Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1994 AD

To perform miraculous healing, the angel (or occasionally, the demon) must know what he is healing. Every injury requires a direct thought to be healed.

This is easily misunderstood that an angel can heal a human of all injuries simply by wishing him well. This is untrue. Think about it in human terms. For example, putting a full arm cast on someone who only has a splinter in his finger is complete overkill. Alternatively, putting a band-aid over someone's broken ribs won't do much good either.

Just as humans have specific ways to speed up their healing process, miraculous healing for extraterrestrial beings is the same. Without knowing exactly what is ailing the being, no amount of miracles will help.

Aziraphale had gotten in trouble a few times for his frivolous use of miracles, curing himself of a paper cut or a stubbed toe. And then was reprimanded again for avoiding the injury (and subsequent 'frivolous healing miracle') by willing his books not to cut his finger or his furniture not to be in his path to begin with. He resented his superiors for it, but Aziraphale learned to cope with most human uncomfortableness, like the throb of hitting your elbow on something, or the sting of biting the inside of your cheek as you eat.

In almost every way, Aziraphale considered himself human. He knew there were whispers above of him having "gone native", but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Besides, Crowley had to deal with much worse, what with his superiors sneering in his face that he'd gone soft. Crowley always handled it gracefully and brushed it off whenever Aziraphale tried to bring it up over dinner.

They could only see one another once every few years or so, as per their Arrangement. They agreed that much more than that would garner too much attention from both upstairs and downstairs, and they'd both be in trouble. Aziraphale feared Falling more than anything, and Crowley feared losing Aziraphale (though he never told him this. He insisted that his fear was being replaced and having to spend eternity in Hell's filing department, but if Aziraphale's soft smiles indicated he knew the truth, he never said anything) so it was in both of their best interests to be discreet.

"Fancy a drive, Angel?" Crowley asked as they finished their meal. It was the early hours of brunch, and Aziraphale had a hearty helping of savory crepes followed by a sweet crepe to cleanse the palate, and he was dabbing the powdered sugar from the corners of his lips as Crowley dropped the question.

"That sounds lovely," Aziraphale beamed and set his napkin on the table, getting to his feet with a content sigh. "And where will we be driving this afternoon?"

Crowley shrugged and led the way to the car. "Dunno, was thinking of going out to the countryside, maybe make it all the way to the channel. Just a day trip down the A23, what do you think?"

They got in and Aziraphale promptly made himself comfortable by bracing his feet against the floor and holding so tight to the bar above the window, his knuckles went white. Both of them ignored his position and soon enough they were on their way, chatting casually. "A road trip," Aziraphale said to himself. "Don't think I've been on one of those since...well, since actual roads were invented!" He chuckled. "We will be back before nightfall, yes?" He turned to Crowley with a slightly worried expression. "I can't leave the bookshop unattended for so long."

"Don't worry," Crowley waved a hand lazily at him and the car weaved in its lane, much to Aziraphale's dismay. "Just a day trip, promise. You'll be back to your books in no time."

Soon enough they were on the highway, speeding between cars and only barely following the rules of the road.

They chatted casually, but Aziraphale's fingers never loosened on the grip. Crowley simply ignored it; he was used to Aziraphale's dramatics by this point.

"You've never been to the play?" Aziraphale asked incredulously as they discussed the latest entertainment they had seen.

"Not that one, no. Worth it?"

Aziraphale modded emphatically. "Oh yes, very much worth it."

"Well, maybe I'll get us tickets to a performance later this week," Crowley said with a glimmer of hope. Aziraphale's face softened and he beamed.

"Oh I'd like that. It was very good and I do think you'd enjoy it."

They continued talking, and in an instant, Aziraphale trailed off and his head snapped to look out his window. "Crowley, Crowley-!" He started, but it was too late.

Crowley barely had time to even turn his head, and his body was already reacting to the sudden appearance of the nose of a car hurtling toward them.

He slammed the wheel to the right and floored the gas, trying to avoid the collision, and sent a just-in-case miracle to protect himself, trusting Aziraphale to do the same just as the oncoming car struck them on the passenger side, T-boning them and sending them skidding to the right.

Gravity swung around them.

Colors spiraling.

Shattering of broken glass.

Someone screamed.

Thrown sideways, Crowley growled angrily as he felt the miracle protecting him strain under the pressure of keeping him safe, and his vision whited out as adrenaline shot through his veins.

Thankfully the car didn't flip, and they slid to a stop a few meters from the crash site.

Crowley released his white-knuckle grip on the wheel and threw his door open. "What the fuck do you think you were doing?" He demanded of the other driver, who looked terrified and deathly white as he sat behind the crumpled hood of his car. He didn't respond to Crowley at all, and if the demon miracled the man to have a few extra bumps and bruises and aches as punishment, he wouldn't deny it.

Crowley turned back to his precious Bentley and hissed in frustration. The whole passenger side was crumpled and the glass was shattered and littering the street. With a snap and a wave, everything was whole again. "Alright, Angel," Crowley groaned as he stepped around to the driver's side. He glanced up, expecting Aziraphale to come back to the car. It was only then did he realize the angel was nowhere to be seen. "Aziraphale?" Crowley asked, a bit of uneasiness creeping into his voice. He had seen Aziraphale exit the car with him… didn't he?

Feeling a pit form in his stomach, Crowley pulled open his door and peered inside. His blood went ice cold.

"Aziraphale!" He cried, climbing into the car and cupping Aziraphale's motionless cheek. The angel was unconscious, slumped back in his seat. Crowley's voice rose an octave. "Aziraphale, please! Please answer me!"

He had no idea how long he sat there, feeling his nerves fraying more and more, holding onto Aziraphale's shallowly-breathing body and willing him to wake up, but the sound of a siren approaching did nothing for Crowley's anxiety. Without thinking, he sat back in his chair, buckled both his and Aziraphale's seatbelts for the first time ever, and tore off down the street, sending a miracle to make sure no one saw them and they wouldn't be missed.

Every little bump they hit, Aziraphale's head lolled bonelessly. He was yet to wake up, which only fueled Crowley's panic.

Crowley drove them to the next city and was planning to check them into the closest motel, just as Aziraphale started to come around. He gave a low groan and cracked his eyes open just the slightest bit. Crowley immediately pulled over and focused all his attention on Aziraphale. "Hey Angel," Crowley cooed. "You feeling okay?"

