Chapter Text
It was barely 3 in the morning. The streets were quiet as the storm raged outside. Everyone slept despite the lightning that interrupted the silence from time to time. All except one angel in his big bookstore.
Aziraphale never liked to sleep. Although it wasn't necessary, he knew that other angels, or demons, with a physical form did it; he never liked it. He just didn't make sense of it. He couldn't waste eight hours a day, there were so many things to do! He could reread all those books he loved, or try a new recipe. There were just so many ways to spend the time at night. Besides it being quieter, there was no noise from the streets or passing cars. He could concentrate better in general.
That night was no different. He had put on his pajamas to rest from his ostentatious white suit and had taken a couple of laps around the bookstore organizing his books and calculating the day's earnings. Although he felt that his pajamas were tighter than other times. It was true that from the beginning of his existence, he had a certain fascination with food. He didn't need it, but he liked how creative humans were in combining textures and flavors to create the best things. His body functioned like a mortal's (except for basic needs) he would get tired if he exercised, sweat in the heat or gain weight if he ate too much. Not that it bothered him much either.
He continued to organize his books. He hated when buyers did that. They disorganized everything so that in the end they didn't take anything. The worst thing is when they left them on the other side of the bookstore, in a section where they didn't belong, so it was more difficult to find them and return them to their place. If they only had the decency to leave them in the cart, everything would be easier.
There was no point in complaining, he didn't want to be that kind of person. While he was carrying out his task, he realized that the storm was raging more and more, to the point that it seemed that another universal flood would fall. The good thing is that he was still in his little home, so it would be nice to prepare some tea in that cold weather.
He went to the kitchen and boiled some water while he waited and made his cup of tea. Two tablespoons of sugar, a little honey and black tea, his favorite. He ate a couple of cookies as he waited, enjoying the quiet until someone knocked on the door. At first he thought it was his imagination, who would think of going at the middle of the night? He ignored it.
The water finished boiling and he poured it into his cup. This time they knocked on the door with more force, with enough force as if they wanted to break it down. Now it couldn't just be his imagination. He put out the fire and headed for the door. Nothing prepared him for whoever was on the other side.
It was Crowley, although he... looked more haggard. His red hair was soaked from the rain, as were all of his clothes. His face was a bloody mess (apparently his own), he had a broken nose and split lip, plus one of his eyes was swollen. His glasses were broken revealing his yellow eyes. He was holding his right arm tightly, as if it hurt him.
Aziraphale was speechless, he couldn't ask him what had happened. Their mortal bodies were slightly more resistant to injury but not immune. They must have given him a good beating to end up like this.
Aziraphale was tempted to slam the door in his face and go enjoy his tea. He couldn't deal with it right now, not after their fight years ago. He was an angel, and he couldn't leave his… friend? In the rain.
“What happened?” the angel murmured as he stepped back from the door to let him pass.
"I had nowhere to go.”
"That doesn't answer my question." He closed the door behind them.
He led him to the second floor of the bookstore, where his home was located. Then he would deal with the trail of water he had left behind. He left him on the couch while he figured out how to help him. He had never had anything like this happen to him, well, rather he had never needed to heal a demon. He didn't know if his miracles would affect him in any way, and he guessed Crowley hadn't done it yet for… reasons.
Aziraphale remembered that he had a first-aid kit downstairs, in case any human got hurt in his bookstore. He ran downstairs, picked it up, and went back up. Crowley was trying to get his jacket off of him with some difficulty. Aziraphale felt his insides boil at the sight of the demon's slender arms, remembering how they used to hug him at night.
He pushed those memories from his mind to focus on what was important: Crowley's arms were bruised and a deep cut on his right arm. He put the first-aid kit on the coffee table and tried not to think too much about how his chair would look after that water. With a snap of the fingers the fireplace was lit.
"Who did you fight with this time?" Aziraphale asked as he sat down next to him. “They left you in a horrible state”
“I was in a bar when I got in trouble with a guy. I thought that I would beat him but it turned out that he was also a demon”
"And he beat you," Aziraphale concluded.
“Yeah. It turns out that his cursed rings could do a lot of damage.”
Aziraphale couldn't help but roll his eyes. Ever since they had met, Crowley had a tendency to get into fights. Not because his temperament was short, rather he didn't care about anything, it was just because they messed with Aziraphale. When they were together, he had to fight with a couple of people for insulting them and even though Aziraphale insisted that nothing was wrong, Crowley insisted on defending him. He always won, usually with a single clean blow, since he was a demon and few could against it. Although this time his luck ran out.
With a snap he dried his clothes instantly, though his hair remained soaked. Then he would take care of giving him pajamas or something more comfortable to sleep on. Even if it was a blanket.
Aziraphale opened the first aid kit, trying to remember how to clean wounds and all that. He once was a nurse in a hospital, at the beginning of the 20th century. He took a clean rag and dabbed it a bit with water. He took Crowley's face in his hands to direct it into the light. With small touches he began to clean the blood. Crowley only made small noises of pain but he didn't say anything.
