Archive of Our Own

Crowley was feeling a bit melancholy. Well, actually that was an understatement. He was kind of reaching depression at this point. A very human thing. So, he decided to do a very human thing and go to a bar and try to drown his sorrows.

He hated some of the missions he had to go on for Hell. Most of the time, they just involved messing around with people, and those were always a lot of fun. However, sometimes, the things he had to do made him feel…dirty. He didn't like doing things where humans could actually end up getting hurt. Hastur would call him squeamish, but Crowley didn't really see this as a bad character trait. Well…for anyone who wasn't a demon. He supposed that it was kind of a bad trait for someone in his profession.

But Aziraphale wasn't there to thwart him. He'd tried to call the angel, but had only gotten his voicemail. No way out of it then, unless he had wanted to be called a deserter, and that would only lend to his problems.

Either way, he was feeling rather depressed and went to a London pub and ordered a bottle all for himself. It wouldn't be the first that night. He just barely had the decency to pour the liquor into a glass before drinking it.

Halfway through his second bottle, he happened to glance over at a man sitting alone at a corner of the bar, motioning for the bartender to bring him another refill. Crowley didn't know how many the man had had, but from the look on the bartender's face, too many.

Crowley frowned as the man downed the latest drink then put his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking slightly as he sniffed and wiped his hand across his face. Normally this would not have bothered Crowley, the affairs of humans were not really his deal unless he was directly involved in them, but…this man looked particularly distressed.

And he also looked familiar. No, not looked, Crowley realized. There was something about him that was familiar. Something deeper.

He got up and went over to the bar as the man finally looked up and pushed his glass back.

"Another," he said.

Crowley grabbed the glass and turned it over. "I don't think you need another, mate," he said.

The man turned to him, fury in his eyes, and that was when Crowley saw it. Why he recognized him.

He took a step back. "Zadkiel?" he demanded.

"No," the man said swiftly. "I'm Ethan."

Crowley nodded. "I'm Crowley. We used to know each other—a very long time ago."

The man nodded and tried to reach for his glass again and get the bartender's attention but Crowley stepped in and grabbed his arm. "No. Pay your tab. That's enough."

"You have no idea what's enough," Ethan growled, trying to shake Crowley off and nearly falling off his barstool.

"I do," Crowley said. "Looks like you don't have the immunity you used to."

Ethan grunted. "And what does a demon care?"

Crowley shrugged, not even offended. "Way I see it, we're pretty much in the same boat. Both fallen, different reasons."

"I didn't mean to," Ethan said softly.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "I didn't either. So…a woman then, was it?"

He'd never met one of the fallen like Zadkiel—or, Ethan rather—but he'd heard of them. Unlike the angels who had fallen into the Pit during the rebellion and turned into demons, there were other angels, the ones who fell in love with humans, whose punishment was to become human themselves. It was rare, as angels didn't typically have the capacity for romantic love, but it could happen, and apparently did.

Ethan looked away, pain crossing his face as he clenched his hands in his lap. "I was foolish, it never should have happened. And now I'm not the only one paying for it."

"What do you mean?" Crowley asked.

Ethan finally turned to Crowley and his eyes were wet. "My wife is dead, and now my daughter soon will be as well." He buried his face in his hands.

Crowley stared at him. "What happened?"

"My daughter, Abigail, she's sick and…" he took a deep breath. "The doctors say there's nothing they can do. They say there's only days left. I thought God was done punishing me for my sins. I would gladly take all the punishment myself, if only to spare my daughter!"

Crowley felt a sudden anger deep inside of him. He did not condone people hurting kids, even if it was supposedly God's will. In reality, Ethan's crime was so much less than his own. He'd only fallen in love—or, for love—Crowley had become a demon. Wasn't that worse than being a human?

He grabbed Ethan's shoulder and pulled him up. "If that's the case, then you shouldn't be here drinking yourself unconscious. You should be with her," he told the ex-angel firmly.

"I—I can't…" Ethan said.

"I'll go with you," Crowley told him. "There might…" he bit his lip before he decided to just say it. "There might be something I can do."

Ethan looked up at him with wide eyes, and grabbed his coat. "Truly? Oh, Crowley, thank you."

