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Aziraphale's head was a mess.
They could barely focus on their surroundings. It was all jumbled, consisting of insults, cries, pleas, recycling everything that's been happening for the past two hours. Processing it. They were shaking visibly, unable to stop themselves anymore. They were safe now. They could let go. Except they couldn't. Heaven was keeping their eyes on them. And having them witness this angel (arguably) attempt to pull themselves together, it just wouldn't do!
They had to do better. They had to calm down. Breathe. Were they breathing? They'd stopped to check, but the answer didn't come to them. They did register, however, that their skin had trouble ventilating. Sweat pooled in their armpits, their forehead, their upper and lower back, their knees, their very essence, it felt like. Pain. Pain. They wanted to leave.
Right. Now. Oh, please, let me leave.
The escalator leading down from Heaven, where the three worlds met, appeared into view. They were home now. Free to leave, attend to their bookshop, their food and a cup of cocoa. However, the angel gasped with a startling realization, they didn't want any of those things. In fact, the familiar feeling of hot cocoa sliding down their throat made them gag more violently than they would ever allow themselves to. But there was no one watching, not anymore. Their report had ended ten minutes since, after all. There was no threat.
So why did it feel like the world was ending?
The screeching of cars added salt to the open wound and Aziraphale just couldn't take it anymore. It felt as though they were falling apart. Little pieces of their corporation peeling themselves off and flying free into all directions. They felt as though their very soul was stretched across all planes of existence, discovered and not yet discovered, yet still felt too grounded, too chained to their body and too chained to Earth. Too solid, they could feel their skin cells. Make it stop, make it stop, please, oh God, I'll be good, just make it stop, make it stop, makeitstop, makeitstop, makeitsto-
Before they could stop themselves, or even realize what they were doing, the angel bit down onto their left arm with all their might. It dawned on them soon after, but they did not stop. Instead, just sank their teeth deeper into the skin, feeling saliva stain the area. Aziraphale wasn't sure whether he hated it or not, but it helped. Their other arm, they found, was gripping their usually milky-white curls which now resembled more of a storm cloud, pulling down on the strands of hair tangled through their fingers. It hurt, and it hurt good.
They took a breath in, finally released their arm and vaguely made a note to miracle that away later. The world blurred in front of them, tears and sweat slowly and excruciatingly trickled down their face. The shaking did not stop, but just then, they found they were at the bottom of the stairs, now unmoving. How did they get there?
They released the hair they'd been gripping. 'I’ve got to go. They'll find me here. I’ve got to go. I’ve got to go.'
But they couldn't. No matter how carefully they coaxed the body that housed him, how patient or how stern they'd talked to it, it wouldn't budge. And so, they stood in place, using the cold walls for support, for what felt like hours. Their head was fuzzy, fatigue announcing its presence with strong pressure from both sides of their head, causing the most unpleasant migraine. Oh, they were being so silly. Simply overreacting. 'Come on now, old chap. Pull yourself together. Chop-chop!' they thought, and yet their body did not cooperate. So, they stood a little longer.
Three quarters of an hour passed by, and they still stood there, miserably, though you couldn't really tell from looking at them. You couldn't tell anything, really. The angel simply seemed to be lost in their thoughts, and perhaps that wasn't too far from the truth. Except their thoughts were screaming, loudly and annoyingly. So persistent, these old things, still repeating conversations and exchanges that happened hours ago. And what for? To mock him, maybe?
'I have to leave,' one thought suggested. The body protested, but ultimately gave in. And so, their leg lurched forward, slowly, soon followed by the other. But Aziraphale didn't really feel in control. In fact, they weren't feeling anything at all. They'd read about this somewhere. Dissociation, maybe? Simply zoning out? Daydreaming? No, no, this was something else. But what...
The angel stopped in their tracks, now outside. No sun, thankfully, clouds taking its place. What did catch them off guard was the familiar figure standing across the street, fiddling with something on their phone. They did not notice Aziraphale, but Aziraphale recognized them. That fiery hair and iconic stance was hard to forget. They remembered what it felt like seeing their friend, every skip of the beat their heart did just at the sight of him. But this time, nothing but apathy and a pinch of distress. He mustn't see them like this! What would he think of them, then? Oh, they really must be on their wa-
Just then, Crowley looked up and his sunglasses met Aziraphale's stunned gaze. He smiled, waved at them, before sauntering their way. "Oh. Oh, no..." Aziraphale mouthed, their throat too closed up and head too full to make the words they thought be heard out loud. But they couldn't just leave now. With Crowley sauntering towards the angel, there was nowhere to hide. So, they did what they did best; deny their feelings and pretend everything was fine.
With a flash of panic, they checked if their sleeves were rolled down, and calmed down after confirming, though still finding it in them to scold themselves for worrying the sleeved so much. They did treasure that beloved coat, after all, and this was how they treated it?
