Chapter Text
"Crowley!"
Aziraphale stumbled into the demon's arms. He wanted to hold him and feel his warmth. And he never, ever wanted to let him go again.
But he did.
The moment Aziraphale flung himself at him, Crowley tried to back away. But the angel, too excited to read the signs, pulled the demon into his arms. Instantly, he felt him shiver in them. He felt the demon's breath on his cheek, which stopped for a split second and then fastened. Crowley's whole body began trembling in his arms.
And so Aziraphale let go of him.
"Crowley, my dear boy."
Only then did he actually look at the demon, and he felt his heart sink at his appearance. Crowley's slightly freckled cheeks looked terribly pale, and they had sunken in deeply, emphasising the sharp curves of his cheekbones. Aziraphale was aware that angels and demons did not necessarily need to eat and drink in order to survive, but Crowley looked like he probably had not had a good meal for decades. His hair, usually a flaming-coloured work of art, had gone greasy and grown longer than the angel had seen it for years. Lifelessly, it fell into his eyes, which seemed to have lost just as much of their fire as his hair. Dark shadows circled them, almost violet on the paleness of his skin.
Crowley looked awful. Nothing about him seemed as easy and relaxed as it used to. Every muscle in his wiry body seemed to be tense, on the verge of giving up for good.
But the worst thing was all the bruises, which Aziraphale noticed with a little gasp emerging from his lips. There were a few on his chin and jawline, and some more on the bridge of his nose. One particularly ugly bruise darkened his temple, just above his left brow. Aziraphale could see small cuts on his cheekbones and dried blood around another one in his lower lip. When he looked into the demon's eyes again he could see all his pain.
"I-" Aziraphale swallowed. He did not know what to say. "Come on in, then. I will make you a cup of tea," he said, nodding to himself. "Yes, and something to eat while we're at it," he added, with another quick glance at the demon's thin frame in front of him.
Crowley, who hadn't so much as muttered a single word since Aziraphale had opened his bookshop's front door, slowly followed the angel into his bookshop, still silent. Well, almost silent as moving seemed painful to him and a soft hiss would leave his lips with each stride that he was able to take, almost giving the impression that he was reading on consecrated ground agian. But this time, he barely seemed able to carry himself much further.
Aziraphale felt the urge to reach out for him and support the demon, allowing him to lean on him like he must have done a dozen times before when they had had too much to drink to care much for appearances. But recalling his previous response to being touched, the angel confined himself to keeping a tight eye on him for now.
A thousand questions were buzzing through his head all at once. Where had he been all this time? What had happened, and who had done this to him? How did he even get here? And why did he come here in the first place? Why to Aziraphale? And what could he do to make him stop hurting? Because there was nothing he wanted to do more right now.
But he did not dare ask even a single one of those questions, fearing it might hurt Crowley even more.
Instead, he took him to the small room behind the shop that they used to spend so much time in, getting drunk, laughing, and bickering with each other. Silently he pointed at his old leather sofa, which was covered with several stacks of books at the moment. A thick layer of dust had settled on the crooked piles after they had been lying abandoned there for so long now.
Crowley had always been Aziraphale's only guest. The only that had mattered. And his absence had meant the absence of any good reason to clean. Or to use the sofa for something else other than more storage space for abandoned books he had started reading and then never finished.
"Here," Aziraphale said, quickly trying to tidy up the mess he had left on the sofa. Almost carelessly, he dropped the books on the floor. "Sit yourself down, dear. I wil be right back, just a minute."
He did not really pause to wait for Crowley to speak or take a seat. He hurriedly left and entered the smaller room next door, that he had turned into a kitchen some years ago now.
There, he reached for his favourite teapot and two cups from one of the shelves, turned on some hot water and then went in search of the tea caddy he always kept close to the stove. He nodded to himself in silence as he found a few bags of passionflower tea. Perhaps that would do the trick and ease Crowley's nerves a little. Or at least his own, so that he could handle whatever was going on here.
