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Something was wrong with Aziraphale.
It only took a single look to tell. He sat in his favorite armchair, stared blankly at a bookcase, book lying abandoned on his lap. And he was still wearing his coat rather than his cardigan.
Crowley moved closer, cautious, unwilling to startle him. “Aziraphale?”
No response at first. And then, slowly, Aziraphale turned towards him. His brow creased, and he tilted his head. “Crowley? What are you doing here?”
“Nh, dunno. Just stopped in.” He’d meant to see if Aziraphale wanted to go to the theatre tonight, but that might not be the best plan. Not when Aziraphale was this upset. “I’ve got something for you, though.”
Crowley crossed the room and placed a box of chocolates atop Aziraphale’s abandoned book. Aziraphale glanced down, then took the box with what looked like monumental effort. “Ah. Thank you.”
Crowley frowned and pulled a chair close. He usually brought Aziraphale chocolates every couple weeks, and that was the least enthusiastic reaction he’d ever gotten. “You all right?”
“Hm?” A long exhale, and Aziraphale roused himself a bit. Just a bit, but he smiled slightly at the chocolates, patted the box. “These will be lovely, I’m sure.”
“Yep. They’re your favorites.” Crowley caught his limp hand and held it gently, squeezed. Aziraphale’s skin was clammy. “What’s wrong, angel?”
Aziraphale stiffened and tugged his hand away. “Nothing! I’m perfectly fine.”
Right. Crowley pointedly glanced down at the book, then back to Aziraphale’s face. “Angel, you’ve marked your spot in the book with a piece of buttered toast.”
“I…what?” Sudden distress exploded across Aziraphale’s face, then transformed back into blankness. “Ah. I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
Heaven. Whatever had happened to him, it involved Heaven.
“Not like you to think the state of your books doesn’t matter.” Crowley tugged the book from his lap, flipped it open, and pulled out the toast. Another slice of toast sat abandoned on Aziraphale’s desk, thankfully on a plate. “And you’re not eating? Seriously, what’s wrong?”
“Absolutely nothing is wrong.” Flat, clipped tones. Uncaring neutrality on his face. Empty eyes.
Heat flared in Crowley’s heart and suffused his whole body, and he forced himself to breathe. If he got upset, it would only make Aziraphale retreat further into his shell. “Okay. Do you wanna have some of your toast?”
Aziraphale just shrugged. “Not particularly.”
Biting his lip, Crowley tossed the bookmark toast to join the other, then turned his attention to the first edition Winnie-the-Pooh. Butter soaked through several pages. He removed that and the crumbs with a careful miracle, repaired the damage, then pressed the book into Aziraphale’s hands. “There we go. Cleaned it up for you.”
“Hm? Oh. Thank you, my dear.” With a long sigh, Aziraphale ran his hands across the cover. “I suppose I just got distracted.”
Distracted enough to drop a slice of toast in one of his favorite books, then close it without noticing. That was a really, really bad sign. Aziraphale might like to leave the shop dusty and in disarray, but he zealously guarded the condition of his books. This meant he was massively upset about something.
“Can I get you some tea? Cocoa?” Crowley asked with a tempting little sway. Aziraphale didn’t even look at him, still just staring at the shelves. “Angel?”
Aziraphale fussed aimlessly with his book, flipping the cover back and forth. “Oh. Yes. If you like.”
“Sure. I can always go for a nice drink.” Right now, Crowley felt more like downing a whole bottle of scotch, but he’d stick to whatever Aziraphale was having.
Crowley paused on his way to the kitchenette, stomach suddenly tight. The shop smelled wrong, too clean and pure. It normally smelled, well, like a dusty old bookshop. Someone had been here, someone from Heaven. Gabriel?
That explained why Aziraphale was so messed up, anyway.
After making cocoa, Crowley went back to his angel. Aziraphale still hadn’t moved at all, aside from flipping the cover of his book back and forth. Crowley gently tugged the book from his hands and replaced it with the mug. “Here, angel. Cocoa okay? Thought it sounded soothing.”