Aziraphale blinked slowly and it seemed to take a lot of effort to focus on Crowley. He took a breath to answer, but his face suddenly went sour, and a sheen of panic flooded his eyes. He clapped a hand over his mouth and fumbled with the door of the car, finally opening it on his third attempt, and promptly leaned over just enough to avoid making a mess in the car, and vomited.

Crowley was cold with panic, and fought to keep his hands steady and his voice even. "It's alright Angel, just do what you need to do." He reached over and massaged soothing circles into Aziraphale's back.

After a few minutes of vomiting that turned into dry retching, Aziraphale finally slumped, letting his head hang low between his shoulders as he took a moment to catch his breath. At some point, Crowley had turned off the car and had one hand on Aziraphale's lower back for comfort and the other on his shoulder to help balance him.

"M'okay," Aziraphale mumbled when he could breathe again, and gratefully accepted Crowley's help in resettling into his seat, though his eyes were glassy and he couldn't meet Crowley's gaze.

"Are you sure? That's not something that usually happens to someone who's okay," Crowley sat back into his own seat and crossed his arms. Aziraphale looked away and Crowley noticed a pink color flooding up to Aziraphale's ears. Crowley's tone softened. "Hey Angel, really, are you okay? Want me to help?" He reached out a hand to try to miracle away any remaining nausea, but Aziraphale flinched back.

"No, no I can do it," he whispered, and waved a hand over his head to clear the nausea. It worked, and he was already feeling better. "There we are, see? Good as new." As he was saying it, another wave of nausea crested and fell over him, but Aziraphale had enough control to discreetly miracle it away again. Crowley didn't seem convinced.

"Right, well…" Crowley took a deep breath. "If it's alright with you, I'd rather not be driving much longer. Let's find a place to rest, yeah?"

Aziraphale wanted to argue, but felt the nausea come back a third time, and decided against it. "Sure, alright," he said mildly as he performed the third frivolous miracle in a row.

As they drove, Aziraphale stared out the window at the quickly-changing scenery. "Where are we?" He asked in awe. "It's beautiful."

"Near the South Downs, I believe," Crowley said. "Somewhere down the A23, anyway."

"Oh," Aziraphale acknowledged, then paused as though debating to ask his next question or not. Eventually he decided to take a breath and turn to Crowley. "I'm sorry my dear, but what were we doing down here? Shouldn't we be at the bookshop?"

Crowley's expression turned worried, but he swallowed and kept his eyes on the road. "Well sure, but I wanted us to go on a road trip, remember? Though I may not be able to get you back to the bookshop before nightfall. I want to make sure you get some rest before we go home."

Aziraphale accepted the answer easily enough, and much to Crowley's increasing worry, didn't seem at all put-out by not being able to open the bookshop for the day.

With that thought in mind, Crowley pressed his foot a little harder on the gas and willed the Bentley to take them someplace safe as quickly as possible.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale's nap was going on a few hours, and Crowley couldn't help pacing the length of the small motel room he had managed to find. He tried to stop, to calm down, to relax. But he always ended up back on his feet and walking around the room aimlessly.

Aziraphale had fallen asleep in the car despite Crowley's demands—and eventually, pleas—for him to stay awake. Shortly after that, Crowley sped into the lot of a motel, gathered up the angel, and carried him to the first room he saw, which was miraculously open and vacant. He had laid him on the bed and tried all the miracles he could think of. A wake-up miracle, an anti-nausea miracle, a pain-relief miracle, but Aziraphale stayed firmly unconscious, oblivious to it all, much to Crowley's dismay.

After three hours and forty-three minutes, Aziraphale finally began to stir.

Crowley was at his side in an instant the moment he heard Aziraphale's breathing shift into a small groan. "Hey Angel," he said as he collapsed into the chair and grasped Aziraphale's hand.

Aziraphale's eyes slowly cracked open and he stared, unseeing, at the ceiling for a moment. Then he blinked and his gaze drifted over to Crowley, who stared back with an openly anxious expression. Aziraphale blinked again and let his gaze slide off Crowley to stare at nothing on the other side of the room.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley cautioned, getting to his feet and tightening his hold on Aziraphale's hand. Aziraphale didn't respond. "Aziraphale this isn't funny, what's wrong?"

At the sharper tone, Aziraphale startled ever so slightly, and let his eyes lock back onto Crowley. He swallowed, took a breath, and said "Flurgmnhh."

It was Crowley's turn to blink. "Wh- Sorry, what?" He conjured a glass of water and went to lift Aziraphale into a sitting position, but the angel remained completely limp in his grasp and made no effort to help. "C'mon Aziraphale, you're starting to freak me out a little. Do you need something to drink?" Aziraphale, haphazardly slumped in a nest of pillows against the headboard, slowly focused his gaze on the glass and then back up to Crowley with an unreadable, empty expression.

Crowley bit his lip so hard, he tasted copper. "Alright, that's alright. I can just miracle it better. What's wrong, your throat's dry?" He snapped his fingers and Aziraphale startled again, swallowing convulsively against his suddenly moist throat. "Better?"

Aziraphale gave a low whine and met Crowley's gaze once more, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he stared up at him with intention. But when he tried to speak again, all that came out was a wet gurgle that ended with a line of spit stretching from his lip down to his chin. Crowley stared at it for a moment, the copper taste in his mouth growing more sour by the second.

"Aziraphale, you need to tell me what's wrong. Did you hit your head when that car crashed us?" He lifted a hand and placed it tenderly against Aziraphale's skull, feeling as softly as he could for any injuries. There wasn't anything to be felt, so he pulled away and gritted his teeth while frantically tugging at his own hair. "You didn't hit your head." Panic rising, he had no idea what to do. He wasn't some human doctor, nor he didn't know the types of injuries an ethereal being could obtain. "I can't take you to see a doctor, Aziraphale. What am I supposed to tell them? We were in an accident and I'm miraculously okay, while you can barely speak? Or if they ask how old you are, what am I supposed to say?" He stood and began to pace once more, now running trembling fingers through his hair. "Besides, there's nothing they can do that I can't. I just need to know what's wrong."

Aziraphale simply watched him pace, and said nothing.

