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Aziraphale looked around. He was standing in the courtyard of his old church, which had a few trees but was mostly paved with pebble-laden concrete. People from his congregation moved around him as if it was an average Sunday after the morning sermon, going in and out of buildings, forming little groups, heading to cars, children running around. The usual.
But Aziraphale didn’t feel like he had when this was the average weekly occurrence; cheerful and looking forward to changing into more comfortable clothing. Instead, it felt more like a sickly sweet poison was smothering him.
Walking around the building and trying to figure out what was going on, he could feel his thoughts and emotions becoming more jumbled and chaotic, his presence at his church triggering the overwhelming feeling like he was sick and trying not to to gag.
He didn’t know why he was feeling such things, only that he was and that he must hold himself together so that he could get out of there. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he stumbled as he walked faster, feeling himself start to shut down and panic at the same time.
“Oh, are you alright there?” he heard Mrs. Waverly ask as she approached him.
They had grown up together, and although she always accepted doctrine without seriously questioning it, she was never mean to him.
Aziraphale looked at her, forcing a smile in order to stop his watering eyes from betraying him. “I’m quite well, thank you, just… allergies,” he reassured her, bluffing so that she wouldn’t worry “Now you must excuse me, I’ve got to go do something and I don’t want to be late.” Mrs. Waverly nodded, though still slightly concerned, before turning away.
As soon as he knew he wasn’t being watched, he started walking again around the back of the building, where there were two double doors that would lead to the chapel of the church. From within, he heard Pastor Robinson preaching, even though the church service was apparently over.
“You are all sinners, damned from birth, and therefore deserving of wrath by God!” he heard the pastor say, recalling memories of other services Aziraphale had sat through where he tried to squelch the feeling that Robinson’s words were wrong.
Putting a hand over his mouth to stop an involuntary sob from escaping, Aziraphale continued past the doors, turning the corner of the building. It felt like the ground beneath him was swaying and shifting, and Aziraphale struggled to stay upright while he fought against his body and brain trying to shut down.
As he neared the parking lot which led out to a road, he was faced with the usual crowd of people present after a Sunday service, just like before.
Some noticed his disjointed and panicked body language, some noticed his tears, which were now running freely down his face. Some turned, embarrassed, some tried to ask if he was okay, and many snickering as he made his way towards the road and off of the property, stumbling and crying.
When he reached the open gate that gave him access to the road, he turned and stood behind the row of tall shrubbery that lined the property to hide from anyone looking. The next moment, Aziraphale felt himself fall to the ground as his surroundings blurred and gave way to thick darkness.
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Aziraphale opened his eyes, and realized he was in bed. A moment later, he realized that it must be about six in the morning, since Crowley was absent from the other side of the bed, and had taken to waking up early in the morning to water his plants before going back to sleep for a few hours.
Rubbing his eyes to ensure he wouldn’t fall asleep again, despite his body being buzzing with energy leftover from the nightmare, Aziraphale sat up and looked around him, trying to get his bearings.
Although he wasn’t now on the verge of either shutting down or having a panic attack, he still felt scattered and confused. Remembering that he could though, Aziraphale stopped restraining the pressure that was built up in his muscles, and drew his knees up to his chest, rocking a little, and allowed one of his hands to nearly vibrate with energy. It was a good way to get energy out without just letting it build or waiting for it to boil over, but unfortunately he wasn’t quite in the practice of letting himself stim more obviously when he needed it.
Before long, he heard Crowley’s footsteps as he went inside from the garden, taking off his shoes and jacket and setting down the plant mister, before heading back towards their bedroom.
Entering the room, Crowley’s eyes widened a little when he saw Aziraphale was not only awake, but apparently stressed in some way, as his hand, blurred with motion, seemed to indicate.
“You alright there, angel?” he asked, sitting down on his side of the bed and scooching a little closer to his partner. As he got closer, he had also noticed his red nose and eyes.
“What?” Aziraphale asked quietly, and sniffed.
“Hey, what’s wrong? You’ve been crying.”
Aziraphale blinked at him, looking a little confused “..I have?”
“Er, yes, I can see your cheeks are wet,” Crowley answered.
“Oh.. Well, you see, I uh, had a bit of a nightmare,” Aziraphale quietly confessed as Crowley loosely put his arm around his angel’s shoulders, rubbing his shoulder lightly as his partner gently rocked.
“Ah I’m sorry, that’s awful. And I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how are you now?” he asked. Crowley couldn’t always gauge how close to a serious something happening, whether it was a flashback or a shutdown or what have you.
“...I’m alright, just getting extra tension out I guess. If that’s okay,” Aziraphale answered quietly as he looked down. He himself wasn’t quite used to communicating directly about how he was really doing in moments of distress, since he had nearly always ridden them out alone, and any communication of it would’ve been criticized or at least taken wrong. He was trying to learn how to do that better though, and Crowley’s understanding and support was helping bit by bit.
“It’s always okay, and I’m glad you’re alright. Can I ask what it was about?” Aziraphale slowly stopped rocking, and leaned towards Crowley, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder as he gathered his thoughts.
“Well…. I found myself at my old church, and.. I guess my brain didn’t like that and I ended up panicking and shutting down at the same time while trying to escape,” he explained, his voice quiet.
Crowley wrapped his arms tight around Aziraphale, bringing one hand up to stroke his hair in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “I’m so sorry you experienced that, angel, you didn’t deserve any of that.” The pressure was very welcome to Aziraphale, just as much as the validation was.
Aziraphale felt his eyes water again, this time in real life. “I just never want to go back there again, if that’s how I might react,” he said, his voice croaky.
“And you never will, you never will.” Crowley reassured him, pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s hair.
For the rest of the early morning, Aziraphale laid in bed with Crowley wrapped around him in a full body hug, and very gradually the stress dissipated with his movements, his muscles relaxed, and his mind calmed.
By the time they truly started the day, Aziraphale knew in his heart that he would never go back, that he was understood and accepted far more than he had ever been, and most importantly, that he was loved just as he was.