"Hey, angel, I almost thought I messed up the date of your check-up with Heaven! What were you doing there so long?" he greeted with an unusually cheery tone. And unusually loud; it took Aziraphale a lot of willpower to not flinch at it. They attempted a warm smile, though still sensed that the corners of their lips twitched in pain from the effort. They didn't want to speak. They weren't quite sure they even could. So, they just hummed gently, nodding their head as a hopefully friendly hello.
Crowley's smile faded as bit, his eyebrows dropping a smidge. "Y'alright? How did it go?" he attempted, lowering his voice to Aziraphale's gratitude. Oh, now they probably had to speak. Ah... They opened their mouth, closed it again. Crowley, now frowning and eyebrows furrowed in concern, stepped closer. Aziraphale stepped back, feeling a pang on guilt when the demon's frown deepened. They hadn't meant to upset him. 'Alright, that's it. I can't let this go on anymore.'
"Crowley, I..." they stopped, surprised at how raspy their voice was. "I'm just..." they took a shaky breath and tried again, "I'm simply tired." Silence filled the air. Aziraphale fidgeted, wringing their hands together. They somewhat remembered they ought to stop, that it was inappropriate, but now that they started, they found they couldn't stop.
"Is there, uh, anything I can do?" his best friend asked. Another invitation to talk. 'Leave me alone,' their thoughts snapped. Outside, they simply shook their head and smiled. Crowley stared for a moment, Aziraphale could practically hear the gears turning in his head, and then backed down. "Sure, okay, ngk," he said, intelligently, "d'you wanna go for lunch?" A knot appeared in Aziraphale's stomach. They really couldn't handle this much stimuli right now, although refusing would be suspicious. They'd already messed it up enough today.
"Uh," they sighed, "I-I'm not quite...sure. I feel like it. I mean..." "Hey, don't sweat it, angel, we can go some other time," Crowley's smile returned. What got him in such a good mood today, anyway? And why did they have to ruin it? "No, no! It, um, I mean, we could...do something else?" they stopped to recollect their thoughts, "Go somewhere, perhaps." "Are you sure? It's fine if you're not up for it," Crowley responded and, oh, the genuine concern they heard in his voice made them shudder.
They smiled wider. "Let's take a short stroll, then?" They could deal with that. Crowley wouldn't have to worry and Aziraphale could just lock themselves up in their bookshop for a few days to recover. Surely, it can't go wrong. "Uh, yeah, okay! Sounds good," he grinned, "a stroll to the bookshop, then."
And so, off they went. And everything was fine, really, but the tremor in Aziraphale's unusually slow steps did make it hard for Crowley to stop worrying.
It was a calm and quiet evening. Too quiet, in fact, but Aziraphale was too tired to make note of it. Crowley, on the other hand, understood it very well. He knew that having too many people around probably wouldn't be the best right now considering the situation. Whatever that situation was.
'Quite a nice evening,' he thought. The sun was already going down so the sky was painted with all kinds of colors topped off with a clean white cloud here and there. There was still something off. He looked over to his right for the twentieth time, carefully observing the angel's every move. They seemed content enough, if a bit...disconnected? He couldn't quite put his finger on it. They were clearly lost in thought, and he swears they haven't moved their gaze up from the ground the entire time. After careful consideration, he reached his arm out to them and wrapped it around theirs, linking them together.
A flinch. A recoil. Surprised stares. Quiet.
"Ah, shit, angel, I'm sorry I should've asked," he grumbled to himself, "ah, I'm such an idiot." Aziraphale still hasn't said anything, but their expression was open. And Crowley was an expert on his angel's expressions by now, he could write a whole manual if he wanted to. And he had to do a double check, perhaps even a triple, but surely, it was there.
Pain?
Had he hurt them?
"Angel? I'm sorry, you okay?" he stepped closer, slowly in case the angel wanted to step back. "Did I hurt you?" Aziraphale shook their head anxiously, as if afraid they would upset him. Their stomach swelled in sudden panic and tears threatened to fall. They didn't want Crowley to know. They already allowed him to see how pathetic they really were, they will not. Break down. In front of him. Crowley stepped closer, his steps so delicate, so soft. Safe.
"Listen. I don't know what...happened up there. But you can talk to me, you know?" He gestured to them both. "We're friends, yeah?" A part of Aziraphale wanted to spit and hiss, to dismiss him, that they were not "friends". The other part just stared. Crowley took this as a cue to proceed closer. Aziraphale let him. "Or you don't have to tell me anything. That's fine too," he smiled, "just know I'm here."
