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In retrospect, Crowley had been stupid. He should have gotten Aziraphale to hold the ladder, or maybe even to hold onto him. Crowley’s hips and legs had never worked properly, after all, and they often betrayed him without warning.
They’d never failed him while he was on a ladder before, though.
This time, they did. Pain shot through his right hip as he shifted, and then his whole leg went out. He grabbed for the gutter, trying to steady himself, and missed.
And then he was falling, flailing desperately for something to hold onto. Out of control, no hope of saving himself.
He slammed into the unforgiving stone path and the back of his head cracked against the ground. Everything went black as ringing filled his ears.
Then the ladder fell on him, sudden hits of pain in his shoulder and forehead. He cried out, clutching weakly at his head. Pain, crashing pain, so much pain…
“Crowley! Crowley!” Aziraphale’s frantic screams stabbed into his head. Crowley opened his eyes, struggling to focus on the fast moving blur. “Crowley!”
Crowley tried to speak, and instead threw up. He slumped against the stone, moaning. “‘Zir’phale…”
“Oh, you ridiculous old serpent, what were you doing?” Aziraphale almost sobbed the words, kneeling beside him. He pushed the ladder off, then caught Crowley’s hand and held it gently. “Lie still, shh. You’ve hurt yourself.”
“I hit… my head,” Crowley choked, pressing a hand against it. The crashing pain only worsened, and he moaned again. His stomach churned, and the damn ringing almost drowned out everything else. “Hit my head.”
“Yes, I can see that.” Trembling, Aziraphale touched his brow. Crowley yelped at the extra pressure. “Easy, easy. I need to see how bad this is.”
“Hit my head.” That was important. The most important part. But had he already said that?
“I know, Crowley.” Expression grim, Aziraphale looked him over. “You’ve given yourself a nasty whack, but there’s no skull fracture. You do have a concussion, though.”
“I hit my head,” Crowley said helpfully. “S’ why… concussion.”
Distress tugged at Aziraphale’s face, and he sighed as he settled a hand on Crowley’s chest. “You were lucky otherwise, no other injuries. Although I suspect you’re going to be in much worse pain than usual this week.”
“Yeah, and…” Crowley squinted against the bright glare of the sun, trying to raise a hand to shield his eyes. “I think I hit my head.”
Aziraphale bit his lip hard, then nodded. “Yes, Crowley. You hit your head.”
“Really hard.” Crowley gave up on shielding his eyes and instead tried to feel at the back of his skull. His fingers came away bloody. “Ow. My head hurts. I hit it.”
“I know. You have a quite severe concession.” Gently, Aziraphale touched his cheek. “Is it okay if I pick you up? I want to take you inside.”
“Okay. It… it hurts.” Crowley whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. “My head hurts.”
“Unfortunately, there’s not much I can do for that. Brains don’t like being jostled about, and I can’t fully heal that sort of thing. They don’t much like miracles either.” Moving gently, Aziraphale scooped him off the ground.
Crowley cried out as pain blazed through him. Head pounding, hips and legs burning. “Ow!”
“Shh, shhh. I know it hurts, but I have to get you inside.” Steps quick but smooth, Aziraphale carried him in and to the bedroom. “Here we are, just going to lay you in bed. On your side, how’s that?”
Crowley closed his eyes against the light, groaning. His stomach churned again when everything shifted, and he gagged. “Angel. Don’t… don’t feel good.”
“I know, Crowley.”
“I hit my head.”
“I know, Crowley.” Gentle touches, rearranging him. A blanket settled across him, and Aziraphale lightly touched the side of his head. Crowley winced. “I’m just going to heal up this nasty gash, okay? It’s bleeding very badly.”
Sudden distress twisted Crowley’s stomach. “What about… my shirt? Did I get blood all over my Golden Girls shirt?”
Aziraphale’s breath caught, and for a moment he froze. Then he settled his hand on Crowley’s arm. “It’s okay. Your shirt’s going to be just fine. I’ll make sure of it.”
Reassured, Crowley closed his eyes. Even with that, the light hurt. “S’ too bright. My head hurts.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can resolve that.” Aziraphale’s soft voice didn’t make his head hurt much worse, which was nice. And then the light level dropped, which was even better. “How’s that?”
“Good. Er, my head still… really hurts.” Somebody, he was so queasy. “And the ladder fell on my face.”
“Yes, you’ve got a nasty bruise on your brow. I’m sure that’s not helping your poor head, either.” A tingle of power washed across the back of Crowley’s head. It didn’t exactly reduce the throbbing agony, but it did get rid of the stinging pain on the back. So that was cool.
“And you’ll… fix my shirt?” Crowley asked hopefully. His back felt really wet. And cold.
“Mhm. That’s up next.” With a shaky exhale, Aziraphale rubbed his arm. “Goodness, head wounds do bleed a lot. Just a moment, my dear.”
Crowley curled up under the blanket, suddenly exhausted. Couldn’t keep his eyes open. Well, they hadn’t been open to begin with, but he definitely couldn’t keep them open now.
Aziraphale was still talking, but he couldn’t pay attention to it. He drifted, slipping into sleep. It seemed nicer there. Definitely less painful.
---
“Crowley.” A shake, gentle pressure on his arm. “Crowley, wake up.”
Crowley struck out, trying to shove the offender away. Fatigue clouded everything, a heavy weight. Heavier than the blankets across him. “Go ‘way.”
“I’m so sorry, dearest, but I can’t go away.” Another shake, less gentle. “I need you to wake up for me. Come now, my dear. Wake up.”
“Go away!” Crowley lashed out again, then curled up tighter. His head pounded, and there was a horrible crushing pressure all through it. “Tired. I wanna sleep.”