"Some tea, dear. It might help you relax a bit," the angel said as he placed the cup on the table, shoving away yet more books to make some room for it. But Crowley just looked at it in silence, eying the cup as if he were not sure whether he was actually allowed to touch it. Whether it was real.
Having watched Crowley's hesitation for a moment, Aziraphale gently picked the cup off the table again and offered it to the demon, inviting him to accept it with a little nod. Crowley still hesitated, but after another pause, he eventually accepted the cup. As soon as the warm ceramics touched his skin, he cupped his hands around them, clinging to the cup with trembling fingers.
When he had grabbed the mug back in the kitchen, Aziraphale had almost so much as smiled to himself. It was the one Crowley had given him as a present so many years ago. It was his favourite, the white one with wings as a handle.
Choosing it, the angel had hoped for some kind of reaction from Crowley, but there was none at all. He did not do anything but hold the cup firmly in place with his long, bony fingers tightly wrapped around it. And Aziraphale could not help but notice that he was still trembling ever so slightly.
"Do you - Do you need something else to wear?" the angel asked softly, eyeing Crowley and the dirty clothes he wore. They looked like the clothes of someone who had been through a lot, to phrase it mildly. He had never seen him like this before, his clothes ragged and dirty, looking like he had spent months wandering outside without a good wash. There was also blood on them, which Aziraphale noticed with sorrow in his chest. "I could lend you something," he added, waiting for a response from the demon.
Crowley just nodded absentmindedly.
Aziraphale nodded back at him, though the demon did not seem to notice.
He leaned forward and was about to reach for his shoulder, but, remembering what had happened at his front door earlier, he drew back his hand. Instead, he put his fingers into his little vest pockets, where he knew they couldn't do any harm.
"I - I'm sorry," he mumbled before hurrying into the tiny flat that he was keeping above his bookshop.
When he arrived in his small bedroom, Aziraphale went to his wardrobe, looking for some clothes that he could lend to Crowley.
But he noticed quickly that he didn't own anything that seemed to be the right size for Crowley. Aziraphale knew he was a bit shorter in height than the demon but also a lot softer, especially around the gut. And he did not exactly own the kind of clothes that Crowley would normally choose for himself. There was a lot of tartan in the angel's closet, and the few pieces that weren't tartan were of a brown or some other rather light colour. He did not own a single black piece of clothing, not even so much as a piece of underwear or a pair of socks.
Black had never really been his colour, after all.
It had always been Crowley's.
Sighing softly, Aziraphale simply chose the biggest and thickest jumper he could find in his entire wardrobe, along with an old vanilla-coloured cardigan so Crowley would be nice and warm. The wooden colour of the jumper wasn't exactly what he imagined was Crowley's favourite, but he decided it would do for now. He also chose a pair of woollen socks and a pair of blue pyjama bottoms that would probably be the most comfortable option at the moment.
Then he returned to Crowley, all his clothes pressed tightly against his chest so that he would not lose any of them along the way.
Down in the small living-room, he found the demon the way he had left him: Crowley was still sitting on the sofa, the hot cup of tea in his hands. He did not seem to have taken a single sip of it.
"Crowley, my dear, you did not drink anything at all," Aziraphale said, worrying that maybe something was wrong with the tea he had made.
The demon lifted his head wearily and looked at Aziraphale for a moment, still not saying anything at all.
"Are you alright?" the angel asked, before shaking his head. "No, what a silly question. Of course you are not." He sighed, trying to find the right words. "Listen, I don't know what to do with you, Crowley. Please tell me, dear, what can I do to help you?"
The angel put down the clothes he was still holding in his arms.
He tried to think of something he could do.
There was an idea.
"You're cold, right?" he asked gently. Crowley barely looked at him, he just nodded again and Aziraphale did the same in return. "How about a nice hot bath, what do you think?" he suggested.
He felt a small smile on his lips when he saw the demon nodding at that once more.
And so he grabbed the clothes he had just brought with him and motioned for Crowley to follow him.