"Don't," Crowley snapped. "Don't thank me. Not yet." He didn't even know if Aziraphale would help, though he was pretty certain of it. He probably shouldn't have said anything.

"First you need to sober up," Crowley said and snapped his fingers. Ethan sat up straight, wide-eyed as the alcohol left his system. Crowley motioned to him. "Let's go."

The pub wasn't far from the hospital, but it was a cold night in midwinter and snow was in the forecast. Crowley ducked further into his coat. He hated snow and the cold in general. He actually wished he was at home bundled up in blankets, sleeping through the winter, but there were things to do. And apparently children to save.

"Abby is such a lovely child, I know you'll love her," Ethan told Crowley with a sad smile as they continued on their way.

"I'm sure," Crowley replied.

It was late, but they still let Ethan in. Crowley didn't miss the look of pity on the nurse's face as they made their way back to the children's intensive care ward where Ethan's daughter was being kept.

She was not the only one there. There were other kids too, Crowley counted five, all in beds, hooked up to machines. Parents sitting by their bedsides as they slept. A tense hush was in the room and Crowley hated it. It reminded him of the times he had been in hospital tents during war time when there was the imminent silence of dying soldiers.

It was the sound of lost hope.

They went to the back of the ward where Abigail's bed was. She was asleep when they got there, pale and tiny on the bed. Crowley hung back as Ethan went to the bed and took her small hand, leaning over to kiss her forehead. She was maybe nine, Crowley guessed; way too young for this. He clenched his hands at his sides.

She stirred and her eyes opened. "Dad?"

"I'm here, darling," Ethan told her, sitting on the chair that was pulled up to the side of her bed.

Abigail's eyes went instantly to Crowley and he felt suddenly self-conscious.

"I brought an old friend," Ethan told her with a smile. "This is Crowley. Crowley, this is my daughter, Abigail."

"Abby," she said firmly and Crowley felt a smile quirk his lips. He decided he liked her.

He came over to the bed. "It's nice to meet you, Abby."

She stared at him quizzically. "Why are you wearing sunglasses inside? At night? Can you even see?"

"Abby, that's rather rude," Ethan chided.

"I think it's a valid question," Abby said. "I mean, unless you're blind. Only blind people wear sunglasses inside."

Crowley smirked. "No, not blind. It's because I'm a demon and my eyes would scare the normal people."

Ethan froze, shooting him a look, but Abigail smiled. "I like him," she told her father.

Ethan huffed a laugh. "That's good." He glanced up at Crowley pleadingly and the demon swallowed and stepped closer to the bed.

"I'm afraid I can't stay long, but it was good to meet you, Abby." He reached out and she took his hand. Crowley briefly closed his eyes and felt deep into her soul.

He tried not to pull back. She was definitely ill, and Ethan was right, there was not much time. Not much at all.

Crowley pulled his senses back and squeezed the girl's hand. "I hope to see you again soon."

"Yeah, you too," Abby said and as Crowley released her hand, he swallowed hard.

Ethan stood. "I'm going to walk my friend out, but I'll be right back."

He followed Crowley out of the children's ward but stopped him with a hand on his elbow as they got into the hall.

"Well? What can you do for her?" he demanded.

Crowley bit his lip. "Look, you understand I can't really do anything, but…I know someone who can."

Ethan frowned before his eyes widened. "An angel, you mean?"

Crowley nodded.

"You know an angel?"

"Yes, we're…acquaintances. Just don't let the word get out, okay?"

"Well, who would I tell? I'm cut off from Heaven," Ethan said bitterly. "And trust me, I've tried praying."

Crowley felt the man's pain in his own chest. He couldn't imagine what Ethan was going through. "Look, I'm sure he'll be able to do something. Just stay with your daughter, and I'll bring him by tomorrow."

Ethan nodded and shook Crowley's hand. "Thank you."

"I told you not to thank me yet," Crowley repeated. He cast one more look back at the ward. He really hoped Aziraphale could do something.

He went directly to the bookshop after leaving the hospital, sure that the angel would be there this time of night.

But he wasn't.

The shop was dark, and the door was locked, and Crowley was wondering where on earth his friend could have gotten to. It was really too late for any of the quaint little restaurants he frequented to still be open.