“I know, but I need to make sure you aren’t having any sort of other troubles from that nasty bump on your head.” A light, careful stroke ran across his hair. It hurt. “Can you wake up just for a bit? And then you can rest again, I promise.”
Crowley forced his eyes open, then winced even at the tiny bit of light. “Why’s bright?”
“That’s… that’s just the window, my dear. The curtains are already drawn.” Aziraphale took his hand and squeezed. He was blurry, just a haze of blue and tan and white. “How do you feel?”
“How the fuck do you think I feel?” Crowley snapped back.
The blur of Aziraphale’s face shifted. Frowning. “I don’t imagine you feel very well. But I need a more detailed answer than that, please.”
“Bastard.” Wincing, Crowley pressed a hand to his head. “I, er… I hit my head.”
A soft sigh. “I know, Crowley. How bad is your pain?”
Crowley shrugged, baffled by the question. “Well, I mean it’s pretty shitty. I hit my head!”
“Ah, I see. And you’re very tired.” Another careful stroke across his hair. Aziraphale was coming into focus a little more, which was nice. He looked worried. “And rather confused.”
“M’ not confused,” Crowley said, indignant.
“Of course not.” Aziraphale gave a tiny, worried smile and patted his hand. “I’m sorry I woke you, but I needed to see how you were. Head injuries can be very, very nasty.”
That made sense. Crowley nodded, reaching to touch the back of his head. It was still tender, although not bleeding. “Yeah. I hit it really hard.”
“You did. What on Earth were…” Aziraphale cut himself off, shaking his head. He gave another little smile. “No matter. We can talk about that later. Is there anything—besides alcohol—that I can get to make you feel better?”
“No alcohol?” That probably wasn’t the best idea when he’d hit his head, although Crowley used to get drunk out of his mind whenever someone in Hell beat him up. He bit his lip, thinking. “I dunno. It hurts, and I’m so tired.”
Aziraphale nodded, cupping his cheek. “Would you like a little water? And perhaps I can lie down with you. I-I know snuggling won’t relieve the pain, exactly, but…”
Aziraphale was shaking. Crowley took his hand—on the second attempt, he missed the first time—and pulled him into bed. “M’ not thirsty, but c’mon. Be nice to snuggle.”
It was nice, even though adjusting made his head pound even more. His stomach lurched, but he just curled up against Aziraphale’s softness. He was too tired to worry about feeling really sick.
“It’s okay, my dear. You’ll be okay.” Aziraphale sounded a little desperate. He wrapped his arm around Crowley, lightly rubbing his back. “You rest for a bit, hmm?”
Crowley didn’t need to be told that twice. He laid his pounding head on Aziraphale’s soft shoulder and slipped back into sleep.
---
The next time Aziraphale shook Crowley awake, he still felt like complete shit. “Wot.”
“Just me,” Aziraphale said softly.
“I know it’s you. What’s… Ow.” Crowley pressed a hand to his head again. Moving even that much made his stomach lurch, and he froze in place. “Fuck off.”
“You’re cheerful as ever, I see,” Aziraphale said with a sigh. “How’s your pain?”
“Really fucking shitty.” But things seemed clearer now, not quite as foggy. “I, er… guess it’s my own fault, though.”
“Well, I would like you to be more careful.” A shiver ran through Aziraphale, and he tugged the blanket to better cover Crowley’s shoulders. A kiss pressed to his brow. “I had just walked into the kitchen, only to see you go flying past the window. Hardly how I wanted to start my day.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Crowley managed to shift a little without throwing up. He groaned, moving back enough that he could see Aziraphale. “I was trying to clean out the gutters. But, uh… my hip and leg gave out on me.”
“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s lip trembled, and his eyes misted. “I’ve asked you not to go up on the ladder without help. Your legs and hips… they’re not reliable, dearest. I’ve always been so worried you’d fall.”
“I know, and… I’m really sorry.” There wasn’t much else he could say, definitely no real way he could make up for it. “Thought I could just take care of it real quick instead of bothering you.”
“Asking for help is not bothering me.” Aziraphale cupped his cheek and leaned in, gently kissing his brow again. “You need accommodations and help with certain things. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Hrgk. I know, but…” Sighing, Crowley leaned into the touch. The pounding in his head worsened from the movement, a crashing thud in time with his heartbeat. “It’s still hard to ask for help. Demons aren’t supposed to need help.”
Very tenderly, Aziraphale drew him into a hug. The angel’s hand curled around the back of his neck, holding him without putting any pressure on his thudding head. “You’re the one who taught me that we needn’t be restricted to anyone else’s idea of who we should be. Please, Crowley.”
Pride still argued against the idea of accepting the freely offered help, but Aziraphale was right. Some parts of Crowley’s body had never—and would never—work the same way as most people’s. And scaring the shit out of Aziraphale in some misguided attempt to be completely independent wouldn’t change that.
So he sighed, hugging his angel tighter. “I’ll ask for help in the future. Promise. Am I allowed to go back to sleep now?”
“You are.” Aziraphale rubbed his back and settled in against the pillows. “You seem rather more coherent now, so I think you’ll be okay. You just need some rest and time to recover.”
“M’ not gonna argue with that. And, er…” There was that pride again, but Crowley fought it. “Can you stay with me? I sleep better when you’re here. And… I want more snuggles.”
“Of course I can.” Another kiss brushed to his sore head. “You sleep, my dear, and I’ll snuggle you. And once you’re feeling a bit better, I’ll help you with whatever needs to be done to the gutters.”
Based on Crowley’s past experiences with hitting his head, that wouldn’t be for several days. But at least until then, he’d get all the snuggles he’d asked for.