Chapter Text
“Are you feeling any better, dear?”
“Ndo,” Crowley groans, shivering under Aziraphale's sheets. (The bed hadn't existed two hours ago, but when a terribly feverish demon had showed up on his doorstep with a cough, Aziraphale saw to it that his flat was fitted with a bed big enough for Crowley to properly rest in.) “Huh…” he pulls a tissue out of the near empty box that rests on the pillow. He’s already gone through quite a few tonight. “Hahh’TSHhuh! Snff, ughhh, that hurtsss…” Aziraphale croons and refrains from blessing him, knowing it’ll do his demon more harm than good.
“I ran to the store,” he starts, and this makes Crowley lift his head. His face is flushed and his hair sticks up in every direction, but he manages an amused eyebrow raise.
“Snff… What’d you do that for?” he asks, then immediately breaks off into a fit of dry coughs. Aziraphale rubs his back, own chest aching in sympathy. When he’s done Crowley holds a hand to his throat gingerly, swallowing and wincing at the pain it brings him.
“Well, I can't very well miracle you everything, ” he explains when Crowley catches his breath. “So I picked these up.” He holds out a small bag which Crowley looks over curiously. Medicated cough drops that claim to be strawberry cream flavored.
“S’like- snff!- like cad’dy,” Crowley says when he pops one into his mouth. As he sucks on it a cool sensation spreads across his throat, and his slitted pupils blow out a bit. “Oh…”
“Good, isn’t it? I know your throat is feeling quite sore, and— oh, Crowley, dear, you’re not supposed to have so many at once… alright. And that's the whole bag gone.” Crowley looks pleased as punch, still trying to speak around the large cluster of cough drops sitting on his forked tongue.
“Thadks, adgel,” he says earnestly, grinning when Aziraphale pressed an alarmed hand to his forehead.
“Hmph, well. Do try not to choke.” He pulls his hand away, starting to go to the small kitchen, but Crowley snatches his wrist. So much for sluggish from fever.
“Mm, ‘Ziraphale, d’you- snff- you think you could do me one last miracle?”
Anything, Aziraphale thinks, Crowley staring up at him with such a bashful gaze. “I suppose,” he says instead, feigning weariness, “one more miracle couldn't hurt. But just one.”
“S’just, ah, snff… The blankets have gone a bit cold, see, and…” Aziraphale puts his hands on the comforter, warming them to a toasty degree under his palms. He can't fight back a smile as Crowley lets out a long, appreciative hiss, pulling the blankets tighter around himself.
“You’re the bessssssst,” he drawls, already sounding ten times as sleepy as before. Aziraphale pats his cheek lovingly.
“Get some rest, dear.”