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Crowley felt the pain creep on him slowly like tar, thick and dark and boiling in the pipelines of Hell. He felt it when the regular volume became too loud, when the smells became strong as if he were a snake stuck in sewers, and when the world even with the sunglasses on became too bright.
Then the pain hit him at its full strength, making him nauseous and holding onto the door handle for dear life. Everything became too, far too, much.
“Crowley!” exclaimed Aziraphale rushing to him. Crowley winced at the volume and shut his eyes tightly. “Are you alright?” followed in a softer tone.
“Migraine,” he said like it was the answer. And maybe it was because the next thing he knew Aziraphale’s strong hand preyed his hand off the handle. Aziraphale took his hand gently in his and stabilizing him by putting Crowley's other hand on his forearm, he guided him... somewhere… upstairs... The world spun and Crowley refused to open his eyes in fear of throwing up in the bookshop. If he did then it, of course, could be miracled away but the stink of it would be noticeable for days. The pain that Crowley experienced could not be miracled away. It was, he believed, a punishment from God herself for abandoning her. Or maybe it was the pain he felt because She abandoned him. Either way, it could not be miracled away. He had tried. Multiple times.
Once upstairs, Aziraphale opened the door to the bedroom. It was a small dark room with a king-sized bed, a fainting couch and a bedside table. Aziraphale rarely slept but he enjoyed the comfort of cocooning oneself in blankets and pillows and enjoying a good book while the rest of the city fell to slumber. He sat Crowley down on the bed, knowing well that modern medicine did little to silence his friend's pain and the best cure for migraine was for him to simply sleep it off. Aziraphale knelt to take Crowley's shoes off, while the demon took off his glasses but didn't bother to open his tightly closed eyes.
"Is it that bad today?" the angel whispered and was met with intelligible noises in response. That was a yes, he supposed. Aziraphale stood up, took the sunglasses from Crowley and put them on the bedside table.
"Call me if you need anything" he added softly before closing the door behind him so the noise from downstairs would not disturb him.
Once alone, Crowley let his head hit the pillow and begged for the sleep to take him.
Next thing he knew, there was a dip in the mattress behind him and gentle fingers were brushing through his hair.
"Mmhff" Crowley mumbled in a semi-conscious state.
"Hello to you, too." He heard a smile in Aziraphale's voice. "Feeling any better?"
Any better? He felt like a newborn painless thing. Only that his mouth felt dry.
"Divine," he answered, earning himself a flick on an ear. "How long was I out?"
"'Bout four days."
"Not long, then." He sat up and stretched his arms.
"And yet I missed you terribly."
He looked at Aziraphale who was already looking at him with those big ol' blue eyes. He wore what he always wore and a sincere smile to finish the look.
"Oh, I made cocoa." He stood up. "Come on it's in the kitchen"
"You made cocoa for me? What like you knew I'd wake up today?" he questioned, already getting up and following the angel to the kitchenette.
"I could feel it in my bones."
"Do you even have bones, angel?"
"Good question. Not sure."
"Oi, what's that smell?"
"Cocoa?"
Although there was a faint sweet smell of cocoa in the air it was not what struck Crowley's sensitive nose. He waved a hand dismissively at the confused angel.
"No, it sssmells different. Fresh. Flowery, maybe? Did you get a secret admirer when I was asleep again?"
"Oh, no, no, it must be laundry. It's hanging in the living room. And it was only one time, really must you mention it every time -"
"Wait, hold up, you did laundry?"
"Well, yes I did," Aziraphale said defensively and fixed the lapels of his suit.
"What for?" Crowley prodded, bringing the cup of cocoa to his lips. The sweet hot drink was, ah, well, hot and sweet. And comforting almost like coming home you missed so dearly. The smell and flavour reminded him of the angel who was now sitting on the other side of the small kitchen table mumbling something under his nose. "Come again?"
"I said it smells nice," Aziraphale repeated ashamed. It was such an Aziraphale answer too. Crowley laughed. Enjoying the warmth of the drink, he thought to himself that maybe it would be another thing to remind him of home.