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The cold sank deep into Crowley’s body, fangs of it piercing through him. His teeth chattered, and he couldn’t control the waves of shivering. His whole body ached, the frigid chill worsening his usual pain until he could hardly stand it.
His boot hit a patch of ice, and he swore violently as the sudden jolt blasted pain through his hips and legs. The normal ache turned into a blazing inferno, incongruous with his surroundings. Too damn bad that the burning pain couldn’t actually warm him up.
This was ridiculous. What had he been thinking, going out for a walk in the middle of the night when it was this stupidly cold?
He knew what he’d been thinking. It was stupid too, stupid enough that he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He’d gone for a walk because he was an overemotional, smitten sap who drank too much scotch.
Even now, as he stumbled down the pavement into Soho, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting back to Aziraphale. Aziraphale was warm, for one thing. Thinking about him in that context made sense, given the bitter chill.
But Crowley couldn’t stop thinking about other things. About how much he hated going back to his empty flat every day, how much he wished he was with Aziraphale every second, how badly he wanted to be honest about his feelings.
Fuck it. He might as well just go to the shop, confess his feelings, get it over with. Better to have it out in the open. Then, they’d kiss, and maybe even—
Crowley slipped on a patch of ice and howled at the agony in his hips and legs. He stumbled, tried to catch himself on a building, and slipped again.
He fell sideways and slammed into the brick building. His head cracked against the hard surface, and everything went black.
When it came back, he was cold. Oh, Somebody, he was so cold.
Head pounding, Crowley forced his eyes open again. The whole world looked weird. Not only blurry, although it was that, but tilted. Sideways.
Oh. He was… ground. On the ground. Maybe.
He gagged, the glittering lights of shops stabbing through his eyes. Something else was stabbing him too, something sharp on the side of his face. Weird lines darted across his vision on that side.
For a minute, Crowley tried to make sense of it. Then he gagged again, dry heaved. His teeth chattered violently, the rattle of it worsening the throbbing agony in his head.
He moaned weakly, fumbling for his mobile. He should… should call…
Couldn’t feel his fingers. He held them up, looked at them vaguely. Were they blue, or was that just the lights?
The shivering had stopped. That was nice. He was sleepy, though, needed a nap really bad.
Maybe he’d nap here for a while. Everything hurt so much. Maybe it would hurt less if he slept.
He’d been thinking about something important, though. Trying to figure it out made his head hurt worse. He tried anyway. It was something he really cared about.
Aziraphale. Had he been trying to find Aziraphale? Were they lost in a snowstorm?
“Angel?” Crowley called, mouth barely cooperating. “Angel?”
---
Aziraphale jerked his head up, book forgotten. Something whispered through his metaphysical awareness, something urgent. Muddled, but clearly a cry for help.
He shoved to his feet, tossed his book aside, and rushed outside. Bitter cold slammed into him as soon as he opened the door, a frigid wind cutting through every layer of clothes. No one on the doorstep, but the need definitely came from nearby.
Nearby, and flavored with an all too familiar presence.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. He set off without changing his coat and pattered down the pavement as quickly as possible without risking a fall. The temperature had plunged this week and a heavy rain fell earlier in the night, leaving everything icy.
The plea grew stronger as he rushed through Soho, the area much quieter than usual thanks to the cold weather. A few humans here and there, that was all.
And a demon, crumpled on the pavement.
“Oh, oh no!” Aziraphale ran to him, slipped in a patch of ice, and crashed to his knees on the pavement. Crowley was utterly still, pale. Was he even breathing? “Crowley, my dear, can you hear me?”
Hyperventilating, Aziraphale stroked errant strands of hair out of Crowley’s face, then seized his cold hand and patted it. Crowley’s sunglasses were broken, bits of glass piercing his right temple and cheek. Blood spattered the icy pavement.
“Crowley, it’s Aziraphale.” Aziraphale patted his hand more vigorously. “Wake up, my dearest. Wake up, now.”
Golden eyes flickered open and struggled to focus on him. Pupils uneven, one a mere line and the other a wide oval. “Wha’s happen?” Crowley asked, voice slurred.
A chill swept through Aziraphale, unrelated to the weather. He jerked his head back, looking around. And there it was—blood smeared on the nearby brick wall.
“Oh, good Lord,” Aziraphale gasped. He slid his hand under Crowley’s wounded head, gently lifting off the pavement. Crowley moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s all right, just going to get you inside, get you patched up.”
