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Crowley looked at the receiver like it had called him something nasty. It wasn’t like Aziraphale to refuse seeing him, usually he would jump at the chance. And since when did he care about breaking rules? Yeah he was always a little nervous whenever Heaven was breathing down his neck, but he didn't have to worry about that anymore. Besides, they were immortal beings, it wasn't like either of them were going to get sick.
If anything, he thought he was a bit evasive. Yes it was a lot like him to be holed up in his bookshop with a stack of unread books, but eventually he would want to go out. Do something. Bask in “the Almighty’s creation” or something. But to outright refuse meeting with him? There was definitely something up.
Even though Aziraphale had told him that it would be breaking the rules for him to come over, it wouldn’t hurt for him to just pop in, see if everything was alright…
He grabbed a bottle of some of that champagne that he knew Aziraphale liked and snapped his fingers. In the blink of an eye, he was standing in the center of Aziraphale’s bookshop. The door was locked, the blinds were closed and the shop would have looked relatively gloomy if it wasn’t for the soft candlelight coming from the front desk. They had been miracled to never fall over, seeing as the last time there were unattended candles in the shop, it ended disastrously.
“Angel?” Crowley called. No answer came. A slight anxious twinge broke in Crowley's chest. “Aziraphale? You here?”
Again, there was no answer, but a sound permeated the quiet air of the abandoned shop. The sound of a cough.
“Aziraphale!” Crowley dropped the bottle and rushed to the back of the shop, were Aziraphale’s untidy office was tucked away from the main part of the building. There he found Aziraphale, sitting in his office chair, hunched over an old book, coughing into a handkerchief. “Angel, what on earth-”
“C-Crowley!” Azirphale gasped, his head snapping to look at the demon, shock coming over his pale face. “What are you doing here? I thought-”
“I came to check on you, to see if you were alright.” He stepped closer to the angel, who burst from the chair, backing away.
“Don’t come any closer.” The angel said frantically, his voice nothing but a dull rasp. “Please, I won’t have you getting ill.”
“Aziraphale, I’m a demon. I’m immune to any kind of-“
“That’s what I thought as well.” Aziraphale said, wringing his handkerchief. “Until this morning when…” his explanation was cut off by another fit of coughing. His legs were shaking horribly, it looked like it was taking all his energy just to stay on his feet. Crowley slowly walked over to the angel. “Crowley, please don’t!”
“Aziraphale, you’re sick aren’t you?”
The angel waved his hand, trying (and failing) to look relaxed and casual. “Oh it’s not that bad, just a mild fever and cough. Nothing to worry yourself over.” Wordlessly, the demon settled his hand over Aziraphale’s forehead, the angel tensing at the touch letting all his attempts at appearing relaxed get tossed out the window. “No! I’m just going to get you sick as well!” The damp skin under Crowley's fingers was hot. Too hot to not raise concern.
“Angel, you’re burning up!”
“Yes I know!” Aziraphale burst, shivers breaking out over him as a look of shame passed over his face. “This is the whole reason why I didn’t want you visiting! I didn’t want you to get sick.”
“What are you doing working when you should be in bed?” Crowley said, miracling up a handkerchief of his own, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“Well, I had research and, well there was a new first edition that needed to be translated, and-" He was cut off again by another fit of coughing, this one much more violent, making the angel’s entire body shake. Crowley pulled the angel close, wrapping his arms around him, hoping to offer him a little comfort. He could feel him trembling through the sleeves of his jacket.
“Angel, you need to take care of yourself. You can’t put too much on yourself when you’re sick.”
A few tears fell from the angel’s eyes as the coughing worsened. “I thought I told you…not to come…” He wheezed. “You should have stayed away…”
Crowley swept his arms under him, picking him up bridal style. “Well I’m here now, and I’m not going away. Now come on, let’s get you to bed.” He carried Aziraphale out of the office and into the main area of the bookshop, turning towards the stairs that led to the little flat.
“My dear, I’m so terribly sorry.” The angel whimpered, still more tears coming to his eyes.
“Don’t be. I’m happy to take care of you.”
“Oh, I’ve just made a mess of things, I don’t even know how I contracted the bloody virus-”
“What does it matter how you got it? The point is you got it and you need to take time to help yourself recover.”
“If you fall ill-“
Crowley looked at the angel nestled in his arms, his soft blue eyes filled with worry. “Angel, you’re worth far more than I am. I’m not gonna let some virus scare me from being there for you.”
“Don’t…don’t say that…” Aziraphale gasped.
“Shh.” Crowley soothed. “Rest your voice.” Aziraphale shivered and nestled his head into Crowley’s shoulder.
The small flat above Aziraphale’s bookshop wasn’t used too often. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust, and it all looked sorta…well…shabby. The oven and stove seemed to be rusted, with the exception of one burner that stayed miraculously clean and was covered by a steel kettle. There was only one wooden cabinet, and a very small refrigerator. This was a bit of a shock to Crowley given how much the angel loved food, until he remembered that up until recently Aziraphale didn't cook and relied on going out to eat. Crowley could only imagine that the bed was probably really uncomfortable. But a quick miracle took care of everything. The kitchen soon became spotless and filled with enough food to sustain them for a while (well, sustain being a rather moot term since they didn’t need to eat) and with a thought, a large, queen sized mattress with a soft duvet and a number of fluffy down pillows appeared in Aziraphale's bedroom.
“Crowley, this really isn’t necessary.” Aziraphale whispered.
“You’re sick. You need to be comfortable and you need to rest. I’m not gonna let you lay in a stiff bed in a dusty flat.”
“B-but Crowley-"
“Aziraphale,” Crowley said gently. “You’ve already done more for me than I deserve. I know you’re stubborn and will insist your fine because those bastards in Heaven made you think that asking for any kind of help or wanting any kind of comfort or kindness is selfish, but they’re wrong. You deserve everything and you deserve to let someone take care of you. Please, let me.” Aziraphale dropped his eyes, staring down at himself guiltily. “Aziraphale, look at me.” Slowly, Aziraphale raised his eyes, and Crowley stared into those clear, lovely blue spheres. “If you’re not going to take care of yourself, let me take care of you.” Aziraphale sighed, a very shaky breath escaping his lungs as he nestled against Crowley again, too weary to argue anymore.
Crowley carried Aziraphale into the newly furnished bedroom and set him down on the bed, snapping his fingers so instead of his usual suit and dress shirt (while he looked absolutely irresistible in them, Crowley assumed they wouldn't be very comfortable in them while ill), he was now wearing a set of soft tartan pajamas. “Is there anything you need? Soup? Tea?”
Another set of coughs escaped from Aziraphale. “If I’m being truly honest,” he said quietly, “I just want to sleep.” He looked at his interlocked hands, almost like he was guilty. Crowley gently ran his fingers through the angel’s hair, tucking a blonde curl behind his ear.
“Of course." He said softly. "I’ll leave you be.” He stood up to leave when a small tug pulled at his jacket sleeve.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale said, his voice even quieter. “Would you…never mind.”
“No, what it is, angel?”
“It’s terribly selfish.”
“Who cares? You’re sick, if you want to be selfish, be selfish.”
“Well, if that’s the case…would you…would you stay?”
Crowley smiled softly, crawling into the bed and pulling the covers around the two of them. He pulled Aziraphale close, letting the angel rest his head over his chest. “ ‘course, Angel.” He whispered, laying a featherlight kiss over his forehead. Slowly, the angel's raspy breaths began to slow, steadying to a more even pace as he nestled close to Crowley. “Always.”