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Crowley goes out to get some compost. He could miracle it but he never quite gets the right balance of nutrients when he does it himself. So the garden centre is the next best thing. He drives wickedly fast, stops at the café to pick up a couple of cream cakes and is on his way home with three bags of compost in the back. And a new orchid for the cottage’s bathroom.
What he does not expect when he steps out of the car in their drive way is to be bowled over by Aziraphale. The angel slams into him, Crowley performing a minor miracle so they don’t fall against the car, arms wrapped around Crowley’s back and face pressed into his collar. He stuffs his keys in his ridiculously tiny jeans pocket and brings his own arms up to encircle the angel.
“Uh, hi,” he says, patting Aziraphale’s shoulder as he shakes a little. “What’d I miss?”
Aziraphale mumbles something incomprehensible into his chest. Crowley nods anyway, he can always ask again later when the angel has calmed down a bit; for now, he just has to hold on to him. It reminds him, in that absentminded way that memories surface when you least expect them to, of their goodbye hug when they’d finally stepped off of Noah’s arc. But this isn’t a parting of ways.
This is him coming home.
He buries his nose in Aziraphale’s curls and hums as soothingly as possible.
They’re both there.
They’re alive and whole.
Whatever has given Aziraphale a fright this bad will pay for it...but later.