As gently as possible, he picked Crowley up and cradled the limp demon in his arms. Crowley moaned and whimpered, hands clawing anxiously at nothing. “Nuh, nuh, hurts…”
Aziraphale murmured soft reassurances as he rushed back to the shop. His heart pounded, adrenaline burning away the chill. Crowley wasn’t shivering at all, which meant severe hypothermia. And he was certainly suffering from a concussion, if not an even worse brain injury.
Still murmuring, Aziraphale flicked a hand to miracle the shop doors open. He bounded up the steps, and Crowley whined in protest at the movement. “So sorry, dear boy, I’ve got to get you warmed up.”
He settled Crowley in bed and immediately piled blankets on him, then sat and touched his icy brow. Crowley whimpered shifting weakly. “Ow, ow…”
“Shh, I know. It’s going to be okay.” Aziraphale swallowed hard, stroking Crowley’s bloody hair away from the wound. Not a bad wound on the surface, just a split, and he smoothed it away with a gentle miracle.
The damage to his brain, though, concussion or otherwise, couldn’t be mended as easily. Aziraphale used a miracle to prevent swelling or a brain bleed, but anything else was too risky while Crowley was so weakened.
Crowley still wasn’t shivering at all. He whimpered, twisting away from the nearby lamp. “Bright, s’ bright…”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Aziraphale fumbled with the lamp, quickly switching it off, and then cupped Crowley’s uninjured cheek. “Dearest, I need to take your sunglasses off. Is that okay?”
Lip trembling, Crowley looked at him. One lens was completely shattered, the frames twisted and jabbing into his face. “But… like m’ sunglasses.”
“I know you do, but they’ve… gotten a bit broken.” Aziraphale winced as the distress on his friend’s face worsened. “Why don’t I take them and fix them for you? I promise you can have them back later.”
Crowley relaxed and gave a tiny nod. “‘Kay. S’ why face is ow?”
“Mhm.” Trembling, Aziraphale removed Crowley’s sunglasses, then carefully picked the broken shards out of his face. Crowley flinched, pain wrenching at his expression. “Shh, I’m sorry. Just a moment, and then you’ll be all better.”
“Nuh, m’…” Crowley’s eyes closed, then opened again. “Cold. M’ sssso cold.”
Aziraphale bit his lip and touched the frigid skin. Crowley was very much not warming up, not even with blankets. “I’m going to warm you up, my dearest, but it involves… extreme measures.”
“S’kay,” Crowley said, a little more brightly. His face twitched with an uncoordinated attempt to smile. “My angel. Trust you.”
Sudden heat flushed through Aziraphale, all his longing surging to life. It was a longing he’d often tried to bury, not sure how to approach it even these days.
But it was not the time for that. He had to get Crowley warmed up, now, and then they could deal with any other injury.
Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s cheek in apology, then quickly stripped him out of his clothes and shoes, leaving only his undergarments for modesty. Crowley groaned at the movement, but he didn’t protest.
“Just a moment now, dear boy.” Aziraphale shed his own clothes to the floor, not bothering to fold them, and then crawled into bed. “Here we are, just going to adjust you a little, that’s it.”
He coaxed Crowley towards him, chest to chest. Crowley’s eyes were closed now, body limp as Aziraphale rearranged him. “Hhhhn. Angel.”
“I’m here, Crowley.” Aziraphale snuggled against him, pulling the blankets to cover them both. “I promise it’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of you, my dear.”
---
Crowley’s head hurt. A deep, throbbing ache that made him feel sick. Also kind of like the room was spinning. Something bad must have happened.
He was less cold now, though. A lot less cold, which was weird. And everything seemed soft, which definitely hadn’t been the case earlier.
He pushed through the wooziness, through the fog of confusion. Something important had been going on. He was trying to get somewhere. He needed to get somewhere.
Head spinning, Crowley opened his eyes and found himself face to face with an angel.
A sleeping angel, at that. Crowley stared, fascinated. Aziraphale’s eyes were closed, lips slightly parted. His arms looped around Crowley, warm softness pressed against him. His chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths.
Well. This was confusing.
Crowley tried to think, to remember what had happened, but that was confusing too. He remembered thinking about Aziraphale a lot, wishing they were together. Together-together. But he hadn’t been. That had… made him sad?
Yeah. He’d been sad, wishing he could open up and tell Aziraphale how he felt. And then there was the cold. The pain, so much pain getting worse all through his body.
Gosh, he still really hurt now. His head, yeah, but other stuff too. His hips and legs were killing him, a gnawing agony. He groaned, shifting his legs. That just made everything hurt worse.
Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open, and he inhaled sharply. “Crowley! Oh, Lord, Crowley. You’re awake.”
“Hhnyeh?” Had he been sleeping? “My head hurts.”
