Work Text:
Crowley woke to a perfectly manicured hand connecting painfully with his jaw. “Angel!” He said sharply, not opening his eyes. The demon figured Aziraphale had just gotten rather invested in his book – it wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten too animated and unintentionally hit something. Nestling back into the sheets, Crowley attempted to reenter his enchanting dream about taking Aziraphale on a picnic. He started to drift off, but a choked sob tore him from his stupor. Crowley sat up and turned on the light. His angel had tear streaks running down his frowning face as little noises of discontent uttered from his throat. The demon lightly rubbed his shoulder. “Aziraphale?” He whispered softly. The angel whined and kicked, crying harder. Shit, he ached to make those whimpers stop. Crowley gently gathered the angel to his chest. “Aziraphale,” he said a bit louder this time.
He balled the demon’s shirt in his fist, shaking violently. “Crowley!” Aziraphale wailed in his sleep
The anguish in the ethereal voice as he said his name sent the demon’s blood running even colder. What had he done to him? “Angel,” he begged, desperate to get him out of the nightmare. A loud hiss filled his ears. He frantically searched for the source of the sound until a hot torrent flooded his lap. “Oh, Angel,” he said softly. Crowley held him securely in his arms and debated whether he should miracle the mess away before Aziraphale woke. He didn’t have long to dwell, as the angel’s eyes sprang open mid-stream.
Aziraphale was immediately aware of two things. One, his cheek was firmly pressed to Crowley’s chest, and, two, he was thoroughly wetting himself. He gasped. Oh no, oh dear. His face burned a deep crimson as the demon caught his gaze. Those beautiful, golden, serpentine eyes softened.
“You’re all right,” he assured him as the angel pissed in his arms. “It’s okay,” Crowley held him even tighter and whispered softly, “you’re safe; I’ve got you, Angel.”
Aziraphale pressed his legs together, helplessly attempting to clamp down on the deluge. But it was no use. He couldn’t stop urinating, soaking himself, his demon, the comforter – oh, it was so much. He was utterly mortified. Tears streamed down his cheeks as his bladder noisily voided, downing out Crowley’s words. Eventually, his stream dulled to a trickle and, mostly empty, he was finally able staunch the flow. Humiliated, Aziraphale burrowed against his demon’s bony chest. He’d disgraced himself and absolutely defiled Crowley’s bed – with the demon in it, no less! But Crowley was still holding him tightly. “Oh, my dear, I am so terribly sorry.” The words felt too flat to express the depth of his shame.
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied dismissively and miracled them clean.
Somehow, that miracle made it worse. It cemented that Crowley knew exactly what happened; that there was no way to deny he’d had an accident. His face grew even hotter.
“You all right, angel?” He asked softly.
He didn’t deserve Crowley’s tenderness. New tears sprang into Aziraphale’s eyes and he hastily tried to blink them away. “Yes. Rather. Absolutely tickety-boo, my dear.”
The demon was less than convinced. “Please?”
That word on Crowley’s lips stopped Aziraphale in his tracks, shattering his resolve. He sighed. “I had a nightmare.”
He bit back a reflexive, snarky ‘obviously’ and patiently waited for his principality to continue. Admittedly, until moments ago, he didn’t know angels could dream. Crowley nodded encouragingly.
Fresh tears glimmered on his cheeks. “Hell” He choked. Aziraphale took a deep breath and managed to collect himself for a brief moment. “Oh, my dear, Hell ordered you to be destroyed – and… I… was forced to watch.” His voice faltered as his fear flared once again, encompassing him like a wildfire. He gasped as urine seeped through his underwear and re-wet his demon’s lap.
Crowley recognized the look on his angel’s face. He held him close, murmuring reassurances as Aziraphale emptied his bladder.
He couldn’t stop the agonizingly slow trickle. Unable to face Crowley, he buried his face in his neck and whimpered softly. Nevertheless, his demon’s gentle words and strong embrace comforted him while he wet. Eventually finished, he raised his hand to miracle the mess away but slender fingers wrapped around it. Aziraphale cast a questioning glance at his demon.
“I’ll take care of it,” he whispered gently. “Want a bath?”
Of course, Aziraphale desired a bath, but he’d already put his demon out far too much. He shook his head.
“That’s bullocks, angel,” Crowley chided softly. They both knew miracles weren’t as good as the real thing, especially when it came to grimy skin.
He led his principality to the lavish en-suite. A solid-gold clawfoot tub stood in the center of the room, already filled with warm water. Aziraphale’s grip on his hand tightened.
Feeling terribly vulnerable, he wanted Crowley to stay. It was preposterous – he was a 6000-year-old ethereal being! Even so, his knees threatened to buckle under the overwhelming pressure in his chest. Aziraphale desperately wanted to be cared for – just this once. He longed to feel Crowley’s gentle hands wash him, to hear his voice tenderly assure him that he was still all right. Tears prickled in his eyes as the internal battle waged on.
Crowley lingered and ran his thumb along Aziraphale’s knuckles. They remained just like that, standing in the middle of washroom. It could have been minutes, days –perhaps weeks, even—before the demon broke the silence. He whispered, “I can stay.”
“Please,” he squeaked. Shame flamed in his cheeks.
“’Course, angel, ‘course.” Crowley helped his principality sit on the edge of the tub and questioningly grabbed the hem of his nightshirt.
Aziraphale nodded and raised his arms, grateful that his demon took the first step. He obediently followed Crowley’s lead as the demon slowly peeled off the rest of his damp clothes. The acrid scent of urine grew stronger and cheeks turned an even deeper shade of crimson. “I…” He couldn’t find words for a proper apology.
Crowley took Aziraphale by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “Angel,” he began softly, “’s no reason to be embarrassed. So, you had a nightmare and pissed the bed, big deal – it’s not the end of the world, we’re talkin’ about here.” The demon mirrored his angel’s half-smile. “That’s it, Angel,” he encouraged. “If you think ‘m gonna let a bit of wee muck 6000 years of history, you’re a bloody idiot.” His voice grew gentler as he helped his principality into the water, “I don’t think any less of you.” Really, Angel, who our age hasn’t had an incident or two?” He chuckled and Aziraphale joined in with a light titter of his own. Pleased the angel had calmed down a little, Crowley miracled a soft washrag. “You or me?”
He looked up at him with big, pleading eyes, hoping he wouldn’t have to say the words himself.
“Me it is, then.” The demon replied and dipped his rag. He held Aziraphale’s hands as he tenderly washed his angel’s chest and torso. Crowley paused just above his naval. Meeting his gaze, he silently asked if he could go lower.
Aziraphale nodded, slowly relaxing beneath his demon’s care. Perhaps it would be all right, he thought as Crowley washed his sensitive bits. The angel watched the expert hands glide the rag down his legs, ensuring he’d not get a rash. Yes, Aziraphale decided, so long as Crowley was beside him, everything would be rather lovely.