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[1650, England.]
When did children get to be so rude?
That was Aziraphale’s main thought as he fell through the water, hands tied behind his back, ankles bound together and weighed down by a large rock.
It was supposed to be an easy assignment. Just one simple blessing in a middle-class village: make this specific family’s life easier and watch the results. Aziraphale had been a bit nervous, what with everyone being paranoid about witches, but he assumed it would all be fine. And he even had Crowley with him, who happened to be passing by on his way to his own assignment.
They’d gotten closer after beginning the Arrangement. It stressed Aziraphale out a tad bit, always worried someone would see them, but he could never deny himself the company of the demon. So they lodged in the same cabin and watched the family together. All in all, Aziraphale was having a nice time.
And then he was caught. Not by Heaven or Hell while talking with Crowley, but by the humans whilst on his own. He got peckish and miracled himself some bread, just something to munch on. How was he supposed to know there were a few children watching him from just over the hill?
They didn’t even confront him about it, didn’t try to question him. They waited until he let his guard down two days later and struck him over the head. By the time he came to, they were throwing him off a small boat, saying something about witches and water and making their parents proud that Aziraphale couldn’t fully make out with the ringing in his ears and drumming in his skull.
Quite rude indeed, he thought.
While Aziraphale didn’t need to breathe, he’d gotten quite used to it after living on Earth for so long. So much so that, when he hit the bottom of whatever body of water they’d thrown him into, his lungs were already burning. He tried to calm himself, to force his corporation to respond to his frantic wishes. He couldn’t miracle himself out—he’d hit his monthly limit and wouldn’t get more power until the end of the day—but he could wait. It wasn’t comfortable by any means, and the darkness surrounding him was a bit scary, and the pressure from the water just made him want to breathe all the more, made him want to hyperventilate and cry, but he’d be fine!
But what if he wasn’t?
Fear curled around his rib cage, pressing painfully against his lungs.
What if his miracles didn’t come back? What if he was stuck here forever? Would anyone ever find him? What if he did drown? Would Heaven let him come back to Earth? Even if they did, how long would he be punished for discorporating in such a way? How severe would the punishment be? Would Crowley notice he was missing?
Aziraphale barely managed to stop himself from gasping at the thought.
Crowley. Crowley would help him. He loved helping Aziraphale, no matter how much he denied it. He had left two days prior to do his own assignment, but said he’d be back soon enough.
Aziraphale reached out along the metaphysical plane, calling out desperately for Crowley. A part of him was worried of other demons or angels hearing it, but he could hardly focus anymore. His corporation was still demanding oxygen, in both his lungs and his brain, and he couldn’t stop it. He was scared. A faraway part of him said that fear was unbecoming of a Principality, but he was too terrified to listen to it.
He screwed his eyes shut, practically screaming into the metaphysical as he yanked against the rock holding him down. It wasn’t even full sentences, just panicked words and emotions as he remembered how humans—the ones that survived, that is—always said how horrible an experience drowning was.
Water. Help. Scared. Dark. Crowley. Fear. Pain. Crowley. Help. Crowley. Crowley. Crowley.
Aziraphale’s mouth opened against his will, water rushing into his lungs. His body tried to reject it, coughing and inhaling in an awful cycle, unable to get the air he desperately craved. His body convulsed and thrashed useless in the water, feeling like he was being torn apart from the inside. He was drowning. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt so bad. It was a burning ache he’d never experienced before, and never wanted to again.
When the darkness fuzzed at the edge of his awareness, he pulled it down faster. Punishment be damned, he just wanted it to stop.
---
Crowley flung himself into the water before he even registered what was happening.
One moment he was in the village, trying to find Aziraphale to tempt him to some lunch, and the next he was almost knocked over by a metaphysical cry. Aziraphale’s cry. Aziraphale crying for Crowley.
It hadn’t taken him long to track the angel’s location, which happened to be in the middle of a small lake, a few bubbles coming up near the middle before stopping. That sight, mixed with the calls of fear suddenly cutting off, was enough to undoubtedly give him nightmares for at least the next decade.
Now Crowley was swimming, calling out for Aziraphale in the metaphysical, fear gripping him when he didn’t get an answer. He wasn’t worried about the angel dying; Aziraphale would just be discorporated. But there was no promise that Heaven would let him come back. There was no guarantee that, if Aziraphale discorporated right now, Crowley would ever see him again.