Then he opened the mailbox. Sometimes, if Aziraphale was away, he would leave a note in there for Crowley in case he needed to reach him. There was indeed one in there now, and Crowley read it quickly, then groaned.

Apparently Aziraphale was in Heaven for some kind of meeting. Crowley had no idea how long he had been there already, as he hadn't contacted the angel for a couple of weeks now. Corporate meetings in Hell had been known to last over a week and usually involved torture or even execution at some point. And paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork. He figured Heaven's mostly just involved the paperwork.

But still, with Abigail's condition the way it was, Crowley feared waiting even more than a day to get the angel to see her. If they waited too long, then Death would claim her and there would be nothing they could do.

Crowley paced in front of the shop for a few minutes, trying to decide what could be done. He couldn't bear the thought of going back to Ethan tomorrow with no hope of saving his daughter. But it wasn't like he could heal her. Demons could only heal humans under official orders if it was what was needed to get a job done. And he wasn't entirely sure he could spin a story that would convince his superiors that he needed to heal this little girl.

That meant there was only one thing he could do and he honestly had no idea if it would even work. Ethan had said he'd tried praying and it hadn't taken. However, if Crowley could even get through, there was only one angel he knew would be willing to listen.

He went home, turned the heater on to warm himself up, and turned his eyes Heavenward.

"Alright, Aziraphale," he said. "I really hope you get this. You know I'm not really the praying type, but it's kind of urgent so here it goes…"

~~~~~~~

Aziraphale wished he was anywhere else. Gabriel and Michael's meetings always ran so long. He wasn't even sure how many days it had been now and it only seemed like they were halfway through. He didn't understand why they had to do these. At least they only happened once a century or so. But even that seemed too much.

He was already drifting as Sandalphon was droning on and on about soul counts, when something snapped him back to attention.

A prayer. Someone had opened a direct line to him. That did not happen a lot, as most people didn't pray to angels directly unless it was Gabriel or Michael, they just prayed to God who would, in turn, send angels out to answer the prayers. In fact, there was only one being on earth who knew Aziraphale's name as well as his actual occupation.

Crowley.

And the demon was praying to him.

All thoughts of the meeting flew from his mind as Aziraphale listened.

"You know I'm not the praying type, but it's kind of urgent, so here it goes…There's this little girl, see, and she's dying. Doesn't have long. I could really use your help on this one, angel. Just…get here quick." Then a few seconds later, "Er, amen."

The prayer ended and Aziraphale blinked, attentive now, except not toward the meeting. He looked around, watching Sandalphon pulling another stack of files out to go over some other pointless numbers and held back a groan.

He wondered if he could possibly slip out. Surely whatever child needed healing was much more important than whatever was going to happen during the rest of this meeting. Aziraphale fidgeted, trying to find an opening to cut in.

Finally, Sandalphon paused to go on to the next thing and Aziraphale stood up as quietly as possible.

Unfortunately, Gabriel's hawklike eyes landed on him instantly. "Aziraphale, do you have something to say?"

"Er, no, it's just…there's something urgent that I just remembered I needed to see to. May I be excused?"

Gabriel stared at him balefully. "You know the rules, Aziraphale, we all must stay here until the meeting is over."

"Yes, but…"

"Aziraphale!"

"It's a matter of life an—"

"Sit down!" Gabriel snapped.

Aziraphale sat with a huff, worrying anxiously at the edge of his sweater vest. He really hoped this meeting wouldn't go on too much longer. Crowley would be frantic if he didn't show up soon…

Unfortunately, it looked like there was nothing else for it but to wait until the meeting was adjourned.

~~~~~~~

Crowley waited all night for Aziraphale to appear, but he didn't. Not so much as a peep. Crowley paced his flat with knots in his stomach and watched the clock tick away the hours until he would have to meet Ethan at the hospital.

He finally left the next morning, frustrated, without the angel in tow.

He knew it wasn't really Aziraphale's fault, but he was mad at Heaven in general right now. Crowley hadn't been this mad in a long time.

Showing up without Aziraphale was one of the hardest things he had ever done, especially seeing the hope in Ethan's eyes as he met Crowley outside the children's ward.

"Well?" he demanded.