“I don’t need soothing,” Aziraphale said, sharpness creeping into his tone. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Nh…okay.” Crowley took a swig of his own cocoa, but it churned his stomach. He set it aside and looked around for something to help, unsure what to do. Maybe…music? Yeah. Mozart or something.
He hopped back up and set up the gramophone. Okay, some soothing music. That should break Aziraphale out of…whatever this state was. Dissociation? Depression? No real way to tell.
After getting rid of the cold toast, Crowley grabbed a clean plate and put some of the chocolates on it. He set it within Aziraphale’s easy reach, then snatched a thick tartan blanket from the sofa and spread it across his angel’s lap. Aziraphale continued staring at the bookshelf. “Here, angel. You seem a little chilled. S’ the blanket okay?”
“It’s fine.” No inflection in his voice at all—just a perfect Heavenly soldier. “You needn’t fuss, Crowley. Angels don’t need such Earthly things.”
Another flash of rage surged through Crowley. Those bastards from Heaven, making Aziraphale feel bad about enjoying his comforts. About enjoying anything.
Crowley forced himself to take a few deep breaths, count to ten. Then, gently, he stroked Aziraphale’s hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Nonsense. I like fussing. Big fussing fan, me.”
Aziraphale’s gaze flicked to him, the blankness cracking just a little to reveal underlying sadness. “Well. All right. If you insist. Demons do indulge themselves, after all. Sinful creatures.”
“Yep,” Crowley agreed quickly. If he needed to spin this so that it was Crowley’s responsibility, that was fine. Anything was fine if it meant Aziraphale would accept comfort. “Can I tempt you to a chocolate?”
He waved it obnoxiously in front of Aziraphale’s face until the tiniest crinkle of irritation creased his brow. “Do stop that childish nonsense.”
“I will once you take the chocolate.” Crowley waved it in front of him again.
Finally, Aziraphale’s hand twitched, detached from the mug. Moved up much more slowly than usual and accepted the chocolate. He took a small bite and chewed deliberately, expression still blank.
At least it was better than nothing. Crowley sat and tugged his chair closer, stomach aching more every second. “Want me to read to you?”
That drew a vaguely startled look. “But your eyes, dear boy. They get tired when you read.”
“Eh, it’s fine for a while.” Crowley pulled off his sunglasses to make it easier to focus on the page, then picked up Winnie-the-Pooh. Combined with the music, cocoa, and chocolate, maybe that would unfreeze Aziraphale enough to talk about what happened. “Do you want me to pick up at the beginning, or where you left off?”
A shrug, and Aziraphale stared into the depths of his cocoa. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Uh…okay.” Crowley flipped to the beginning, took a deep breath, and began. “‘Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way—'”
Aziraphale burst into tears.
“Aziraphale?” Crowley scrambled out of his seat and bent to wrap his angel in a hug. Aziraphale cried into his chest, great heaving sobs like a kid who’s just lost a favorite toy. “Hey, hey. S’ okay, angel. I’ve got you. Whatever’s wrong, I’ll help.”
“I’m fine!” Aziraphale wailed, trying to shove Crowley away. Crowley winced at the blow that slammed into his shoulder, but held on anyway. “Nothing’s wrong! Get away from me, you-you demon, you fiend, you—”
And then his arms wrapped tight around Crowley’s waist. Aziraphale clung to him, sobbing, still holding onto his cup as cocoa spilled down the back of Crowley’s leg. Crowley winced at the splash of heat, but he could handle a little discomfort for his angel. “I’ve got you, shhh. It’s okay, Aziraphale. It’s okay.”
He pushed his fingers into Aziraphale’s curls, combed through them, kissed his head again. Rubbed his back, still murmuring reassurances. Poor, poor angel. What had they done to him? Why was he so upset?
“Shh, s’ okay.” He rocked Aziraphale gently, held him through waves of heartbroken tears. “I’ve got you, promise. It’s okay. You can cry all you need, yeah? I’m here.”