After a few minutes, and some conscious breathing and relaxing, Crowley was able to sit back down next to Aziraphale, and looked him over sadly.

"Oh Aziraphale," he breathed. "This is all my fault. I never should have had us come down here." He felt his throat tighten and his eyes burned, and he buried his face into his arms and slumped down onto the bed next to Aziraphale.

When he felt a soft weight on the back of his head, Crowley shifted and looked up to see Aziraphale with a somber expression, one hand resting on Crowley's head in a gesture of comfort. He said nothing, and his expression didn't change, but the touch was solid and Crowley felt a bit of his impending panic fade away just the slightest.

He sighed lightly, and shuffled closer to the bed until his crossed arms were pressed against Aziraphale's side. "It's okay," Crowley whispered. "It's okay, you'll be fine." He sat up and gave his most genuine smile down at Aziraphale. "Are you hungry at all? I can make whatever you like."

Aziraphale said nothing.

"How about something light? I know when a human has been throwing up, they need something light to settle their stomach. Want to try soup?" Crowley was met with a blank expression, but he pointedly ignored it. "Yeah, let's do soup." With a snap, he was holding a steaming bowl of creamy tomato. He held it close to Aziraphale and waved some of the steam toward him. "Smells good, yeah? Let's try a bite."

He spooned up some, and held it to Aziraphale's lips, which stayed stubbornly closed.

"Come on, just a little bit." He tried again, but even though a few drops clung to Aziraphale's lips, he didn't acknowledge the spoon at all, and alternated between staring at Crowley, and letting his gaze slide to stare at something unseen just to the right of Crowley.

Crowley took a cleansing breath and tried to keep his voice chipper. "Not hungry? That's alright. Maybe you want to try sleeping? You had a nice nap earlier, but maybe you're still tired." He had anticipated Aziraphale's blank look, and was already kicking off his shoes and miracling his clothes into the soft silk he enjoyed sleeping in. Without a word, he lifted the covers and nudged Aziraphale farther to the right and settled him flat on his back again so Crowley could lie next to him.

Together in the nest of pillows, they stared up at the ceiling, neither saying a thing. Crowley's thoughts were going a mile a minute and he didn't know what to do or how to help Aziraphale. The only sound was that of their heavy, lightly-panicked breathing. And, hold on...

Crowley slowed his breathing and let it become shallow and quiet, and within seconds, Aziraphale's did the same. After a few breaths like this, he quickened it once more, and Aziraphale's followed suit. He was deliberately copying Crowley.

Feeling his throat grow tight once more, Crowley fought the tears and swallowed thickly, feeling a swell of what he could only call 'affection' when Aziraphale copied him. They couldn't communicate for whatever reason, not yet. But this was a start. And as soon as Crowley knew what the problem was, he planned to fix it immediately.

Still looking up at the ceiling, Crowley slid his hand to the right and let his fingers gently pass over the back of Aziraphale's left hand.

[pic of Crowley reaching out to Aziraphale]

Aziraphale didn't move, didn't respond. But when Crowley took his hand and gave it a squeeze, Crowley could have sworn that Aziraphale took a deeper breath, then let it out in an almost frustrated sigh.

Crowley knew Aziraphale was comforted by him, and he knew that the angel must have been at least a little frightened, underneath whatever was going on with his corporation. So Crowley tried to make it as easy for Aziraphale as he could. He ran his thumb in continuous circles on the back of his hand, took deep and steady breaths, and even closed his eyes. Closing his eyes was for his own benefit, but if Aziraphale copied that, he wouldn't mind.

Soon enough, Crowley felt Aziraphale's stiff hand suddenly grow slack, and when he opened his eyes to see why, it was because Aziraphale had fallen asleep. His head was tilted toward Crowley and his chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths, and his jaw was slack. All the tension he had been holding in his body finally were released, and he looked genuinely peaceful for the first time that day.

Crowley thumbed away the faint orange tinge on his lips from the tomato soup, and took a moment to really look at his angel.

His angel. That was new.

He wasn't going to fight it though. He took a moment to really look at his angel. The light dusting of freckles that were almost unseen under his pale skin. The way his lips were parted as he inhaled and exhaled. The dark eyelashes that were a stark contrast to his blond hair. The gentle upturn of his nose.

Crowley suddenly had an intense urge to lean over and kiss the very tip of that nose.

He recoiled physically, trying to shake himself from the sudden thought. No, that was beyond inappropriate. Aziraphale was obviously ill, and was trying to recover. The last thing he needed right now was some foreign emotion from Crowley.

Without anything better to do, Crowley slid from the bed and began to pace again. Aziraphale had seemed fine at first after the accident. Sure, he was a bit sick to his stomach, but he was speaking and acknowledging Crowley. Now it was like he had no idea where he was, or even who Crowley was! Clearly he trusted him though, to mimic him and fall asleep right next to him.

The only thing Crowley couldn't understand was why.

Why was all of this happening? There wasn't a bump on Aziraphale's head, so he didn't give himself some kind of amnesia (Crowley knew how to fix that; he had seen enough movies. If Aziraphale were to obtain a similar bump on the head, the memories would come back), he didn't have any broken bones or ribs. The only thing Crowley could conclude was that his corporation was malfunctioning. Possibly because Aziraphale's unconscious soul thought he was going to die from the accident, and already started its ascent to Heaven, only for his body to survive? And thus, only half his soul was really inside the body?

Crowley turned to the bed and closed his eyes, searching out Aziraphale's aura.

He found it easily, as strong as ever, but simmering by itself, like a pot in a rolling boil. Usually when he would reach out ethereally like this, Aziraphale would reach back. But even as he sent a wave of comfort toward Aziraphale, the emotion faded as though eaten by a void. Aziraphale's soul, however, continued to roll over itself, happily bubbling away.

This was both good and bad news. If it wasn't affecting the strength of Aziraphale's soul, then it wasn't anything ethereal at all that was happening, and his soul was still securely inside his body. It was simply a corporation malfunction that was quickly taking over every part of Aziraphale's being and making him unresponsive to anything Crowley tried in attempt to reach him.

And Crowley had no idea how to fix it.