Crowley squirmed. "Look, he can't come yet, but—"

"What do you mean, he can't come yet?!" Ethan demanded, grabbing Crowley by the front of his coat, a frantic look in his eye. "She's getting worse—by the hour! The doctors…" he trailed off, voice strangled.

Crowley felt his heart clench. "Something came up, but he'll be here."

Ethan shoved him away. "I should have known better than to trust in any angel. They're all too self-righteous for their own good. He probably refused to come, didn't he? Didn't want to be bothered with someone like me."

"Aziraphale's not like that!" Crowley snapped suddenly. "He's not like the others. Trust me, he would be here if he could, and he is coming as soon as he can." He hoped.

"Well, I hope it's soon enough," Ethan said and headed back into the ward.

Crowley looked in, swallowing hard as he watched Ethan sit down next to Abby and hunch over in his chair. This had to be fixed somehow.

"Where are you, angel?" Crowley muttered to himself, or maybe it was also a prayer. He just wished Aziraphale would get his feathery backside down here where people actually needed him.

~~~~~~~

It was two days, and time was running out.

Crowley went to visit Ethan and Abigail each day, and the ex-angel gave him a cold shoulder. Abby didn't, though she was struggling, Crowley could tell.

"You're very brave," he told her as he sat on the side of the bed, watching her color in her coloring book. Even the motion of her crayon across the paper was weak.

She smiled, lips wavering. "I don't really think so."

"You are," Crowley insisted. Braver than he was.

"If you say so," she said, eyes slipping closed.

Ethan took her coloring book from her and pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. He looked up at Crowley again, eyes pleading and angry at the same time.

Crowley couldn't take it anymore and left the ward.

He walked outside. It was late, the sun gone down a long time ago. And cold. So damn cold. He breathed into his hands and rubbed them together as he looked up at the sky. The stars were barely visible past the gathering clouds, but he could see some of them. He sent another prayer to Aziraphale, hoping the angel had gotten any of them, and continued waiting.

He felt the presence before he caught the dark shape out of the corner of his eye.

"Azrael," Crowley nearly spat, stopping the figure.

Blackness poured toward him, and he realized it was the being's wings, unfurling magnificently out of pure darkness like that of a black hole.

"YOU," he said in a deep voice that was at once all-encompassing and yet nowhere. "CROWLEY. ISN'T THAT WHAT YOU'RE CALLING YOURSELF THESE DAYS?"

Crowley lifted his chin and felt like he was about ready to piss himself, but the Angel of Death stayed where he was. "I know you're here for her. I won't let you take her."

"AND WHAT GIVES YOU THE AUTHORITY TO MAKE THAT CHOICE?" Death looked him up and down. "A LOWLY DEMON LIKE YOURSELF. WHY SHOULD YOU CARE?"

Crowley shrugged as if he didn't really, trying to keep from shaking. "Well, way I see it, in the scheme of things, she shouldn't have been born anyway, daughter of a fallen angel and all. Should mean she's immune to the ineffable plan and all. What does it matter if she is given a second chance? Just seems fair."

The Angel of Death stared at him for a long time then said, "YOU MISSED YOUR CHANCE TO SAVE HER. IT'S TOO LATE NOW."

Crowley clenched his hands at his sides. "So you would be okay with it if someone were to heal her before her time was up?"

Azrael inclined his head, but there was no expression to be seen under the hood he wore. "I WOULD ACCEPT THAT AS THE WAY THINGS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE."

"So if…if someone healed her now, if you gave us ten minutes head start, that would be okay?"

"IF YOU CAN CALL AN ANGEL IN THAT TIME, THEN BE MY GUEST," Death said. "OTHERWISE, I'M AFRAID I WILL HAVE TO DO MY DUTY."

"Bastard," Crowley snarled.

"I TAKE NO PLEASURE IN IT, CROWLEY." Death suddenly sounded very tired. He folded his wings across his back.

"There has to be another way!" Crowley demanded desperately. "What if…what if I did it?"

The Angel of Death cocked his head to one side. "RATHER UNORTHODOX, A DEMON PERFORMING A MIRACLE."

"Tell me how, please," Crowley demanded.

Death stayed quiet so long that Crowley wanted to punch him in the face, but finally he said, "THERE MIGHT STILL BE THE SMALLEST BIT OF ANGELIC GRACE IN YOU THAT DID NOT BURN AWAY WHEN YOU FELL. IF YOU CAN FIND IT, YOU MIGHT BE ABLE TO HEAL HER."

Crowley's eyes widened, hope flickering through him.

"BUT," Death continued. "IT COMES WITH A PRICE."

"What kind of price?" Crowley demanded.

"DEMONS CANNOT TRULY PERFORM MIRACLES—IT'S JUST NOT IN YOUR NATURE AS YOU GET YOUR POWERS FROM HELL. SO, THERE'S AN… EXCHANGE."

Crowley felt icy fear freeze his innards. "You mean…"

"YOU WILL NOT DIE, AS HUMAN AILMENTS CANNOT KILL YOU," Death said. "BUT IT WILL NOT BE PLEASANT." He unfurled his wings again. "THAT IS ALL I CAN OFFER. YOU HAD BETTER HURRY. PERHAPS I WILL SEE YOU LATER." And then in a rush of darkness he was gone again.

Crowley finally breathed, his legs jelly, but he knew what he had to do now.