After a few minutes, Aziraphale’s sobs calmed under the careful soothing and subsided into quiet weeping. He nuzzled into Crowley’s chest, sniffled. “Oh, Crowley. I’m so sorry.”
“Nah, no need to be sorry.” Crowley kissed his head and ruffled his hair again. “I’ve got you, angel. Always.”
“I-I know you do.” Aziraphale tugged away, and this time Crowley let go. The angel wiped his cheeks, lip still quivering. “Oh, I’m acting so dreadfully silly. I am perfectly fine, understand.”
“Yeah,” Crowley said while fantasizing about breaking into Heaven and beating the shit out of whoever had done this to his angel. “‘Course you’re fine. And sometimes maybe you’re a bit silly, but you’re my silly angel.”
That drew a weak smile. “That’s kind of you to say, my dear, but I rather think I’ve spilled my cocoa all over your trousers.”
“Eh, easy to take care of that.” One miracle cleaned up the spill, and another refilled Aziraphale’s mug now that it was upright again. Crowley sat back down and took Aziraphale’s free hand, massaged it gently. “Come on, though. I know you’re fine, but can you tell me…what made you act silly?”
That was the only way he could think of phrasing it that wouldn’t draw an immediate argument. Aziraphale sniffled and nodded. “Well, I…I am perfectly fine, and nothing’s wrong, and everything’s okay. But I had a spot of bother yesterday evening. Gabriel came by.”
Of course it was Gabriel. “Did something happen while he was here?”
“Oh, nothing of consequence. He was just a bit…” Aziraphale let out a heavy sigh, and his hand trembled in Crowley’s. “He was a bit angry with me. It was fine, understand. I’m fine.”
He really, really was not, but Crowley just nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
“Well, he…he thinks I spend too much time surrounded by…Earthly pleasures. The pleasures of the flesh. And-and that it makes me neglect my duties.” Aziraphale’s teary eyes darted to meet Crowley’s, just for a moment. Then they fell back to his cocoa. “It was a…very, very lengthy lecture. Quite stern.”
Lengthy and stern. With Aziraphale’s talent for understatement and denial, that meant that Gabriel had yelled and screamed and raged at him for hours, then probably finished it off with some manipulative “but I know you can do better! Let’s try to work harder going forward and not waste any time on frivolities. Looking forward to your next report, champ.”
Crowley ground his teeth, stomach twisting again. He lifted Aziraphale’s hand and kissed it gently. “M’ sorry. I know you’re fine, but that was probably still hard.”
“It-it was a bit uncomfortable.” That was the closest Aziraphale would come to admitting that Gabriel’s verbal abuse had locked him into frozen dissociation for hours and deprived him of all joy in life. “And, I…I felt so guilty, Crowley. Gabriel works so hard, and here I am enjoying myself.”
“Oh yeah, enjoying yourself. Worst sin,” Crowley said in a light, gentle tone.
Aziraphale pursed his lips, but his eyes brightened just a little. “It’s not funny! I ought to be better than this, to be more pious and holy and righteous. I ought to be above sinful things like chocolates and cocoa.”
Despite the lingering stomachache, Crowley snagged one of Aziraphale’s chocolates and ate it. “Well, I don’t have to be any of those things. I can eat all the chocolate and drink all the cocoa in the world, and that’ll give me energy for all kinds of evil. So…you should thwart me. Eat the chocolates before I can. It’s the right thing to do, angel.”
That drew the faintest ghost of a smile. Aziraphale popped a chocolate in his own mouth and chewed, giving Crowley a shy look. “Well, if you insist…”
“Yep. And.” Crowley picked up the abandoned book and waved it in the air. “If I’m busy reading to you, I can’t go out and tempt the humans into any devious schemes. You wanna…thwart some more? S’ not like Heaven can complain. Hard work, thwarting.”
Aziraphale’s smile grew a little wider, and he inclined his head. “Oh, very well. Better keep my eye on you, you devious old serpent. Never know what you might get up to if allowed to room freely.”
“That’s right.” Reassured that he’d helped at least a little, Crowley flipped the book open and resumed reading. “‘It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it…’”