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Aziraphale opened the door to the cottage they shared in the South Downs to find Crowley shivering on the doorstep. This wasn’t unusual in and of itself, as despite Crowley’s distinctly serpentine nature, he still sometimes refused to bundle up completely like a stubborn teen. However, what was unusual was that Crowley was absolutely drenched and dripping, water droplets plopping down from his hair onto his sodden coat, which was causing quite a rain to fall upon the ground at his feet. His teeth were chattering, and he looked half-frozen, hands uselessly stuck in his armpits in a desperate attempt to warm his fingers.
Aziraphale tutted in a way that was mostly for show and led the demon inside the cottage. Crowley’s fashionable wool pea coat smelled like wet sheep, and his long hair (grown out from his short style now that he wasn’t worried about Hell’s denizens pulling it out of curiosity or mocking; he’d had a fair few demons rip entire inches off his hair with their claws, so he had soon learned to keep it short around them) sticking to his neck, strands framing his face and dripping more freezing water onto his cheeks. Aziraphale figured he could ask later why Crowley had come back wet; now, it was important that he help Crowley warm up.
The first thing Aziraphale did was make sure that a warm fire was blazing in the grate. (Their fireplace was safely tucked away behind a protective grate, in deference to Crowley’s anxieties regarding fire. They were fading now, but the demon had admitted with a sigh that he’d never be fully healed from the bookshop fire.) Then, he thought that Crowley’s favorite loveseat should really be as close to the fire as possible. The temperature in the cottage raised as well. (Aziraphale wasn’t...bad, with technology per se. He had a smartphone and a newer computer model. In fact, he’d built his own PC! However, he didn’t understand how Crowley could control their thermostat with his cell.)
Another snap and Crowley was divested of his wet clothes and dressed in warm, dry fleece pyjamas in a fashionable black tartan pattern, his favorite rabbit’s fur slippers, and an oatmeal-colored knit sweater gifted to Aziraphale by Madame Tracy who he knew Crowley stole often, even though Crowley would never admit it. His wet hair was clean and dry, a knit hat warming up his ears. The angel carefully led his demon (whose teeth were still chattering and whose movements were as stiff as a tin soldier’s) to the loveseat, where a heated blanket (a gag gift from Anathema that backfired) lay already warmed to the ideal temperature. Aziraphale settled Crowley into place, and the demon immediately grabbed at the blanket, tugging it up to his chin.
The angel nodded in satisfaction. Crowley’s outsides would be warming up slowly now, but it would help if his insides were warmed, too. Snake bellies can get easily frozen as well, after all. “All right, my dear, would you care for coffee or tea?”
Crowley, who had come home without his glasses (he must’ve lost them doing...whatever it was he’d been doing), looked up at Aziraphale, eyes wide and gold with pain. The hint of a forked tongue slid past his lips, though trying to speak only produced a series of vague syllables. “T-t-t…”
“Tea, then, yes?” Aziraphale asked, tilting his head. Crowley nodded, a hint of color dusting his cheekbones as he pulled the blanket up to his lips. “Coming right up, love.” He snapped his fingers and boiled water say ready in the kettle. Aziraphale liked doing things the human way, and simple things like food and drink tasted better when they were fresh. But this wasn’t the time to worry about the taste of things. “Be back in a tick,” Aziraphale reassured the demon, who nodded again, curling his legs up under him with a soft groan.
Aziraphale walked the few feet to the kitchen, preparing Crowley’s favorite tea: Irish Breakfast, no milk, steeped strong, dash of honey. Crowley abhorred sugar, or any of its diet culture cousins, in tea, thought it an insult to the beverage, and would drink it black, bitter, and strong to spite anyone who thought otherwise. But honey he loved like a bear, and would take it in any tea, even sweeter teas. Aziraphale always made sure to buy honey from their neighbor three doors down who kept bees.