He rushed back into the hospital to the children's ward, and strode over to Abby's bed where Ethan glanced up at him.

"Ethan, you should go get yourself something to eat," Crowley told him. "I'll watch over her."

"I can't leave her," Ethan said firmly.

"Just a few minutes," Crowley told him, trying to smile. "You'll do her more good if you take care of yourself."

Ethan hesitated, then reluctantly stood. "Maybe a cup of tea," he conceded. "Can I get you something?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Crowley said, urging the man to leave.

Ethan walked out of the ward. Crowley swiftly tugged the curtain around Abigail's bed. The other parents and children in the ward seemed to be sleeping, but he couldn't be too careful.

He gently woke Abigail and she came to groggily.

"What is it?" she murmured, confused. "Crowley?"

Crowley smiled at her and reached out to take her hand. "Listen, Abby, I need you to be brave and trust me, alright?"

She frowned. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Hopefully, very soon, nothing will be," Crowley told her. He reached up and took off his glasses. She blinked as she saw his eyes.

"Don't be scared," Crowley told her. "I'm going to try to help you."

"Are you an angel?" Abby asked him.

Crowley huffed a laugh. "No, not exactly." He closed his eyes soon after and felt deep, deep inside himself. Did he truly have a smidgeon of angelic power left from the fall? He wasn't sure he believed it. He placed a hand on Abby's forehead.

He thought about healing, thought about pushing that to the forefront. Instead of drawing on Hell for his powers like he usually did, something old and dusty pinged inside of him and he grasped it, pulling it closer to the surface. It was sluggish, but he felt the strange sensation of light kindling inside of him, and as he opened his eyes, he realized his hand was glowing against Abigail's forehead. He also realized he could feel the sickness inside of her, and started to draw it out. It entered him, dark and oozing, something evil. But it was working!

Finally he felt all of the illness leave the little girl and he pulled back with a gasp, slumping over the side of the bed. He felt…pretty terrible. Aching, nauseous, exhausted, but he was sure it had worked and that was all he cared about.

Abigail was asleep, and Crowley tucked her in fully and stood up shakily. He had done it! He couldn't believe it.

He glanced at the other children lying in the ward. Something twisted inside of him and he found himself moving to the next bed.

Five other children were healed that night by the demon. As he finished with the last one, Crowley felt his head spinning, his breath labored. His body sang with the pain and illness flooding his system. Terror overcame him as he realized he had overdone it. He tried to make it back to the chair next to Abigail's bed but his legs wouldn't work anymore. He only made it a few steps before they gave out and he crashed to the floor, body unable to move anymore. Darkness crowded his vision, and for a brief moment he saw the Angel of Death standing in the corner of the room. He still could not see the expression under the hood, but it looked like there was pity there. But Death was gone soon after, or perhaps it was just that Crowley couldn't stand to keep his eyes open another second.

He felt like his body was shutting down. He could barely breathe, and worse, he realized that all of a sudden, he had to breathe.

"Az-Aziraphale," he managed to croak out. A prayer of his own.

He didn't know how long it was before hands grasped the back of his coat and rolled him over.

"Crowley?"

The voice was familiar, but it wasn't Aziraphale's. Crowley tried to blink his eyes open, got them halfway there and saw the blurry outline of Ethan.

"Can you get up?" the ex-angel asked.

Crowley groaned weakly, feeling nausea roil inside of him as he squeezed his eyes shut again.

Ethan murmured something under his breath and Crowley felt himself being maneuvered into the man's arms. Ethan picked him up bodily and carried him out of the ward.

"What you did…thank you, Crowley," Ethan said and Crowley was sure a couple tears fell down onto his face. "I'll never forget this. Please, let me take you to my house. You can rest there. It's the least I can do."

Crowley thought the least he could do was probably bury him. He felt himself slipping away. He tried to open his eyes again but couldn't.

"Crowley?" Ethan demanded.

Cold air hit them, they were outside, and Crowley shivered violently. He groaned, tapping Ethan weakly as he felt the urge to vomit.

Ethan seemed to see his distress and lowered him into a grassy spot outside the hospital where he somehow succeeded in holding Crowley upright as he vomited.

Crowley slumped there against the former angel, shivering as the darkness encroached upon him again. He looked up hoping to see the stars, but there were none in the sky. Instead snow fell softly down and landed on Crowley's face. He slid further toward the ground, just wanting to lie down and die.

The last thing he saw was a very bright light and then nothing.