Chapter Text

He woke up slowly, his consciousness coming to him one sense at a time. First was the sensation of weight. The touch of the softness under him and how he sunk into it, like a cloud. His hearing came next, but it came as a ringing that grew louder and louder the more he woke. He winced and felt the weight of his teeth grinding together.

The ringing was painful and overwhelming. He raised his hands to clamp them over his ears, but he felt his arms remain limp on the cloud he was lying on.

Confused, he slowly blinked his eyes open, and was greeted with light and swirls of color that made no sense and caused his stomach to ache.

He was alone and surrounded by color and he was so confused and lost and his chest was starting to hurt and–

He closed his eyes again and felt his quickening breath grow tight in his lungs. Dear Above, he was about to die.

A touch on his cheek pulled him back, and he cracked his eyes open again, but was greeted with the vague shape of someone distantly familiar to him, but too far from his memory to place. He should know who this is, he told himself. But who was it? Dark clothes, fiery hair, soft tone—from what he could understand underneath the intense ringing, it sounded soft—and gentle touches. He just couldn't place any of it.

Too tired to think too hard about it, he just closed his eyes once more and felt the touch release his cheek and instead capture his hand. It held tightly. Not painfully, just tightly. There was another soft, low rumble behind the ringing, but all he could decipher was that it was simply sound. Nothing more.

He took a deep breath and tried once again to open his eyes. This time, the room was dimmer, and he could actually make the details come into focus. But he had no idea where he was. Part of him wondered if, like the person holding his hand, he was supposed to recognize it, but couldn't. In the end, it was too hard to remember, so he let it go and tried to stay in the moment.

The touch squeezed his hand, and he looked over to see deep yellow eyes looking at him. Despite the shocking color, he wasn't afraid. It was safe here, he knew that. He was safe.

He looked into those amber eyes, and noticed movement below. The mouth was moving. He couldn't hear anything over the ringing. So he looked back up at the eyes, which were starting to develop creases around them as the expression changed.

It was too hard to decipher the expression, so he let his gaze travel away to look around the room again. He found a small light source, but as soon as he looked at it, a spike of pain shot through his head and he gasped, closing his eyes and curling up on his side as best he could. The pain was relentless, growing more and more intense as the seconds went by. The pain curdled his stomach, and he felt himself gagging.

Over the rush of blood in his ears and the ringing deep in his skull, he finally heard words. Or, not really 'heard'. It was more like a feeling. As though the weight inside him had spoken directly to him.

It said, "You're alright Aziraphale, I've got you." He felt arms wrap around his shaking body. "I've got you."

Everything went black.

Crowley cradled Aziraphale as he trembled and made the most heartbreaking whimpers Crowley had ever heard. "It's alright," he kept repeating, "You're alright, I've got you."

Aziraphale began to convulse, much to Crowley's horror. The whites of his eyes were streaked with dark veins with how intensely they rolled back. Crowley couldn't see any of the familiar light blue in his angel's eyes at all, and he had to look away from the disturbing sight.

Retching on nothing, Aziraphale's body thrashed as though an electric current were running through it. Powerful and relentless. Crowley tried holding him steady, keeping him from kicking straight off the bed, all the while chanting something like "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay…" nonstop.

Just as suddenly as it started, the fit ended, and Aziraphale was merely twitching in Crowley's hold, eyes still locked straight up at nothing as he gasped for every small breath.

What started it? Crowley wondered frantically, looking around the room. He had dimmed the light coming in from the window to almost nothing, so the only real light was from a lamp on the side table. Was he light sensitive? Did the lamp set it off? Crowley snapped his fingers and the light went off completely. His night vision allowed him to still be able to see, but if Aziraphale awoke, there would be hardly any light; only the faintest shadows from the faded glow of the window.

Perhaps that would fix it. Crowley hoped that would fix it.

Crowley gathered Aziraphale more fully into his arms, even going as far as crawling up onto the bed to hold Aziraphale securely. The angel's head lolled and Crowley cradled it in the crook of his arm. He noticed another line of spit streaking down Aziraphale's cheek, and the remnants of tears crusting across his temples.

Tenderly, so tenderly, Crowley summoned a damp cloth and passed it over Aziraphale's face, cleaning the drool and tears from his cheeks, and then summoned a clean, cool cloth to press over Aziraphale's eyes and forehead.

He held Aziraphale even long after the angel's breathing had calmed and he was merely sleeping once more. Crowley just couldn't bring himself to let him go again. Not after seeing what could happen.

He would hold him as long as it took, he told himself. But he had no idea how long it would take. Or even what it would require to get better Did Aziraphale just need company, or did he need real help? Crowley felt so lost. So alone. Part of him wanted to turn to Aziraphale and ask what he thought they should do, but he always caught himself and it always hit with increasing pangs of hurt every time.

So with no one else to turn to, and nothing else to do, Crowley closed his eyes.

And for the first time in eons, Crowley prayed.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale slept for a long time. During that time, Crowley had grown re-acquainted with praying. He thanked anyone who was listening—he made it a point not to talk to Her directly, but rather a vague, 'anyone who is listening'—that Aziraphale was sleeping and therefore not in pain. He asked for guidance and what he should do. He told Upstairs that if they need to recall Aziraphale to Heaven to issue him a new corporation, that Crowley would take care of business down here in the meantime. He begged them to make sure Aziraphale would be okay.

But there was no reply.

He didn't expect there to be, but spending most of his time praying while holding Aziraphale and feeling his breath puff shallowly against his neck seemed like the best way to be spending his time.

He had shifted them both sometime in the night so Crowley was sitting up against the headboard, and Aziraphale was leaning back against his chest with his head tucked under Crowley's chin. It seemed the best way to monitor Aziraphale's breathing and levels of consciousness.

Aziraphale wavered in and out of sleep for a while, but he never truly woke. Crowley had completely lost track of time, and frankly, he didn't care. However long it took for Aziraphale to feel better, he would stay here the whole time, no questions asked. So he didn't know how long they had been here, but he didn't want to know.

Crowley had miracled the main office of the motel to have this room as 'occupied until further notice,' and money would magically appear in their till to compensate for the room. There was also a 'do not disturb' sign on the door itself, so housekeeping wouldn't accidentally come in.

So far it was working. Crowley took a deep breath and gave Aziraphale's shoulder and arm a reassuring rub. The angel didn't acknowledge it, but it comforted Crowley.

