Chapter Text
Something was wrong . Aziraphale couldn't think very clearly, but the wrongness was obvious in his mind.
He groaned, and tried to open his eyes. Why were they even closed ? He never slept. Had he been sleeping? Why couldn’t he–
The thoughts slowed, and he tried, he really tried to keep them going. But they were so tired .
Could thoughts feel tired?
Maybe not. Maybe he…
His eyes were already closed (hadn’t even twitched as he tried to open them), but he felt like closing them again, with a sigh that sounded half relieved, half defeated.
Oblivion came back, apologizing for having left him behind for a minute.
He greeted it with open arms.
Something was wrong . Crowley woke up with a jolt, and fell.
Not his longest fall. One moment, he was up, drooling on his bedroom’s overpriced dome light. The next, he was bouncing on the bed, cursing loudly.
At least this time he hadn’t ended up on the floor.
With a hissed grumble, Crowley stretched, making every vertebrae in his spine pop (and if the number of pops would surprise a human physician, that was nobody’s business).
He then stood up heroïcally, ready to make himself his morning coffee. That was the problem with habits. Hard to forget, habits, once you’ve taken one.
And Crowley had gotten used to having his coffee handed to him as he woke up, usually with a soft greeting, and (if he was lucky) a gentle pat on the shoulder.
But that stupid angel had decided to visit some stupid friends to the other side of the Earth, and–
Crowley’s train of thoughts derailed, fell off the cliff, and exploded down in the ravine.
Something felt wrong . That’s what had woken him.
And it had something to do with the angel.
“Open your Godblessed freaking eyes , Aziraphale! Now !”
Aziraphale opened his eyes. He didn’t feel strong enough to move, not even his eyelids, but Crowley was ordering him to.
And his demon was an ardent defender of free will, and hated coercion with all his might. So if he used that tone then there was something really bad happening, and Aziraphale should listen to him and do exactly what he said without question.
Which… was good, because the angel didn’t feel like questioning. Or thinking at all.
“Angel!”
That yellow blur looked familiar. Here was another one. Eyes. Those were eyes. Yellow like the flowers that turned to the sun.
Pretty flowers.
“Pretty…” mumbled the angel.
The flowers blinked. “Uh? What? Hey, angel, can you hear me? What happened?”
Aziraphale frowned. “I fell,” he realized, panic rising quickly. It had finally happened, after all this time. “I Fell, Crowley!”
“Yes, you did, stupid,” barked the demon. “You fell off that big rock, you doofus. Now get up, we need to get a bloody wiggle on if we don’t want to turn into the ugliest ice sculpture in history. Can you walk?”
“Oh,” said the angel, looking up at the boulder. “S’a veeery big rock.”
“Aziraphale,” said Crowley through gritted teeth, “ answer me . Can you walk?”
The angel raised a hand to pat his demon’s cheek. “Yes, I am hungry,” he said with a beam. “ Thank you , dear.”
“That’s not what I–” started the demon, before realizing his friend had gone limp in his arms, “Oh, great. You’re unconscious again.”
Crowley looked around. He had teleported without a second thought, too concerned to even think of changing out of his pajamas. Aziraphale’s presence had been so faint, he’d acted on instinct alone.
He was starting to regret it a little. Miracling some warm clothes, or at least slippers , before appearing in bloody Himalayas would maybe have been a smart move. He could already feel his powers shrink under the cold. Summon clothes? Here? No way. Using demonic energy there was way too risky. He’d learnt the hard way that a frightening amount of people in Bod seemed able to sense evil, and knew how to deal with it.
Granted, it had been centuries ago. But he didn’t feel lucky enough to tempt the devil (so to speak).
He could transport back to his flat, but not with Aziraphale. Teleporting another immortal meant borrowing some of their powers to make the trip for them. And Aziraphale has exactly zero amount of Grace available right now, all of it seemed very busy keeping his corporation alive.
Going back to London alone, miracling everything they would need there, then come back?
But the angel’s Grace was so weak he could barely notice it while holding the stupid bugger in his arms. What if he wasn’t able to find him?
“Shit. Fuck. Buggery. Why did you have to faint in the middle of a blessed glacier , you moron?” he hissed, throwing one of his friend’s arms over his shoulder and standing up slowly.
He had inhuman strength. For how long it would hold in this weather, he didn’t know. Didn’t care.
It would hold long enough to get the angel to safety. There was no other option.
Step after step, Crowley started to walk, grateful for his scaly feet.
“I hate snow. I hate it. Next winter, we’re migrating with the fucking cranes, you hear me?”
He shook his lifeless burden sharply, eyes right in front of him. his bare fingers tightening around Aziraphale’s wrist. He couldn’t feel a heartbeat. Didn’t mean anything. He couldn’t feel his own fingers anyway. The angel was fine . He had to be fine.
One step. Another step. No thinking about the destination, about how far the next human shelter was. Just taking the next step, then the next one.
He would do it. He’d seen empires rise and fall, he’d tempted princes and queens. He wouldn’t be stopped by a little cold .
Step after step, Crowley continued to slowly make his way through the snow.
Luckily for him, there was a small village right behind the big boulder Aziraphale had fallen from.
Unfortunately, he was walking in the opposite direction.