Tea prepared exactly to Crowley’s specifications (not that it would actually matter much; Crowley would’ve probably drank hot water straight at that point), Aziraphale wandered back into the sitting room. Crowley was watching the flames, teeth still chattering and lips still blue. Aziraphale handed over the tea, and, upon noticing Crowley’s hands were like ice, he miracled gloves onto them. The demon frowned slightly, but didn’t complain, holding the hot liquid against his chest until it became a more drinkable temperature, closing his eyes at the warmth. Aziraphale smiled fondly, and decided to turn the heat up a couple notches.
~
In the middle of his third cuppa, Crowley began to doze. Aziraphale took the mug from him and set it aside, sitting on one end of the loveseat with a book. After some careful maneuvering, Crowley had twisted himself around to lay against Aziraphale. He still felt far too cool, but only a few shades from his usual body temperature. Which was good, because Aziraphale had been forced to undo his bowtie and the top buttons of his collar, as well as removing his jacket because of the heating. But it was worth it for Crowley to sigh contentedly and lay across Aziraphale’s lap, falling deeply asleep within seconds.
For his part, the angel felt he couldn’t really pay attention to his book, hand resting protectively on Crowley’s head and guarding his sleep from bad dreams.
Crowley deserved a moment of peace. They both deserved this moment of peace, shared easily between them like mince pies.
~
By the time Crowley had begun to stir, the streetlamps were already lit. Which, admittedly, didn’t mean much in the winter, but they’d missed their usual dinner date time, by Aziraphale’s estimation. Not that he had wanted to rouse Crowley from his rest. Not when he sorely needed it.
Crowley rolled over onto his back, yawning and stretching in true dramatic fashion, a glint of fangs showing off against his plush bottom lip. He smiled dopily, blinking sleepily up at aziraphale. “Angel,” he said, in a voice still quiet and hoarse from sleep, “how the heaven did I get home?”
Aziraphale chuckled fondly, pressing a tender kiss to Crowley’s forehead. The demon was quite warm, a slight improvement to his usual temperature. No doubt it was contributing to his laziness. The angel would have it no other way. “I’ve no idea, dearest. You showed up several hours ago sopping wet. I should say it took you at least an hour to get comfortable enough to sleep.”
Crowley started, his pupils flaring a bit with interest, before he settled with a yawn, one hand idly scratching his chest while the other pulled the blanket up further. “Mm. Yeah. Can’t remember anythin’ after I climbed out of the water.”
“Was it really wise to go for a swim in the cold, dearest?” Aziraphale asked, half-laughing like the bastard he was.
Crowley snorted, too dozy to put up even a token protest. “Didn’t wanna,” he shrugged. “The lad from across the way, Aiden, was skating with his sister and her scraggly boyfriend, but he couldn’t catch up, and the ice went out from under him, and…” He looked away, worrying the end of the blanket with both hands. “Well...it was my fault, an’ I couldn’t let him drown, so.”
Aziraphale smiled kindly, running his worn fingers through Crowley’s hair, brushing gently against his scalp. It was slowly turning Crowley back into putty. He couldn’t help thinking that if Crowley had ever been a toddler, this would be exactly how he might’ve looked when milk-fed and sleepy. “You did the right thing, love. And you couldn’t have known the children would try to skate on it.” He sighed wistfully. “It’s not done so much these days, you know. Ice skating.”
“At least on ponds,” Crowley mused, rubbing his eyes. “I had to dive in to pull the lad out. I felt frozen the moment my body hit the water, but he was still a bit warm, so I leeched off that, just until he could grab the branch the older ones held out to ‘im.” He shivered, remembering. “Everything’s hazy after that. Didn’t think I’d make it here. Kept worrying about discorperatin.”
“Well, I’m chuffed that you didn’t,” Aziraphale declared, pressing his lips joyfully to Crowley’s. “Don’t suppose you’d fancy going out to eat? We’ve yet to try that new curry place down the road.”
Crowley’s fingertips touched his lips as he dreamily smiled. “Sure, angel. Whatever you like.”