"Alright, come on, the bath's upstairs," he explained. "I'll help you with the water if you like."
The demon got up from the sofa and followed him in silence.
Walking still seemed to take every last bit of what little energy was left in him from the demon. It hurt Aziraphale to see him like that, and at this point he wanted nothing more than to take it all from him, to share a bit of Crowley's agony just so the demon would not have to carry all of the weight alone.
But he knew well that nothing would heal Crowley as fast as he wanted it to happen.
Patience. Both of them would have to be patient now.
And there was nothing Aziraphale could do but give Crowley the time he needed to recover enough to talk to him. The time to find his voice again and maybe even the time to feel ready enough to explain what had happened to him, if he would even get so far.
One step after the other.
That's all they could do for now.
"Here, you can wear these when you're finished," the angel said, putting the clothes he had been carrying in his arms on a small cupboard in his bathroom.
He rolled up his sleeves and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. He proceeded to lean over to turn on the water when he heard a rough voice behind him.
It sounded so very close to breaking that it almost broke Aziraphale's heart as well.
"Aziraphale," Crowley said.
The angel turned and looked at him.
Crowley stood before him, his arms wrapped tightly around his own shoulders.
"Thank you," the demon wispered, his voice even closer to breaking now. The sound of it sent a shiver down Aziraphale's spine.
"Of course," he said, forcing a smile at the demon, before turning back to the water again, hiding the tears that were stinging in his eyes.
"'ziraphale?"
Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, trying to relax his face, to hide the pain he knew was visible on it right now.
Then he turned again to look over his shoulder. Crowley's arms were still wrapped tightly around himself, but he managed to take a small step towards the angel.
He looked utterly lost.
"What is it, my dear?" Aziraphale forced the smile back on his face and tried to convince Crowley that everything was fine.
That he was safe now. That he was safe with him.
"Would you -" The demon's voice cracked, and Aziraphale felt another shiver running down his spine, another stab of pain in his heart. "Would you help me?" Crowley swallowed hard before he continued. "Please," he managed to say, lowering his head in shame.
Aziraphale turned off the water and then tested the temperature of it with his hand.
Then he looked back at Crowley.
"Come here," he said softly, watching the demon slowly lift his head again. "Of course I'll help you, my dear."
He reached out his hand and gently motioned for the demon to come closer. Crowley did take a few steps forward, but his legs shook and looked like they would give up at any moment now.
He looked so fragile, worse than Aziraphale had ever seen him before. The calm saunter that used to be in his walk was gone entirely.
"Do you think you can undress yourself, dear?" the angel asked when Crowley finally came to a halt right in front of him.
The demon slowly shook his head.
He wouldn't meet the angel's eyes; instead he hid his own behind his hair.
"Alright. If you'd like me to, I'll help you," Aziraphale said. "Would like me to?" Now Crowley nodded and, again, Aziraphale did the same, rising from the edge of the bathtub to step a bit closer. "That means that I'll have to touch you, Crowley," he said. "Do you consent, my dear?"
Crowley hesitated for a moment.
Then he nodded once more, looking Aziraphale in the eye.
The angel gave him an encouraging smile and stepped closer. Gently, he helped Crowley to loosen the grip with which he was still holding his own shoulders.
Then he helped him out of his dirty clothes. All of them went straight into the trash bin that Aziraphale kept in his bathroom.
He doubted that Crowley would want to wear them ever again, even if they miracled them clean and whole again.
With every layer of clothing that came off of Crowley's shivering body, the angel understood more and more how skinny he had actually become. Every time the demon took a breath, Aziraphale could see his ribs poking out under his pale skin. His collarbones looked even sharper than they used to, and they were as bruised as his chin and shoulders. Even his legs, which had always been long and skinny, seemed only to consist of skin and bone.
Aziraphale felt a sudden sickness in his stomach when he saw that there were even more bruises all over the demon's body.
He did not want to think about the things that must have happened to Crowley during the time he had been away. The question of where he had gone rose in Aziraphale every time he looked at the demon's face, but he did not dare to ask. So he kept quiet and helped Crowley out of his clothes instead.