"What have I done?" Crowley whispered to himself, letting his head thud against the wall behind him. "I didn't mean for this to happen, Angel, I just..." He sighed, feeling icy shame settle in his heart. "I'm so sorry." A little voice in the back of his mind piped up, You may be sorry, but he's still unresponsive. And you're just sitting here like a bastard, not doing anything. This is your fault, you snake. What did you think would happen if an angel spent time with a demon? Of course you would hurt him sooner or later, no matter how much you love him.

Crowley froze, eyes going wide in the dark. "I love him," he breathed. That's not what I meant, you idiot, the voice spat, but Crowley was ignoring it. "I love him." Crowley looked down at Aziraphale's serene face, at the damp spot of drool that had started to seep into the collar of Crowley's shirt, and felt fondness swell inside him once more.

"I love you," he said quietly, so quietly.

The emotion felt like it was about to burst through Crowley's chest, and he wondered if Aziraphale, even in sleep, could hear how hard his heart was beating, because he chose that moment to finally stir, scrunching up his face and whining softly.

"Shh, shh," Crowley soothed, bringing both arms to wrap securely around Aziraphale "I'm here," he whispered into his hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

Aziraphale, more awake than he had been in ages, groaned again and attempted words. "Hhhuhhng,"

Crowley winced at how slurred and wet it sounded, but it was some kind of acknowledgement, which was better than nothing. "I've got you," he replied.

"Hah," Aziraphale panted. "Ha– hah... eh..." Crowley held his breath, trying his best to understand. "Heh...dnh."

After that, Aziraphale relaxed into Crowley's hold, seemingly satisfied with himself. Crowley swallowed thickly. "I don't understand," he whispered. But Aziraphale was done trying to speak, and was content to just blink languidly in the low light, leaning against Crowley's chest and breathing wetly.

Crowley closed his eyes and searched out Aziraphale's soul once more. It was there, rolling on its own, but it was rolling less frantically over itself; it seemed more calm. Crowley sent a soft wave of comfort, and this time, Aziraphale's soul pulsed in reply as he accepted it. He tried sending confusion, hoping for Aziraphale to try to explain what he was trying to say, but the confusion only confused Aziraphale, and his soul pulled away to roll on its own once more.

Opening his eyes, Crowley noticed that Aziraphale's eyes had closed and he was easing himself down to go back to sleep. Crowley let him, hoping that next time he woke, he'd be able to get some kind of answer.

However, it wasn't meant to be, because the next time Aziraphale woke, sometime in the late afternoon, he woke up crying inconsolably. Crowley tried everything from firm, reassuring touches to gentle, soothing words. Nothing could calm Aziraphale, and he continued to sob. His hands came up a few times to try to claw at his own hair and face, but Crowley firmly took his hands and held them tightly in his own, making sure Aziraphale couldn't hurt himself.

When he was restrained like this, he grew more upset, and began kicking in frustration, his cries reaching a pitch that Crowley was sure the other occupants could hear. He sent a miracle to keep the sound inside the room, and prayed for it to be over soon.

He didn't want to miracle Aziraphale back to sleep. He just couldn't knock out his best friend like that. It wasn't fair, especially when Aziraphale couldn't consent to be manipulated in such a way. It just felt wrong.

And so Crowley simply held him and let him cry himself out, murmuring to him the whole time.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe! The pressure inside every part of him was burning and he had to let it out but had no idea how. He gasped for every breath and tried kicking himself free, vocalizing his despair.

But the binds remained firm.

Pressure inside his head, inside his lungs, inside his very skin. He felt like he was about to burst, and it hurt. It was painful in every sense of the word. Painful because no one was coming to help, painful because he really felt like his head was about to explode, painful because his stomach tightened around nothing and made him feel sick. Every bit of agony was piercing him from all sides.

And on top of it all, he was completely blind.

He couldn't see anything, couldn't even see the swirls of colors he had seen once before. The absolute darkness was terrifying in a whole new way. He had never been in pure darkness before. He was light. Existed in light, made of light, thrived on light. Darkness hurt him more than he could ever say.

And here he was. In the dark. Alone. Restrained. With no one coming to help.

He felt his voice tear as he screamed, but there was no reply. His throat burned, his chest was hot and tight and he could barely catch his breath.

He let out a particularly harsh shriek that ended with him coughing on his ravaged throat. His stomach clenched again on nothing and he whimpered at the pain it brought.

But in the silence that followed, he finally could hear something. Finally could feel.

Noise. Quiet, repetitive noise.

Touch. Gentle, repetitive touch.

The vice on his chest finally eased, and he sucked in a huge breath which made him cough again. And still, the noise continued. And still, the touch remained.

Words, his fuzzy brain told him. That noise was words. He couldn't understand them, but he knew they were words. There was someone else here.

He was saved!

The touch was grounding, the pressure passing up and down his arms, across his chest, up to the back of his neck, into his hair, and back down again. The same path, the same pressure. The same words spoken into his ear.

It was dark and scary here, but he closed his eyes and soaked up the touch and the words he couldn't understand. Everything was okay, he was safe.

He was safe.

Slowly, and then all at once, Aziraphale's body relaxed. The angel shuddered as he let out a trembling breath to ghost on Crowley's shoulder.

Crowley, both relieved and terrified, continued his mantra of "You're safe, it's alright. I'm here, you're safe, you're alright," as he continued his firm touch on Aziraphale's body.

When Aziraphale finally calmed down, Crowley noticed his hand was twitching, grasping at air. He immediately reached down and took it, holding on tightly as his other hand continued rubbing Aziraphale's shoulder. Aziraphale took a deep breath and relaxed further, firmly holding onto Crowley's hand and nuzzling into his chest.

Crowley couldn't help it. He felt his body release a tiny sob, and he had no control over it. His face crumpled and he buried his nose into Aziraphale's hair as he let himself have a small breakdown.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I don't know what I'm doing, and you aren't getting any better." He choked as he tried to stop himself from sobbing again. "I'm so lost, Aziraphale. I need help."

Aziraphale shifted his legs, curling them as he rolled to lay on his side against Crowley's chest. His foot must have hit the remote for the television, because a static-ridden commercial suddenly turned on. Aziraphale didn't seem to notice it, too lost in his own head. Crowley was about to miracle it off again, but froze when he listened to the ad, grainy and broken as it was.