~~~~~~~

The meeting finally ended and Aziraphale was the first one out, hurrying away before anyone could stop him. Crowley had prayed to him several more times, each time more desperate, and he was beyond anxious to get back to Earth.

He spent no time in making his way to Crowley's flat and knocked on the door.

The demon wasn't there, however, and Aziraphale was even more worried. Had he gone to the bookshop to wait for him? Aziraphale didn't even know where the sick child was being kept though she was probably in hospital. Perhaps that was the best place to start.

It was then he heard another prayer. This one weak and simply a cry for help.

"Aziraphale."

Aziraphale pin-pointed the origin of the prayer and hurried in that direction as quickly as he could.

It was the hospital, he realized, and there were two figures crouched outside of it, one very familiar.

"Crowley!" he cried then came to a stop as he spotted the other figure, holding the demon up as Crowley slumped, deathly pale. "What on earth has happened?"

The man looked up and blinked. Aziraphale stopped with a sharp breath as he met the man's eyes. "Oh my. Zadkiel, is that you?"

The man, or former angel, shook his head. "No longer."

Aziraphale had no idea what was really going on here, but he crouched and reached to touch Crowley's hand almost tentatively, feeling it was very cold. "What happened to him? He told me there was a child…"

"He saved her. He saved my daughter. I don't know how he managed it, but…it took a lot out of him."

"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale muttered even as the demon slipped further to the ground, completely comatose. He didn't even have his glasses on, which somehow made him look smaller and even more sickly. Aziraphale put his hand against Crowley's forehead and looked into him before pulling back with a shudder. "He needs to be warm. I need to bring him home."

The man nodded, and pointed out Crowley's Bentley parked down the street. Then he helped Aziraphale carry Crowley to it and Aziraphale thanked the man and drove off.

He carried Crowley into his flat, and the demon had yet to wake. He was simply shivering, his breathing labored. Aziraphale could feel him fading. Whatever Crowley had done had taken far too much out of the demon. He wasn't even entirely sure how Crowley had healed the girl, but he knew his friend had paid the price.

Aziraphale tucked him into bed, trying to make him as comfortable as possible.

"Crowley," he called after a moment, then shook his friend. "Crowley please wake up. I'm sorry I was so late. I…" Crowley simply lay there, unresponsive.

Aziraphale settled a hand on his chest and felt deep, not liking what he saw. Everything about Crowley felt wrung out, his powers horribly diminished, and on top of that, he seemed to have collected several terminal illness all at once.

"Oh, my dear boy," Aziraphale breathed. "What have you done?"

He summoned his own powers and pushed them into Crowley. It was not the easiest thing, to heal a demon, but he managed to offer some relief, bringing Crowley back from the edge he was dangerously teetering on.

The demon gasped and his eyes flew open, scrambling.

Aziraphale caught one flailing hand and settled his own gently on Crowley's brow. "Easy now, dear, it's just me."