The cracked dam that was holding back Aziraphale's emotions finally broke, washing down all rational thoughts to make way for the tears. And Aziraphale cried. Crowley had never seen them cry before. The closest they ever got was the flood. That time, Crowley did cry. And Aziraphale watched over him. They hadn't left him back then, and Crowley was sure as Hell, Heaven, or Whatever not leaving Aziraphale today.
He opened his arms as an invitation and Aziraphale took it. They buried their face in the crook of Crowley's neck, finally letting the mask drop completely as they returned the embrace. Their thoughts scolded them. They were an angel, they needed to pull themselves together and get back to work. Gabriel had certainly not neglected to mention that. And yet, here they were, crying into a demon's shoulder about such a minor thing.
Crowley slowly cradled the angel, squeezing them close to his chest. Deep pressure was good. Calming. Aziraphale noticed and, if they weren't currently gasping for breath, they would sigh contentedly as a thank you. Right now, though, they could barely stand. A bench appeared next to them, and Crowley sat them both down. Ah, bless damn him and his never-ending kindness. As if such a mess like Aziraphale deserved it.
They sat in silence for an unspecified amount of time before Aziraphale finally got their breathing under control. They dreaded the moment Crowley says "okay, that's enough" and lets go of them. But that moment never came. The slow strokes up and down their back remained in their repeating pattern and Crowley's slow breathing continued to ground them. Aziraphale felt such an open trust in their demon in that moment that all fears and doubts disappeared from their mind. They took a steadying breath.
"I hurt myself today," they paused when Crowley's breathing went to a halt, "on...purpose, I mean. Well, I-I don't really...I was-" They wrestled their breathing under control again. They already started, might as well get it off their chest. "I was so overwhelmed," they whispered, unable to raise their voice. Though Crowley heard it all the same. Every single word felt like a squeeze to his heart. "I-I-I don't know what I was... What I was doing. All I knew was that it hurt." Their face burned in shame and tears threatened to fall again if they kept this up.
Crowley began breathing again but stayed silent. 'Continue', he meant. So, Aziraphale did. "The report didn't go well. I can't quite recall why for the life of me, I..." they paused again, they needed so many pauses, damn it, "I just know I upset them. I was scared." The hand on their back began to move again, both to steady Aziraphale and Crowley. "I didn't mean to do anything of that sort, but...I-" "What did you do? How hurt are you?" Crowley asked, no louder than a breeze flowing. Anxiety twisted in the angel's stomach.
"Not-not much. I, um... I bit my arm," he sighed, "pulled my hair a bit." Aziraphale looked up at Crowley only to have their heart break after seeing a single tear rolling down their demon's cheek. They wiped it away.
"Crowley..." "Are you okay..?"
They blinked. "I haven't gotten around to, uh, healing it, yet." "Let me see." The softness in his voice melted their heart. They obediently rolled up their sleeve and flinched after seeing the consequences of their incident. The area was already bruised, teeth marks still printed onto the skin. Crowley, oh, their gentle Crowley, held their arm in place, using the other to gently go over the scarring. It paled slowly, disappearing completely in 8.32 seconds (Aziraphale counted each one).
"I- Thank you, dear." Crowley looked up at them. "Are you okay?" "I'm better, certainly." "But are you okay?" Aziraphale steadily nodded after careful consideration. 'As okay as an embarrassment like you can be,' their thoughts interrupted.
"Has this ever happened before?" he asked, his hand finding Aziraphale's and rubbing it gently. "Never reacted so violently, no." Crowley's face swelled with sympathy. "Must've been hard," he gave their hand a squeeze. Aziraphale looked down. Shame, shame, shame.
"I'm sorry you have to deal with me." "What?" "You must think me pathetic. I mean. what sort of angel gets so overwhelmed to the point of self-harm? And due to their brothers and sisters, nonetheless." Crowley shook his head in disbelief. "Well, they have every right to when those brothers and sisters are sodding wankers!" Aziraphale gasped in surprise. "Crowley, do not call them that!" they rebuked him, but couldn't hold back the ghost of a chuckle. Crowley smiled.
"Whatever, those jerks aren't worth it," he waved his hand dismissively, "what's important is that you're here." His face turned serious again. "...If this happens again, you'll come to me, right?" Aziraphale nodded, more confidently than they had this entire day. "Of course."
Crowley nodded, too. "Okay. Good. Because if this keeps happening, I might bite Gabriel's arm off, see how he likes that." "Crowley!!" They bursted out in laughter, for the first time today. Crowley grinned proudly, intertwining their fingers and getting up from the miracled bench. "Come on, let's get you home. Maybe get some cocoa." Aziraphale followed soon after. "I'm, ah, not sure if I can handle that today," they admitted in a moment of bravery.
Crowley smiled, nicely. Undemonically, but don't tell him that. "That's okay. Whatever you need, angel."