scratching was done for now but he couldn't decide if he would be to hold that promise... it was calling to him? Making him want it, tempting him to continue, his own damn skin tempting him.
He started grinding his teeth as the words in his head got louder. He didn't know how much longer he could hold out, he began to doubt the angel would even arrive when suddenly, through the ringing deafness in his ears he began to hear pounding.

The pounding of footsteps, and a muffled voice asking if it was ok to touch him.
He responded with a nod, but flinched as the strangers gentle touch landed on his shoulder.
"Crowley, it's me, dear boy, Aziraphale." The demon let out a wet sob "-we're in your flat, in London, on Earth. You're safe, love, you're safe."

The scene was horrendous. As he scanned the demon and his space Aziraphale saw the destruction Crowley had done to himself and his own home. His breathing began to pick up as he gently rubbed his thumb on Crowley's shoulder as a grounding technique he had learned in a book once. He heard the sobs and felt the tremors the serpent's body where racking with and nearly felt his heart break, he willed himself to keep it together for Crowley's sake however, and took a shaky stabling breath.
"Ok Crowley, dear..." he began "c-can you tell me where it hurts?"
"Innit obvious?" Crowley murmured through his arms.
"Yes...but you know what i mean, love."
Crowley was silent for a moment, his figure still shaking.
"My head..." he started "my-my chest," the angel noted he was breathing fast "-my heart." It was a whisper but he heard it, he heard the way it sounded wet and between the lines it bled with pleads of sanctuary.

Aziraphale proceeded to gently clean the wounds with peroxide and whipes that he had miracled. Crowley hissed a few times inbetween still shakey breaths but Azi simply ignored it, gently humming a melody as to sooth Crowley's panic that kept building despite the demons attempts to calm down.
Crowley cursed and asked if he couldn't just miracle the wounds away, Aziraphale explained the extent of his miracles only goes so deep with physical injuries, but that didn't mean he couldn't help in other ways. The demon sulked.

When Aziraphale was done he had restored Crowley's living room and sat the two of them down of the couch, placing the last of the plasters over Crowley's injuries he could see, Crowley was still curled in on himself, harder it seemed, He had hardly moved
(Besides when Aziraphale instructed him to lift his head revealing the scratches on his cheeks "Oh Crowley..." said Aziraphale gently and full of sympathy. Crowley simply looked down, his lower lip quivering), wet sniffles being the only sound coming from his still body.

Aziraphale summond a blanket, two cups of chamomile tea and a book. He didn't light the fire, strayed away from candles and absolutely no insence, he... however slow he was, knew Crowley and had picked up some of his triggers dispite not being completely aware of what was happening (anyone with any common sense anyway would know not to introduce flames to a Demon, that should be a given).

For a while, they sat in silence, not complete silence, Aziraphale had begun reading to Crowley who was the one who sat in silence. They'd gotten to the end of chapter 3 of Harry Potter and The prisoner of Azkaban (one of Crowley's favorite books, the only book he had ever "checked out" of Aziraphale's bookshop/library) when Crowley let out a whimper. It had startled the angel who nearly dropped his book, when he looked up Crowley was digging his fingernails into his legs as he curled in on himself, he wasn't completely here and he needed help so Aziraphale took another deep breath (one of many that night) and began to speak, trying his hardest not to lay a finger on his lover (dispite how much he wanted to).
"Crowley, I want you to listen to my voice," he started "May I touch you?" He didn't get a response this time, atleast it wasn't directed at him.
"No, please, I'm sorry, plEASE!" The demon wasn't here at all, the angel was sure of it. The constant mumbling of pleads being a sure sign and he knew excately what the memory was.
"Crowley, Crowley, stay with me, dear." Said the angel a little louder this time, hoping not to scare him but to simply bring him back. "if you can hear me, love, place your feet on the ground." It's called grounding, correct? Taking it litterally should do the trick. He watched the Demon shake furosiously as he managed to find himself long enough just to put his feet on the ground "excellent, my dear! You're doing excellent, you're going to be alright, you're here..." the angel continued.

Aziraphale lead Crowley through a sequence of things he believed would bring his lover back to the presence, even opting for a game of finish the lyrics with Queen songs or name the parts of a Bentley. It seemed to work as after almost three hours of patiently waiting and dabbing tears away from sore, tired eyes Crowley finally found himself and leaned into Aziraphale for a sort of support, a grounding peice if you will.

-------

In the morning, the angel hadn't left, to afraid to if he was honest. They slept on the couch, nestled in a weighted blanket the tissues of last night's bout left scattered about the floor.

Crowley stirred first, nessleing his face into Aziraphale's soft tummy, aka the world's greatest pillow.
He hopped to someone that what ever had happened last night wouldn't haunt him today, but the tissues he saw still around them screamed otherwise. Not like he could avoid a reminder of what had happened when he was practically brain dead and let his body do the work, he just hopped he didn't have to see it first thing in the morning.

The angel stirred next. Blinking a few times as he gained consciousness and saw that Crowley was now awake. He smiled and layed a gentle hand on his back. "Good morning." He smiled gently.
"Morning..." murmured Crowley, who rubbed his arm shyly
"Is something the matter, dear?"
"Mmm'not really... tired I s'ppose."
Aziraphale smiled gently "I suppose you are, you put up one hell of a fight, last night."
He blinked "pardon?"
"You won against yourself, Crowley. Look at you, you made it to another day..." Aziraphale moved him hand from his back to his cheek rubbing it with his thumb "-and I am so proud of you for that."