"'Zira—?" Crowley murmured before he cringed as if in pain.

"I'm here, Crowley. I'm so sorry I couldn't come before. I tried to get here as soon as I could."

Crowley shook his head and coughed, the motion wracking his suddenly fragile-looking frame. Aziraphale stroked his brow in the hopes of soothing him and Crowley seemed to settle a little.

"Why did you do this to yourself, dear?" he asked softly.

"Someone had to," Crowley murmured. "'Sides…you never…would have…forgiven me."

Aziraphale's face pinched in pain as Crowley's eyes slid shut again and he curled up in the bed, shivering and pale. Aziraphale tucked the blanket around him and added another on top.

Then he took up his vigil over the brave demon who never ceased to surprise him.

~~~~~~~

If Crowley didn't know any better, he was sure he would die. If it hadn't been for Aziraphale's emergency healing early on, he wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't have shuffled off this mortal coil—or whatever coil it technically was for demons.

Still, it was a miserable night that turned into a miserable week. Aziraphale didn't leave his side. Crowley vaguely worried about Hell, what they might think, worried they might try to get into contact with him. He didn't know how he would explain healing six kids in one night. But perhaps they never had to know. After all, he had not used demonic powers to heal Abby and the others, so there was nothing to answer to home office about.

To his surprise, Ethan and Abby visited him sometime during his illness. He wasn't expressly aware of much for very long, going in and out of consciousness, but he did clearly remember Ethan coming in and speaking to Aziraphale while the little girl approached his bedside.

"You left your glasses," she told him and he blinked, watching her put them on the side table, folded neatly. She looked so much better. Stronger, pink cheeks, light in her eyes. "Dad says you got sick because you helped me. You're going to get better, right?"

Crowley wet his lips. "I'll be fine soon enough."

She looked skeptical, but nodded. "You had better. It's snowing, you know. A lot. I always wanted to go sledding. Dad told me he would take me, but I want you to come too. So you have to get better."

Crowley couldn't help a small smile. "I don't get a choice in this?"

Abby shook her head. "No. You're getting better and you're coming sledding."

She then left with Ethan and Crowley fell back to sleep.

Eventually, he was able to get up, drink Bovril and tea and whatever else Aziraphale thought he should have. It still felt like it was taking him a lot longer to recover than it should have.

"News has spread of the miraculous healings in the children's ward," Aziraphale told Crowley one night as the demon sat on his couch and watched television, wrapped in blankets.

He glanced over at the angel who looked slightly embarrassed. "I'm sure it's quite the mystery."

Aziraphale nodded. "Yes, though no one's spending too much time looking into it. Er…I got a commendation for it. I suppose Heaven thought it was me. Even though I technically wasn't even on earth at the time."

Crowley almost snorted. "Well, you are the most likely candidate."

"Yes, well, I am still very impressed with what you did, Crowley. I didn't know you had that in you."

The demon shook his head. "Probably can't do it again."

"Still," Aziraphale smiled at him and it was Crowley's turn to look embarrassed. He really hoped Hell never got wind of this.

~~~~~~~

The snow was still thick when Crowley recovered enough for Aziraphale to drag him outside. They met Ethan and Abby in the park and Abby instantly ran to them, grabbing Crowley's hand to pull him toward the hill where her new, bright red sled waited.

Crowley went reluctantly, but found that the sledding was actually rather fun. Even though he wasn't fond of the cold, he supposed he could see the appeal of snow if all one had to do was have fun in it.

And Aziraphale had brought a thermos of hot chocolate for when they needed a warm up, so that also made it better.

Crowley watched Ethan play around with his daughter in the snow. They got on the sled together, Ethan in the back and Abby in the front, and they slid down the hill until the sled toppled. It sent them into the snow and they came up, both of them laughing, and happy, and Crowley decided he felt happy too just watching them. Aziraphale turned to him with a smile, and Crowley smiled back.

Until a snowball hit him in the side of the face.

Abby laughed and Crowley grinned dangerously and formed a snowball himself as the little girl shrieked and went to hide. Crowley pulled Aziraphale into the fray and the four of them began to whip snowballs at each other as their laughter rang out over the snowy day.