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It was the second day of the rest of their lives. It was their first real day of freedom, truly on their own side for the first time since creation. The first time to do anything they wished.
And Crowley felt awful.
He groaned as his body unwound itself from its corkscrew position on Aziraphale’s couch. Every muscle was sore and tender. Holding together a flaming car and stopping time will do that to a person. The headache and the sore throat however were a bit more difficult to place. He blinked owlishly as the bookshop came into a blurry half focus, looking for a cause. Had he forgotten to sober up?
Several full bottles of wine greeted him from their place on the table and quickly shot down that theory.
He sat up properly hoping it would pass. If anything that only added nausea to the growing list of symptoms. He ducked his head between his knees trying to find some relief. That too was short lived though as the sun shifted in the clouds outside and cast a few extra rays into the bookshop windows. Crowley winced at the light, where were his glasses?
He found them behind a stack of books, but in fumbling for them woke Aziraphale. Who had been dozing in the chair opposite him, because that was just the kind of day it was. Crowley slammed his glasses on as Aziraphale turned to him and tried to look normal.
“Morning, Crowley,” he glanced at the clock, “or afternoon I suppose,” he said with a chuckle.
“Well we helped save the world, Angel. Spent the better part of a week on it and told off our head offices as a cap off. Can’t blame us for a bit if a lie in.”
He leaned back trying to keep up the nonchalant façade, but let out a chocked moan as his muscles protested even that small amount of movement.
“Are you all right, Crowley? You look…pale.”
“Yeah, sure I’m just ngh…” he pushed his glasses up from their perch as he rubbed at his eyes.
“That is hardly a rousing endorsement, my dear.”
He joined Crowley on the couch, pressing a hand to his forehead and then sighed softly.
“Foolish of us really to think we’d make it through all this completely unscathed.”
He took Crowley’s glasses back off and placed them gently on the table.
Crowley mumbled a string of sounds that might have formed actual words of protest if less syllables were missing. Aziraphale paid them no mind, merely gathered him up in his arms and carried him upstairs. Crowley knew he should put up a fight over it, he really should, but warm limbs and the hint of Aziraphale’s cologne made him lose whatever coherence he had left.
They entered the bedroom and with a quick snap of the angel’s fingers it was clean and inviting. He settled Crowley on the bed and placed a cool cloth on his forehead. It was tartan and Crowley thought he probably should complain about that too, but didn’t want to make the effort for that either.
Meanwhile Aziraphale set about conjuring a thick plush blanket similar to the one he’d seen at Crowley’s flat the night before. He tucked up the comforter and fluffed up the pillows and stepped back when he thought Crowley was as comfortable as possible.
“Can I get you anything else?”
Crowley shook his head.
“Then I’ll let you rest.”
He turned to go, but Crowley reached out and grasped his hand.
“Stay.”
He shifted over slightly to make more room and Aziraphale took the hint, sliding into the bed with him.
“You’re sure I’m not disturbing you?”
Crowley just tucked in closer to him.
“Feel better when you’re here.”
“All right then.”
He pulled the blanket back up around them and it reminded Crowley of being shielded by his wing from the very first storm. He managed a hint of a smile through the malaise at that thought. This wasn’t picnics and dinners at the Ritz, but they were still together and that was good enough.
The End