Chapter Text
Aziraphale is alone the first time it happens.
Seated by the dusty shelves in the backroom of his cluttered bookshop, the retired angel suddenly finds himself with a ton of free time after the world did not end. It’s deep into the night. He’s never been a huge fan of sleeping, but he’s starting to wonder whether it is about time he try to take up the hobby.
But that is a decision he will make later on. For now, he sits by the dusty shelves and carefully turns over a leaf on one of his prized books. Wholly engrossed, his right hand reaches blindly for the winged mug of hot cocoa, which has now reached a tepid state.
Circular specs frame wrinkled grey eyes as he squints over on the sloshing words across the page, his vision blurring ever so slightly. Might definitely be a good time to consider availing of that ‘nap’ that so many humans (as well as one lone demon) subscribe to. His eyes don’t leave the page as he sends a tide of grace to his fingertips, feeling the stirrings of a miracle within his veins, and soon enough the mug is steaming once again. He lifts it up to his mouth and freezes.
His heart, which has never attracted much attention in the 6000 or so years that he’s been on Earth, is racing wildly in his chest.
It isn’t painful, so to say, just odd. His heart has never had reason to actually beat before, much less come barreling full speed as it does now. He sets the mug down, pressing a hand over his pounding sternum. The rhythm is far too quick, even by human standards. He takes slow, deep breaths to try to get it to calm down, but it carries on unabated.
His fingers tighten on the fabric of his shirt. “Goodness,” he whispers to no one in particular, his eyes wide. “What on earth is happening?”
Perhaps it’s a flaw with the new corporation that Adam gave him? In any case, it doesn’t seem like much to worry about.
It takes a full hour before his heart settles back down to full silence.
His feet pad awkwardly over puddles as Aziraphale hurries to take shelter under a shady tree. It had been a beautiful clear and sunny day—one of those rare ones, that it only felt natural to call Crowley on the phone and invite him out for a stroll. Weather can be so unbearably fickle these days, thinks Aziraphale as he shakes droplets from his golden hair and watches as the downpour around him builds intensity. He shivers slightly against the cold, hoping that Crowley had at least thought to bring his car over.
“Tough luck, eh?” says a voice somewhere from beside him. He looks over and spots a middle-aged lady with dark brown hair and a crimson satchel. Her eyes are tired, but her smile is bright and infectious. “The one time I forget to bring an umbrella with me and this happens,” she continues, chuckling weakly.
Aziraphale smiles back. “Indeed. I’m afraid I am under the same predicament.”
“Where’re you headed?”
“Oh, just waiting for someone,” he replies, briefly wondering where Crowley might be. “I had hoped this would be a nice day for a stroll. And you, ma’am?”
“I do some volunteer work at the little orphanage nearby.” Her eyes begin to sparkle as she speaks, and Aziraphale feels the familiar stirs of warmth pooling in his abdomen. Love. This woman loves that orphanage. “Haven’t been in a while. Things just went crazy at work.”
“That’s lovely. I’m sure the children must be dying to see you.”
“Thanks.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks out at the pond. “Hope this rain stops soon. I’m supposed to be helping them set up their little theatre group today.”
“Out of curiosity,” Aziraphale pipes up after a couple seconds of comfortable silence between them. “Where might this orphanage be exactly?”
Her face brightens up visibly. “You’re interested in volunteering?”
“Well, I… have no children of my own, you see.” He bites back a giddy smile. “However my, ah, companion is quite fond of them.”
“How nice.” She opens her bag and begins to rummage through its contents. “Hang on, I have a card here somewhere. I must’ve—oh!”
Aziraphale puts on an expression of pleasant surprise as she brings out a purple umbrella.
“Would you look at that? It seems it was right there all along.”
Her bewildered face gave way to pure joy that tugged on Aziraphale’s heartstrings.
“I could’ve sworn this wasn’t here a moment ago! Have I gone mad?”
She unfolds the umbrella over her head. Using her free hand, she reaches back inside her bag to grab a card and hands it to him. “Here you go,” she says in a tone much more enthusiastic than before. “We’d love to have you over some time!”
Aziraphale takes it gratefully. “I will be sure to do that.”
“And bring your partner with you, too!” She points a finger at somewhere over his shoulder. “Is that him, by the way?”
At this, Aziraphale whirls around and spots none other than Anthony J. Crowley, sauntering over the same puddles he himself had not-so-gracefully sidestepped just a moment ago, his clothes bone dry and his red hair in a still perfect coif. Aziraphale resists the urge to roll his eyes.
“Ah, yes. That would be him.” The exasperation is evident in his tone.
“Well,” says the woman, beginning to walk away, “we’ll be glad to have both of you over. Have a nice day!”
“You too, dear.”
He jumps as Crowley’s arm drapes around his shoulders. “You’re wet,” says the demon in a disgusted tone.
“And why aren’t you?” he snaps, stepping away from the demon. “You can’t just miracle yourself immune to rain, Crowley! The humans will wonder.”
“As if they ever pay close enough attention.” Crowley sniffs loudly into the air, his nose wrinkling. “’Sides, you’re one to talk. The sickly scent of grace is thick in the air, angel.”
“I was discreet!” Dark spots appear to cloud his vision and he blinks them away harshly. What is it with this weird weather? He feels lightheaded all of a sudden. “Anyway, do you have your car with you? We might as well return to the shop."
Crowley shakes his head. “It wasn’t raining when I left.”
Aziraphale groans. “Very well then.” He holds up his palm, and with a quick pull, a long tartan umbrella appears within his grasp.
His vision goes completely dark for a second and he stumbles on his feet. Crowley catches him by the elbow.
“You alright there, angel?” Without a second thought, Crowley takes the umbrella from him and opens it up over their heads.
Aziraphale nods, but the edges of his vision start to blur. “Quite… Perhaps I really must be going back home.”
He takes a moment to reorient himself with his surroundings, wiping his suddenly clammy palms over his trousers. Crowley stands still, watching him.
“You look pale. What’d you do last night?”
“Nothing. I am fine, Crowley.”
The demon doesn’t try to argue with him, but the edge of concern remains in his voice. “You okay to walk, then?”
His vision returns to normal, though there remains a slight buzzing inside his head. It’s manageable, so he nods.
They begin to walk, Crowley a half-step before him, holding the umbrella over them both. Crowley’s silence and frequent glancing at him starts to bother Aziraphale.
“I’m not made of glass, Crowley,” he mutters.
“Didn’t say you were.”
“I’m fine.”
“’Course you are,” Crowley replies, slowing down his step so that Aziraphale presses close to his side with Crowley’s arm in between them, holding up the umbrella.
Aziraphale sighs and places a hand to clutch onto Crowley’s bent elbow. He isn’t drawing up magic, but he can feel his clothes drying up against his skin. Crowley keeps his gaze trained forward.
In truth, it takes quite a bit of effort to continue the trek home. He leans much of his weight on Crowley, and neither of them choose to mention it.