"If you or– ...loved one have tried everything, but still suffer f– ...may be entitled to com– ...trials for– ...call or come in for an appointment today. We won't stop until you and your loved ones are healthy again." There was a flashing phone number on the bottom of the screen as well as an address, and Crowley blinked at it for a moment. It was for a hospital. A human doctor, not too far away. And the fact that the commercial suddenly became crystal clear at the end just as he was asking for help...

He spared a quick glance Upward. "Thank you," he breathed, and just like that, the television clicked off once more before Crowley could do it himself.

Chapter Text

Crowley quickly found out that it was indeed lights that hurt Aziraphale's eyes, but there was no way to get him to the hospital without going into the light. He put a small darkening miracle on his own sunglasses, and affixed them to Aziraphale's face. The angel murmured quietly, unaware of what was going on.

It took a bit of maneuvering, but Crowley was able to get them both out of the room and back into the Bentley, and Aziraphale was only complaining minimally.

The whole drive, Crowley's fingers drummed restlessly on the wheel, and he kept stealing quick looks over at Aziraphale, who seemed to be asleep in the passenger seat. Crowley tried turning on some music, but the Bentley refused to play anything good, so he ended up driving most of the way in silence. In a way, it was nice because it allowed him to listen to Aziraphale's rhythmic, quiet snoring.

By the time they made it to the hospital, Crowley was cold with dread and shaking. He had no idea what to say or even how to request their help. He had to collect himself in the Bentley for a moment once he found a spot to park, and leaned his head into his crossed arms against the wheel and just breathed.

Now or never, he told himself. And Aziraphale needed help now. With that thought in mind, he slid out of the car and went around to help Aziraphale out. When he opened his door, he realized that the angel was in fact not sleeping, but was staring out the window through the blackened glasses, jaw agape and small snores rattling in his throat as he breathed. Crowley swallowed the lump in his throat and took a calming breath.

"Alright angel, let's get you some help, yeah?" He unbuckled him and tugged on his hands, trying to get him to get out of the car. Aziraphale grunted, his brow furrowed, but he didn't make a move to assist. "Come on," Crowley insisted, tugging more firmly. Aziraphale was tilted toward the tug, but didn't move to get out on his own. His mouth clicked closed and he whined. "Oh don't give me that," Crowley said, not unkindly. He looped one of Aziraphale's arms around his shoulders and straightened up, pulling the limp angel with him.

Slowly, step by step, Crowley tugged them toward the entrance to the emergency entrance. Aziraphale was no help, letting his feet drag on the floor and making Crowley carry him. Thankfully Crowley was a demon, and could carry anything if he just willed it. The hard part was making it believable to the humans so they wouldn't accuse him of being a witch (or whatever they accused people of being nowadays).

With infinite patience, Crowley maneuvered them through the door, and they were met with a bitter, sterile smell that nearly burned Crowley's sensitive nose. He took a second to get used to it, and to demand the reflexive tears in his eyes go away. By the time he opened them again, two nurses were running toward him, shouting things to their coworkers.

Startled when he felt one of them grab Aziraphale, Crowley hissed at them, trying to get them to back off, but neither acknowledged it and instead ushered Aziraphale to sit in a wheelchair while yet another nurse guided Crowley to follow them. He tried hissing at her too, but she simply said, "I know, sir. We're here to help. Where are you hurt?" Hurt? He wasn't hurt, didn't she see Aziraphale? He was the one who needed help, not Crowley. Dumb human. He scowled as he turned away and walked more quickly to be closer to the two pushing Aziraphale through the labyrinth of halls.

Soon enough, they made it to a room, where Aziraphale was quickly transferred to the bed. Crowley slumped into a hard chair next to him and immediately took Aziraphale's hand to calm—and hide—his own trembling.

"I need some history," the nurse was saying, taking out a clipboard and poising to write. "When did this start, what caused it, and what are his symptoms besides not conscious?"

Overwhelmed, Crowley answered honestly. "It was after we were in a car accident–"

"A car accident?" The nurse nearly squawked. She poked her head out of the room. "I need an x-ray prepared," she shouted down the hall. To Crowley, she continued in a faux-calm manner and a tense smile, "And when was this?"

"Er, what day is it?"

Pursing her lips, the nurse gave him the date, including the year, which Crowley thought was a bit much.

"Little over a week, then. Eight days. He's been sleeping a lot, and he's not one to sleep much. I talk to him but he doesn't seem to recognize me, or even hear me." Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale, who was lying flat on his back as a nurse Crowley hadn't seen come in was attaching monitors and some kind of tube to him. His voice failed him and he looked down as he whispered, "He's been having fits too, every other day or so."

"Eight days, having convulsions, unable to recognize familiar faces, oversleeping. Got it." She wrote everything down just as the doctor came in.

"Doctor Harvey, it's good to meet you," the doctor held out his hand, and Crowley shook it warily.

"Anthony Crowley. This is Aziraphale."

The doctor nodded. "I understand you were in a car accident..." he checked the notes the nurse handed him, "eight days ago? Was it just Azerphil in the car, or was it both of you?"

"Aziraphale," Crowley corrected automatically, "And no, it was both of us. I was driving," he added quietly, looking down.

The doctor frowned. "Was he not wearing a seatbelt?" He asked, stepping closer and removing Aziraphale's glasses, which made the angel flinch and turn away with a small noise. Pressing firmly on his cheek, the doctor turned his head back to face him, and the angel squinted up at him.

Crowley stood, his mouth going dry, "Ah wait, he's light sensitive too, I didn't mention that. But it really hurts him."

"I understand, but I need to check something," the doctor said with a warning edge to it, which Crowley understood to mean, 'let me do my job.' And even though he hated it, he reluctantly sat back down as the doctor held Aziraphale's head steady. He shined a small torch into both eyes, making the angel wail in pain, and Crowley had to physically grip the seat of the chair to keep from strangling the doctor.

"He's concussed," the doctor announced, clicking off the light and stepping back. "He must have hit his head during the accident. No seatbelt, I assume," he gave a disapproving look at Crowley, who was only a thread's breadth away from destroying the man.

"No," he admitted through gritted teeth.