"One last step," he whispered when he had finally undressed the demon.
He held out his hand and waited, wondering whether he would actually take it.
He did, after a few more seconds of hesitation, and Aziraphale helped him into the bathtub.
Slowly, Crowley sank into the warm water and, immediately, he started shivering again. But it seemed that the warmth did comfort him.
"Do you want me to leave now?" Aziraphale asked, and Crowley, who clutched the angel's hand almost desperately now, shook his head.
Gently, the angel reached for Crowley and touched his wrist with his second hand.
"I'll stay," he told him with a nod. He started stroking his hand and gave him a little smile. "It's alright. I am here, Crowley, I'll stay."
He continued smiling, even though everything in him was hurting. He wanted to cry until there were no more tears left. He wanted to run, and he wanted to take Crowley with him, wanted to make sure no one ever touched him against his will again.
But he pulled himself together and gave Crowley another small nod, then smiled at him once more.
Crowley stayed silent, watching Aziraphale's face.
"I think I would like to try and wash your hair, my dear," the angel said after a while.
He desperately wanted Crowley to say something, anything, really, but the demon just nodded again.
The angel fought back a sigh and then nodded as well, before getting up from the floor that he had been kneeling on. He reached for his shampoo that smelled like cinnamon and oranges, and that had been a gift to him once. A gift that had been meant as a joke, a gift from Crowley, shortly before he had vanished.
Very gently, Aziraphale rubbed the creamy substance into the demon's scalp and even went so far as to massage the hardened muscles in his neck a bit.
They almost felt like iron under the angel's fingertips.
But it seemed to help, just a little.
Because, after a while, Crowley's eyes dropped shut every now and then, and because he even sank into the angel's touch a bit.
With a sponge, Aziraphale cleaned the demon's shoulders and back, as well as his arms and chest. Then he used his hands to cleanse his face with fresh water, taking care of all the small cuts on it.
He tried to be as careful as possible so he would not hurt Crowley. But every now and then the demon hissed softly, and Aziraphale realised he had brushed another bruise or cut.
"I'm sorry," he would whisper every time it happened, and the demon would open his eyes, just for a moment, and he would nod as if to say that it was alright.
In the end, Aziraphale rinsed his hair, and with a tie he had miraculously put into his hands, he fixed Crowley's hair into a small bun on top of his head.
He hoped it would prevent it from falling into his eyes all the time.
"Would you like to get out now?" Aziraphale asked. Gently, he touched Crowley's now warm and clean shoulder.
Again, the demon slightly leaned into the touch before he nodded.
"Let me help you," the angel said, with a soft smile on his lips.
He pulled the demon out of his bathtub and let him lean against his shoulder for support.
Aziraphale unfolded a huge caramel towel and put it around Crowley's body, which had stopped shivering some time ago now.
"Should I have a look at those bruises?" the angel asked while helping Crowley with the towel, but the demon just shook his head.
"Just leave 'em be," he whispered wearily.
Aziraphale hesitated. But he nodded, trying to hold back a sigh.
"Alright," he said after a while, putting away the damp towel. "Here, it will keep you warm."
He handed him the clothes he had taken from his room earlier and tried not to think about the demon's bruises much longer.
But it was hard for him to forget about them.
Crowley took the clothes from Aziraphale and got into them. For a moment, he looked at himself, eyeing the angel's clothes almost suspiciously.
The jumper he had given him would have been too big for him even if he had not been as skinny as he was now. It hung from his body like he was wearing some sort of bag, and the sleeves, which Aziraphale usually had to roll up a few times, did not even touch Crowley's wrists. The legs of the trousers were also too short and one would be able to see a bit more than just Crowley's ankles if it weren't for the thick woollen socks he wore on his feet.
Watching his feet, the demon wriggled his toes a bit, and a small gasp left his lips.
It had almost sounded like a very weak laugh.
Aziraphale looked at him, smiling.
They had done it.
They had managed their first step.