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Crowley floated gently out of sleep to be greeted by the very pleasant sight of his very favorite angel sitting at his bedside, book in hands but eyes and attention both undeniably fixed on Crowley himself, smiling fondly down at him.
...Or possibly, Crowley realized, as he pushed himself further into wakefulness and the angel’s expression seemed to morph in response, glaring down at him.
“Good afternoon, dear,” said Aziraphale in flat tones.
“Mmph?” said Crowley, and tried to pull the blanket up over his face to hide. The blanket slid rudely out of his reach. He tried again. It slithered away again.
And yep, that was definitely a glare now. “It is,” Aziraphale told him, “about time you woke up.”
“Mmph,” Crowley reiterated with emphasis, and followed it up with a yawn, hoping to convey that he was a poor tired serpent who desperately needed his beauty sleep and would Aziraphale please let him have his blanket back.
“They told me,” Aziraphale said sternly, “you were dead.”
Crowley’s yawn turned into a gape. Startled into actual semi-coherent speech, he squinted up at the angel. “They wha’?”
“They told me you were dead,” Aziraphale repeated.
“Huh? Who told you?”
“Practically everyone. People keep coming by the shop to give me their condolences.”
“Condolences?” Crowley stared at him through bleary eyes. “Why?”
“Because,” Aziraphale said patiently, “they think you’re dead.”
“But ‘m not dead,” Crowley pointed out.
“And yet no one’s seen you since January.”
“I was napping!”
Aziraphale heaved a sigh. “I know that, and you know that. And I did try, at first, to explain to people that you were simply asleep. But they all seemed frightfully convinced I was speaking in euphemisms. Humans don’t usually nap for eight months, you know.”
Crowley did know that, and he always pitied them for that inability. And he had in fact learned from unfortunate experience that humans did have a tendency to jump to all sorts of ridiculous conclusions when you lay devoid of consciousness for months or years on end. So now, before taking a nap, he always…
A blurry pre-sleep memory surfaced. “But I put up wards so they wouldn’t bother me!”
“Yes, and I’m sure that's why they didn’t think of sending someone to remove your corpse from your flat. But you didn’t put up wards to stop them from noticing things.” Aziraphale shot Crowley an irritated look. “Or from bothering me.”
“Oh.”
“And, in fact—” Aziraphale’s expression intensified into a full-on glower, and Crowley had the feeling they were getting down to the crux of the issue now — “many of them were under the impression that since they came into the shop to pay condolences, they were obliged to purchase a book before leaving. I certainly did my best to disillusion them of that idea, but…”
The grim set of the angel’s mouth told Crowley everything he needed to know. Crowley was in trouble. Being mistaken for dead was one thing, and Aziraphale would probably have been at most mildly annoyed (not to mention rather amused) about the condolences. But if that misunderstanding had led to people, even a few of them, buying books…
Shit. No wonder Crowley had woken to Aziraphale glaring at him.
Well then, Crowley realized with fresh determination, he’d just have to make up for it. He rolled over in bed, making space on the sheets beside him, and extended an arm temptingly along the head of the bed. “Want to join me?”
Aziraphale pursed his lips, disapproving. “I thought you were going to get up.”
“Never said that. ‘Sides, you look like you could use some R&R after such a hard time.”
“Is that something to do with your bebop?”
“What? No, it…” Crowley groaned. “Oh, forget it. Just get in bed with me.”
Aziraphale looked doubtful.
Crowley conjured up an extra pillow, extra fluffy, pillowcase patterned in — Crowley cringed internally, but if this was what it took to make things right with Aziraphale, he would do what he had to — tartan. He patted it, lightly and very coaxingly.
Aziraphale stared at the pillow, stared at Crowley for a tense, fraught moment… then sighed, and capitulated, moving to take off his coat and place his book on the sofa.
Those steps complete, the angel lay down beside Crowley on the bed, warm and so exceedingly temptingly snuggly that Crowley couldn’t resist snuggling in. To his relief, Aziraphale didn’t roll away. In fact, not only did he not roll away, a hand snuck around to stroke its way through Crowley’s hair.
Whew. Good. Everything was definitely going to be okay. Crowley reached for the blanket again; this time, it did not evade his grasp, instead allowing him to pull it up and tuck it securely around both himself and Aziraphale.
Once Crowley had settled back in the bed, Aziraphale wrapped an arm around him, pulling him even closer.
“Now they’ll think we’re both dead,” Crowley observed. It was an entertaining prospect.
Aziraphale made a noise of agreement. He sounded distinctly content with the idea. Which did make sense. After all, if its proprietor was dead, nobody could come into the bookshop to pay him condolences or try to buy books or…
Something else occurred abruptly to Crowley. “I hope you warded the shop? So people don’t come looking for your corpse.” And probably touch some of the books in the process. That would be a true and complete catastrophe. Crowley didn’t even want to think about what level of trouble he’d be in if something like that were to happen after Aziraphale had given in to the temptation of napping with him. “If you didn’t do it before,” he hastened to assure, “I can try. Pretty sure I can make the miracle take from here—”
“Of course I warded the shop,” Aziraphale said, sounding amused. His nose touched Crowley’s neck, breath near enough that it would have tickled had Crowley’s corporation been set to experience ticklishness. As things were, the brush of air was just warm, intimate, and generally lovely. “Come now, darling, did you really think I wasn’t prepared for this to happen?”
And with that, before Crowley could even begin to process all the implications of the remark enough to try to formulate a response to it, the angel had closed his eyes, letting out a long, relaxing sigh as his breathing slowed and steadied.
Ah, well. With a shrug and another snuggle, Crowley did the same. And together, in peaceful companionship, the both of them dead to the world, demon and angel slid back into the realm of slumber.