"You both were in the car?" The doctor asked, stepping closer to Crowley and clicking his pen light on again. Crowley flinched back, and sent a miracle to make the doctor think he had already checked him over. The doctor blinked, then turned off his light and stepped away, addressing his nurse. "I'd like Aziraphale to be sent to x-rays immediately. Check for any physical injuries to the bone of his skull or spine. Then we'll send him to CT to check for brain damage or spinal cord issues."

Crowley choked. "Wh– Brain damage?" He asked in a tiny voice. But the doctor was gone. The nurse took Aziraphale's bed and began to wheel him out, but Crowley snatched her arm. "Wazzat mean, brain damage?"

"I'm sure it's nothing," she soothed, patting his hand. "It's just a precaution."

"I need to know what it means!" Crowley insisted, feeling his teeth grow sharper as he became more agitated.

The nurse still seemed unbothered. "As soon as we find anything, we will let you know immediately," she promised with another pat of Crowley's hand. "Just stay here, we'll bring him back once he's done." Crowley let her pull away, and she and another nurse helped push Aziraphale away from him.

He felt like he was spiraling out of control. Like he was losing a piece of himself when the door swung closed behind them. More alone and more scared than he had ever been in his life, Crowley wrapped his arms around himself and prayed some more.

"Please, please let him be okay," he begged. "Please..."

~ ~ ~

Time was strange. When he and Aziraphale were in the motel room, an entire week passed by and Crowley barely even felt it. But the hours that followed as Aziraphale was being examined seemed to last eternity.

He spent most of the time staring at the clock, willing it to go faster. But if anything, it seemed to go slower. As if time itself knew what Crowley wanted, and deliberately did the opposite.

Crowley wondered what kind of tests they were performing. What was an ex ray? What was a see-tee scan? Now that he was faced with how inadequate he was, Crowley began to regret not brushing up on human anatomy and their doctorate practices. Sure, he was on top of it in the beginning, heck, using leeches was his idea! Got a commendation and everything for it. But after a while, he assumed he knew everything he needed to, and had stopped reading the scrolls and stopped following the philosophers and physicians. And now it was coming back to bite him.

Brain damage, he told himself over and over. How did one recover from damage to the brain? And worse, what would happen to Aziraphale if Crowley tried to miracle it better?

He was sorely tempted to send a miracle toward Aziraphale, to try to fix his brain. But he knew that if he didn't know exactly what he was healing, it could go very wrong very quickly. He also didn't get to see Aziraphale's reaction, to gauge if the miracle even worked.

No, he would need to wait until Aziraphale was back in the room before he performed the miracle. Needed to wait until he knew exactly what was wrong, and how he could fix it. And if it all went pear-shaped... Well, no better place for Aziraphale to get help than in a hospital, he told himself.

And so he waited, counting the seconds, counting the minutes. Counting up one whole hour, then another.

Until finally, finally, the door opened and Aziraphale returned, being pushed in his bed by the two nurses. He was wearing something different. A pale blue, paper-looking tunic. His eyes were closed and his chest was quietly rising and falling. Asleep, then.

One nurse handed Crowley a bag with Aziraphale's clothes inside. "We couldn't do the scans with him wearing so much metal," she explained. Crowley nodded and took it, holding it on his lap and letting his gaze sweep over Aziraphale. He looked alright, merely sleeping.

"So what happened, what's wrong with him?" He breathed, reaching out a hand and resting it on Aziraphale's shoulder. The angel didn't respond at all.

One nurse, finished with her job, took her leave. The other closed the door for privacy and stepped close to Crowley, kneeling next to him. "It's not bad," she began, which didn't do much to alleviate Crowley's anxiety. "And you should know that he was fighting us, so we had to give him a small sedative," she motioned toward the bag of fluid with the tube going into Aziraphale's arm. "But he does have significant swelling in his brain." She went on quickly before Crowley could interrupt, "Significant, but not irreversible. His skull is intact, so we can safely assume that when the impact happened, his head was knocked side to side, and his brain was shaken inside his skull."

She stood and looked over at Aziraphale. "Imagine having a bowl of jelly and you shake it hard. Odds are, it will bounce around the bowl. It may even crack or crumble a bit. Our brains are similar to jelly, and being shaken around something as hard as a skull isn't very healthy." She brushed some of Aziraphale's hair from his forehead. "Thankfully he didn't have any permanent damage that we could see, and once the swelling calms down, he should learn to get back to very close to normal."

Crowley listened, trying to absorb and understand every word. "So all he needs is for his brain to not be swollen anymore?" He asked, glancing at Aziraphale once more and tightening his grip on his shoulder.

"That's right. Now, he may have some issues, like re-learning to walk or even speak. But he will get there, I'm sure of it."

But Crowley had heard enough. He nodded, looking intently at Aziraphale, and the nurse smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her.

As soon as the door closed, Crowley raised his hand and snapped a miracle to ease the swelling in Aziraphale's brain.

He froze with bated breath, waiting to see what would happen. Aziraphale stayed asleep, no sign at all that anything had happened. Crowley was tempted to try it again, but held himself back. He was still sleeping off the sedative, most likely. Once he woke, then they would know the extent of the damage.

But Crowley was done waiting. With another snap, he siphoned the sedative out of Aziraphale's bloodstream, and stood to look straight at his angel, hoping, praying, that he was okay. Both hands found themselves in Aziraphale's, holding more tightly than was strictly necessary, and he waited.

Not even a minute later, Aziraphale opened his eyes.

Chapter Text

One week later

"Aziraphale, c'mon, take a break," Crowley groaned, draping himself over the back of the sofa in a way only a snake could.

Aziraphale shot him a disapproving look, and continued to re-shelve his books. "I'm perfectly fine," he argued gently, knowing that Crowley was very touchy after the...incident.

Still watching sharply, Crowley noticed when Aziraphale's walking cane nearly tripped him, and he was on his feet and next to the angel, ready to catch or support him if need be within an instant. Aziraphale gave him a tired smile.

"Really, my dear. I'm alright."

"You have to be careful," Crowley fretted, moving the small pile of books more out of the way. Aziraphale watched him warily, and sighed.

"Perhaps you're right, we should take a break." Aziraphale began, and Crowley grinned at him. "Would you like a glass of whiskey?"

