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The clock in the entryway chimed the first hour of the morning, and the bookshop was dark and quiet.
In the back room it was dark and quiet as well, with only another ticking clock on the desk to break the silence. A single small lamp was switched on and shining in the corner, casting a pool of soft golden light over the room’s only sofa. Aziraphale lay lengthwise on the tufted cushions, back propped up slightly against the armrest. He was reading a book (‘Great Expectations’) held up in one hand and absently running the other through Crowley’s hair.
Crowley lay on top of him in his customary place, between his bent legs with his head pillowed on his chest, fast asleep. He was sprawled bonelessly on his stomach in only his t-shirt and boxer shorts, snoring lightly with mouth agape. He had drooled a bit onto the angel's collared shirt.
Aziraphale glanced down at him for the umpteenth time as he turned a page, smiling. He had come to enjoy sleeping too, but he would never, ever be as good at it as Crowley. Aziraphale was a light sleeper when he did sleep, while his demon could probably give corpses a run for their money.
The demon in question let out a soft sigh and shifted, re-positioning himself slightly against him. Aziraphale sighed too. He removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, and let the hand with the book ease down to rest at his side. He’d been holding it up for a long time and his arm was getting sore; maybe a nice nap of his own was in order. He still didn’t need sleep, per say, but the deep contentment of holding Crowley in the quiet was more potent than any drug. Lying here in their tiny lamplit world, he could easily forget there was a reality beyond the edges of this circle of light.
The sofa had quickly become one of their favorite spots. He had finally caved in at Crowley’s urging and bought a slightly larger one to better accommodate the two of them. They would spend hours lying here just like this, talking about art, food, movies- whatever entered their heads, and sometimes nothing at all. Then Aziraphale would pull out one of his books and Crowley would drift off to sleep- at least, when they didn’t segue into more...cooperative activities.
He sighed again, wriggling down a little further into the soft cushions, and rested his folded hands atop his sleeping husband. He had to admit, the new sofa was much more comfortable than the old one. He had made such a fuss about changing it that he couldn’t possibly tell Crowley that, though. He smirked slightly and closed his eyes again, and set one hand gently on the demon’s head.
His eyes flew open wide as Crowley started violently atop him and woke up with a sharp gasp, body jerking so hard that he nearly knocked them both onto the floor.
Heart pounding from shock, he immediately gathered Crowley up into his arms and held him close, the way he always did, rocking slightly from side to side. The demon clutched at him with desperate strength and buried his face into his shoulder, breathing heavily. A faint sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead. He didn’t speak, but Aziraphale could feel him trembling from head to toe. “Shh,” he whispered. “It’s ok, it’s just me; you’re here with me. Everything is fine, you’re safe.” He continued like that for a while, patiently stroking the back of his head and murmuring quiet reassurances. He knew from experience that it took time for Crowley to emerge from whatever darkness his dreams had brought.
He didn’t know what it was that Crowley dreamed of. He didn’t know if it was a single horror or many, or if it involved things real or imagined. He only knew that his love woke up like this about once or twice a week, wild-eyed, in a cold sweat with fear and despair written all over his face. The first time it happened he had been frantic with sheer worry; he had been aghast to realise that this was simply his normal. Crowley had never explained, and he hadn’t the courage to ask directly. He could make a few fairly intelligent guesses on the subject, but some things simply weighed too heavily in the heart to be spoken aloud.
He stared at the ceiling as Crowley slowly relaxed against him with a huge sigh, his body going limp as the nightmare released its hold. He kept his face pressed to Aziraphale’s chest, but was no longer squeezing him in a death grip. “Hey, angel,” he said quietly.
“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked just as quietly.
Crowley sighed again and shifted to tuck his head under his chin. “Fine now,” he said. He kissed his neck and loosened his grip a little more. “Never better.”
“Stay here, I’ll make you some tea. Good calming tea is just the thing. Or maybe some chocolate?” He moved to sit up, but Crowley didn’t let go.
“No; thanks, but it’s fine. I’d rather just stay like this for a bit. Is that okay?”