“Why did you come?” Aziraphale asked after a while.
“I already told you... because I had nowhere to go”
"I know but... I didn't think you'd come back after... that" Aziraphale tried to push away the bad memories. He had finished cleaning up the blood, so he put the rag down on the coffee table.
“It's been many years, I think... we could start again”
“No! Thirteen years have not been enough for what happened”
“Fourteen”
“Sorry?”
“It was 14 years. It was in 1964”
Aziraphale's eyes widened in surprise. Crowley had mentioned that he had gotten tired of keeping all the dates and years in order in his head, so he just lived in the moment without knowing what day he was. Although apparently that he remembered.
“One way or the other. It was foolish of you to come here, especially with this storm.”
They lasted a few seconds in silence. Why was Crowley so dumb!? He hadn't even dared say an apology, not even attempt this. Aziraphale sat up straight and crossed her arms over his chest, looking away from the demon. If he looked at him more time he would still want to help him.
"You gained weight," Crowley murmured. Aziraphale felt the blood rush to his face.
"It's not my fault that Earth food is delicious.”
"I didn't mean it that way. I think you look good”
"Thank you," Aziraphale said grudgingly. He was not going to allow himself to see the demon.
He felt how Crowley moved from the sofa and brought his hands closer to the first-aid kit, cotton and alcohol. He began to clean his own arm while swearing and hissing in pain. He wasn't going to turn around. He wasn't going to turn around.
"I like your hair," Aziraphale said this time. "It looks better on you when you leave it long."
Aziraphale let himself see him sideways, a big mistake. He watched as his long hair fell into his amber eyes. His arms were stronger since the last time he saw them, he wondered how it would feel to touch them. His chest stood out from the tight shirt he was wearing. He felt his mouth suddenly go dry.
Crowley looked up to meet his. He looked away as fast as he could.
“You do not want to help me?”
“N… no. I already helped you enough.”
The demon just shrugged and went about his business. Aziraphale did not know what to do. He wanted to get him out on the street as soon as possible, he could even let him sleep in his car but it would be cruel.
You could let him sleep with you , a part of his mind said. He pushed the thought away though without much success. It came back stronger. He thought about the warmth of the other, the way he hugs and the smell of him. That smell that he liked so much and had missed so much, was like... firewood, with a touch of wine.
Aziraphale jumped up, unable to contain the thoughts of him.
"I'll make you tea," he said before almost running out of there.
"You know I don't like tea," Crowley yelled.
True. He headed for the kitchen. He made some coffee. While he waited, he remembered the thousands of fights they'd had over it. Crowley said that the tea only tasted like "boiled leaves", it could be true but it was far from reality. Aziraphale tried for years to find a tea he liked, he tried the common ones to the more exotic and rare ones he could find. Crowley liked none of them. One day, fed up with all his failed attempts, he gave him a sad cup of black coffee, which Crowley loved. Hence his love for coffee could not stop, trying each and every one of its variations. It was the only reason Aziraphale had a coffee pot.
He poured the coffee into a black mug and returned to the living room, where Crowley had already finished bandaging his arm.
Despite the bruises on his face and his black eye, Crowley was still damn handsome. With his sharp features and long nose, not to mention those high cheekbones. He pushed those thoughts away and put the cup down on the table. Crowley just mumbled a thank you.
"I'd better… find you some pajamas."
Instead of going to his room, Aziraphale ended up in the bathroom first. He splashed his face with icy water, hoping that would take the blush off his face. It would only be that night. Crowley would be that night and nothing else. As soon as morning came he would kick him out of his house.
He went to his room, took a gray blanket and one of his prized silk pajamas. He handed them over to Crowley without saying a word. The demon with a snap changed his clothes. The pajamas were too big for him, rather, they were wide, because you could see half of his calves and forearms.
"Good night," Aziraphale said before turning around.
"Wait." Crowley grabbed his shoulder, digging in his long nails. The angel didn't move. "I want to talk about… our breakup."
“I think you made things very clear that night.”
"I wasn't serious…I…I didn't mean those things. You know that”
"Well, it doesn't look like it to me. Despite your nature, you never lie, or at least not convincingly.”
Aziraphale pushed his hand away and walked.
“Angel! You know that I lo…”
"Don't you dare say it," Aziraphale barked as he turned to see him with those cold eyes. "I'm going to sleep and I hope that when I wake up you won't be there anymore."
He locked himself in his room with a slam.
Obviously he didn't go to sleep. He just sat on his bed while he tried to do some reading. Emphasis on trying . The words in front of him became blurry and he had to repeat the sentences over and over again. His mind was still occupied with Crowley. He couldn't get those amber eyes and red hair out of his mind. He wondered if he had made the right decision to let it go inside.