Crowley's smile dropped quickly, but he tried to play it off. "Nah," he waved a hand dismissively. "Not really in the mood for something so hard. How about I make you dinner, yeah? We can stay in for a while and just relax."

Aziraphale fetched one glass from the kitchen and poured himself a large glass of wine. Crowley watched the burgundy liquid with an unreadable expression. Aziraphale leveled his gaze at him, almost daring him to say something.

About three huge swallows in, Crowley finally got up, hands raised in warning. "Aziraphale, you know you shouldn't drink any alcohol. Your headaches–"

"I'm fine," Aziraphale snarled, continuing to drain his glass with larger than necessary gulps. "Besides, I can do what I want. You can't tempt me."

Crowley's mouth opened and closed a few times, at a loss for words. "I know," he said mildly. "I know." With an expression Aziraphale could only describe as 'sad,' Crowley slumped back into the sofa.

Feeling the calm atmosphere quickly souring, Aziraphale realized he needed to really talk with Crowley. There was something he was missing, clearly, for him to be this protective and upset. He miracled the light buzz from the wine away, and the subsequent headache he felt building behind his eyes.

"Right then," Aziraphale said stiffly, putting his wine aside and turning to face Crowley fully. "What's the issue?" He demanded. "Yes, there was an accident. But you healed me! I'm fine now. So there's no use fretting over it anymore. It's in the past."

Crowley was about to deny it, to say that he wasn't still worried about it, but that was a lie. He looked away and felt his chest constrict. "Aziraphale, I nearly lost you. Hell, I did lose you for over a week. You have no idea what it's like, to see someone you care about in such a state. You didn't even recognize me, Aziraphale!"

Crowley buried his face in his hands and missed how Aziraphale's expression turned stricken.

He continued, muffled by his palms, "Six thousand years, and I thought I had ruined it all with a stupid mistake, and I wasn't sure if I would ever get you back. So seeing you struggle to balance or to walk, it hurts me, Angel. All I want is for you to be completely better, but we've tried miracles and they aren't working. We can keep your headaches away after they start, but I just don't want you to be in pain at all! And I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but I just want to fix it, to show you how sorry I am for making you like this..." He sobbed once, pressing his hands tighter over his mouth to quiet any other sounds.

Aziraphale sat back, processing for a moment. "You blame yourself," he realized.

"Of course I bloody do, it was my idea to go on a road trip, it was me who was driving the car, I didn't protect you, I didn't get you help fast enough for there not to be permanent damage to your brain..." He scrubbed furiously at his eyes. "It is my fault. I love you so much, and I can't bear to see you in so much pain. I know you can never forgive me, but I'll never stop trying for the rest of eternity to make sure you know how sorry I am."

Aziraphale shot up, eyes going wide. "You can't blame yourself," he insisted urgently, reaching over with both hands and cupping Crowley's face, forcing him to meet his eyes. "You can't do this to yourself, my dear. I was the one who didn't protect myself during the crash. Blame Heaven, if you like. But I cannot see you blaming yourself." He thumbed away Crowley's tears. "I love you too, Crowley," he whispered, "and just like you hate seeing me in pain, I hate seeing you in pain. If our roles were reversed, would you blame me if you had some corporation damage?"

"No, 'course not," Crowley said after a moment.

"Well there we go then. I don't blame you either, see? I promise you, dear, you mean the world to me. And sure, this corporation may have a limp for a while, but doesn't every corporation have some kind of issue?" He smirked. "I think the issues just make us more human than any other angel or demon."

Crowley looked down, contemplating.

Aziraphale curled a finger under Crowley's chin, urging him to look up again. "I had no idea you were suffering so, Crowley," he whispered. "I do apologize. It was never my intent to hurt you. You've been hurt enough by this whole ordeal."

"You've been hurt much more than I have," Crowley argued, barely meeting Aziraphale's eyes.

"Not quite," Aziraphale's mouth quirked up in a tiny smile. "Honestly, I don't remember much of it at all. You were the one suffering, not me."

Crowley swallowed and looked down to hide the tears in his eyes, but he didn't argue.

Aziraphale continued gently, "My dear, I do love you more than life itself. I just didn't want to push you if you weren't ready. But there's no one else in this world or another who I'd rather spend the rest of existence with." Watery, yellow eyes met striking blue. "I adore you," Aziraphale bumped their foreheads together lightly. "And if you're willing, since we are the most human of anyone Above or Below, I'd like to try something humans do, that our headquarters wouldn't understand." When he got no immediate reply from Crowley, Aziraphale continued, "Nothing big. I would just very much like to kiss you. As an apology and as a promise."

Crowley surged forward, tears and all, and pressed their lips together in a snotty, wet version of a kiss. And Aziraphale loved every moment of it. The heat, the softness, the salt from Crowley's tears. Aziraphale's eyes slid closed and he reached up and hooked his arms completely around Crowley's neck, humming softly into the seam of Crowley's lips. Crowley tilted his head and pushed forward harder as his own arms found themselves wrapped firmly around the angel.

How long they stayed like that, locked together in one another's embrace, neither could tell.

By the time they pulled away, dizzy with love and warm with adoration, Crowley had stopped crying. He was staring ever so softly at His angel, and his hands found themselves intertwined with Aziraphale's.

Aziraphale beamed, and it was as though light was radiating off him. "I love you so much, Crowley," he whispered, giving his hands a squeeze.

"Love you too, Angel. Always. You don't have to apologize."

"But I do. I haven't been pleasant, and I recognize that. Thank you for staying with me through it all, my dear." Crowley said nothing, but he lifted Aziraphale's hand and reverently kissed his knuckles.

With a sly expression, Aziraphale glanced toward the door. "I seem to recall you promising to take me to that play we were discussing on the drive."

Crowley's expression grew haunted, and he quickly looked away. "I don't know, I don't think I can drive for a while." Aziraphale leaned forward and pecked the tip of his nose.

"That's alright, dear. We can walk. Besides, my leg could benefit from a bit of exercise," Crowley still seemed unsure, but Aziraphale grabbed his cane with one hand, and scooped up Crowley's arm with the other. "Lead the way," he declared with a grin.

Crowley offered a tiny smile, and crooked his arm so Aziraphale had something to hold onto. And arm in arm, they shuffled to the theatre, both wearing the largest grins they had ever worn.