The question made his heart twist, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. In answer he simply tightened his arms around him and kissed the top of his head.
He would give anything, absolutely anything in the world, to take the dreams from Crowley. He would take them for himself, if he could, whatever they were. He would have miracled them away in a heartbeat, but alas, even miracles had their limits. All he could do was hold him and wait for it to pass.
A helpless rage stirred in his gut as he contemplated what he would like to do to whoever had put such fear in the one he loved.
He would never, ever forget the fright he’d got as he walked into that cellar, months ago. The sight of Crowley pinned against the wall by that terrible man - Hastur, Crowley had called him - purple-faced and gasping for breath, had haunted him for weeks after. They’d finally found their way to each other after all this time, through every impossibility and twisting road, and one horrible demon had almost taken him away forever. Crowley was persona non grata now, and would never have been issued another body after everything that had happened. He would have been trapped.
He felt an echo of that same dizzying rage whenever he thought about it. He had never actually killed anything before, not even in the first War, but he might make an exception for Hastur.
It occurred to him with a surge of unease that maybe Crowley’s fear wasn’t of anything from Hell at all. Perhaps the dream monsters came from somewhere else entirely. That was a much more frightening thought. His (previous) side had cast Crowley out in the first place, after all, something that still left him bewildered and sad. If they didn’t think he was worth saving, then how could he trust their judgment? How blind could they possibly be to have found Crowley unworthy?
The anger burned deep, moving slow and hot through the jagged cracks that the other angels’ actions had left in his faith all those months ago.
At moments like these, he hardly felt like an angel at all.
“Aziraphale.” Crowley spoke his name softly, and it dragged him back from his unsettling thoughts.
“Yes, my dear.”
“Can you please say it again?”
He smiled, not needing to ask what he meant. It was a common request after nights like this. “I love you,” he said. He kissed the top of his head, breathing in the sweet smell of his hair. “I love you more than all the books in the world.”
Crowley snorted, and Aziraphale could feel him smiling against his chest. “That much, huh?”
“Hush. I wasn’t finished.” He scowled playfully down at him, even though he knew he couldn’t see it. “I love you more than dessert. I love you more than sunlight and wine and all the stars in heaven. I love you...”
I love you enough to Fall, if it came to it.
“...more than anything,” he finished in a bare whisper. The thought had come out of nowhere like a bolt of lightning, and it took his breath away. All the more so because in that moment, he realised it was true.
It was quiet for a minute, then Crowley finally raised his head to look at him, chin propped on his chest. His hair was mussed and stuck up at odd angles; he looked both adorable and slightly ridiculous. “I guess that is a lot,” he remarked with a crooked smile.
That smile was like a balm on his soul, soothing his worries and lifting his spirits an unreasonable amount. He felt the tightness in his chest loosen as everything inexplicably felt right again. Whatever challenges they might face, whatever the future may hold, it paled in comparison to the importance of holding Crowley right here, right now. He pulled him closer and rested his cheek against his hair. He was his, he thought fiercely, and he would protect him from anything, anything or anyone at all, at any cost. Crowley's arms tightened around him as well, and the last of his worries melted into the usual bone-deep contentment. He was happier, right here on this slightly cramped sofa, than he had ever been in Heaven.
And perhaps....perhaps. After all, God had changed Her mind about humanity, more than once. Perhaps someday She would be willing to revisit the subject of one particular demon as well.
They stayed like that for a long time, murmuring softly back and forth. As they talked the tension gradually drained from Crowley’s face until he was smiling easily, and he eventually trailed off and went silent in his arms. His breathing evened out as his body went slack, and Aziraphale could tell he had drifted off again.
He smiled, knowing that the nightmares never visited twice in one night. Crowley should be safe, now.
The clock in the corner ticked on, unnaturally loud in the silence. Aziraphale lay and stared into the darkness, feeling the rise and fall of Crowley’s breathing and the beat of his heart against his chest.
He decided to stay awake and keep an eye on him anyways. Just in case.