“Of course it does. Oh, you old silly, what were you thinking?” Aziraphale pulled back a little, and Crowley looked down in surprise at his bare chest. “It’s far too cold for a serpent like you to be outside. You could have frozen to death.”
“Was cold.” Still confused, Crowley poked Aziraphale’s chest. Then he touched his own. “Whoa. There’s no clothes.”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and red crept into his cheeks. “Oh. Oh. I-I promise I had nothing untoward in mind, Crowley. You had hypothermia, my dear. I had to get you warmed up at once, and this was the fastest way.”
“Yeah, s’ okay.” Hypothermia? That was bad. “I hate cold.”
“I know, my dear.” Very gently, Aziraphale stroked his hair. “That’s why I’m very confused as to why you were out in it. I found you unconscious on the pavement.”
Right. The pavement had hurt. “I fell down. Slipped on ice. Legs gave out, you know how they are. Always hurt, and the damn cold makes it worse.”
“Yes, I… I assumed that was the case. But why were you outside in the first place?”
Events slotted back into place, Crowley’s mind starting to work a little better. “Was on my way to see you. I’d, er, been drinking. Maybe not thinking clearly.”
“Good Lord, what have you been doing to your poor brain? Alcohol, hypothermia, and then that nasty knock on the head…” Eyes closing, Aziraphale touched Crowley’s temple. He stayed like that for a moment, then nodded. “It looks as if your corporation is mending itself decently enough, but let me use a little miracle to help it along. You’re stable enough now.”
“My head hurts,” Crowley said helpfully.
“I know it does.” A miracle tingled through the air, and then Aziraphale smiled. “There we are, much better. That should help some with the pain. But please, don’t ever do anything like this again. That was an awfully close call, you could have discorporated if—”
Crowley’s mind cleared all at once, flooded by the memory of why he’d been going to the shop, of what he’d been thinking about doing. He curled his hand around the back of Aziraphale’s neck, leaned in, and kissed him.
It was probably a clumsy kiss, especially since he had absolutely no idea what he was doing and no coordination whatsoever. But Aziraphale was soft and warm, wonderfully irresistible, and everything Crowley had ever wanted.
“Mmmph!” Aziraphale’s hands fluttered against his side and shoulder, as if he didn’t know what to do with them. But then he let out another soft noise, this one more like a whimper, and kissed Crowley back.
Crowley’s heartbeat pounded faster—which hurt, throbbing through his head—and he pressed close to Aziraphale. To the warm, bare skin, the soft stomach. And most of all, his welcoming lips.
But finally, Aziraphale pulled back. The angel was breathing a little hard, eyes wide. “Oh, dearest, I don’t know that I ought to be kissing you just now.”
“Hn?” Crowley leaned in and stole another quick kiss, which also did not help his pain. He should maybe try to move less until he’d gotten to recover more. “Why not?”
“Well, you… you did just have a nasty bump on the head. And hypothermia. And you’d been drinking.” One hand rose up, fluttering in a quick anxious motion, and Crowley watched it with fascination. “You may not be in your right mind. I-I don’t know whether you actually want—”
“Oh, I want.” Crowley managed another grin, although he was starting to slide back into pretty intense exhaustion. “M’ definitely enough in my right mind for kissing.”
Aziraphale pursed his lips, giving Crowley a skeptical look, but then he sighed and nodded. “Yes, well. I shall permit kissing, but any other, um, activities will need to wait until you’re recovered.”
Ooh. That was a good sign.
Crowley snuggled closer, resting his sore head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You’re cool with it too, yeah? The kissing, I mean? This is what you want?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale said softly, caressing his cheek. “This is most certainly what I want, my dear Crowley.”
Relief flooded through Crowley, a wave of warmth that left him feeling like he’d never been cold at all. He tilted his head, hopeful, and Aziraphale met him in another kiss.
Still a clumsy kiss—Crowley might be in his right mind, but his body was struggling to catch up. They went slower this time, though, just light presses to start. Careful, tender. And then a longer kiss, lips sliding comfortably together in a dance that neither of them had practiced but both longed for.
When Crowley ran out of energy, he broke off and cuddled closer to Aziraphale. The strong arms encircled him again, holding him securely. “Hhhhn, angel. Can we do that more later?”
Aziraphale’s lips pressed to the top of his aching head, gentle. “We most certainly shall. For now, though, I think we ought to get some more sleep.”
Crowley had no interest in arguing with that. He wanted kissing, yeah, but just being with Aziraphale had always made him feel like everything was right in the world. And dozing off here, snuggling with his angel, sounded like paradise.