So when he dived down and saw Aziraphale motionless in the water, swaying gently, the fear turned to terror and clawed at him from the inside. There was blood washing away from white curls, wrists and ankles bound, a rock holding him down. The terror mixed with rage. Someone did this to Aziraphale. Someone hurt him, threw him into the water, and left him to drown.
Crowley yelled profanities into the water as he swam forward, forcing his corporation to keep steady regardless of the lack of oxygen. He grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and waved a hand, miracling them both back to shore. Crowley snapped his fingers and the bindings vanished.
“Angel!” He rolled Aziraphale onto his back, clenching his teeth as the angel’s head lolled and water dribbled from his mouth, his lips tinged blue. Crowley laid a hand over Aziraphale’s chest and closed his eyes, searching for the angel’s energy. It was there, though barely, only connected to his corporation by a few remaining threads. Crowley made a snarling noise. “Fuck. Fuck! Fuck, okay.” He opened his eyes and ran a hand through his wet hair, ignoring the way he was shaking. “Okay, this is—shit—this is fine. I can handle this. I’ve got you, Angel. Just hold on.”
He had to go slow. He could miracle most of the lake water out of Aziraphale’s system, but it’d be tricky. Water alone was already difficult to control via miracle, but water surrounded by blood and tissue? Much harder. But he could do it. He had to. He just needed to tether Aziraphale before he fully discorporated first.
Crowley took a deep breath and pressed against Aziraphale’s chest again, this time with both hands, and looked toward the metaphysical plane once more. He gently nudged the angel’s essence, almost like holding out a hand. Crowley honestly expected to be lashed out at, expected his occult energy to be perceived as an enemy by the ethereal. But Aziraphale grabbed onto him tightly, his emotions from before still playing on repeat.
Scared. Crowley. Help. Dark. Crowley. Crowley.
Crowley wanted to answer, wanted to soothe his angel’s worries, but didn’t have the time. He couldn’t hold Aziraphale for long before the holiness would start to eat away at him. He focused on Aziraphale’s corporation instead. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to just teleport the water away, not without possibly fucking up Aziraphale’s organs in the process.
He took a deep breath and carefully nudged at the water, slowly working it out of the angel’s lungs and up his throat. Once most of it was out, he sent another steady miracle to Aziraphale’s heart, helping it continue beating.
There was a sharp sting in his True Form where he was holding onto Aziraphale’s essence, the holiness becoming too much. Crowley hissed and held tighter before slamming Aziraphale back into his corporation.
---
Aziraphale gasped awake, or at least tried to. It immediately cut off into a cough, one that had panic slicing through him. Was he still in the water? Was he about to inhale more?
But then there were hands on his shoulder and back, helping him roll over as he began vomiting the water he’d swallowed. Aziraphale heaved in a breath, almost crying at the feeling of it in his lungs. It hurt still, and probably would for the next few days, but breathing has never felt better than in this moment. It dissolved into a horrific coughing fit and more gagging, but there was air.
When his coughing finally died down, he was able to make out gentle words being spoken to him.
“Easy, Angel. You’re alright. Just breathe. I’m right here.”
Aziraphale looked up blearily. “Crowley?” Oh, good Lord, his voice sounded awful.
Crowley seemed to think the same, wincing in apology. “Yeah, ‘s me. Heard your call.”
Aziraphale looked around, frowning at the lake. “Ah. Right.” He coughed again and wiped his mouth. “Th-Thank you for the assist, dear. That was… not pleasant.
“Yeah, drowning’s not very fun,” Crowley said, for once not mentioning being thanked. He held out a hand. “Wanna sit up?”
Aziraphale nodded and took the help gratefully, tremors racking his body. He listed to the side as soon as he was sitting up, but Crowley snaked an arm around his waist, pulling Aziraphale close. The faraway part of him yelled about sides and hereditary enemies, but Aziraphale was still too out of it too care. And Crowley was warm, despite being as soaked as Aziraphale was. He could worry about appearances and sides later.
“How the Hell did you end up there?” Crowley asked, a bit of bite to his tone. Aziraphale knew it wasn’t aimed at him.
“Some children spotted me preforming a miracle. Thought I was a witch. Knocked me across the head and threw me in.” The reminder of his head caused him to groan, the pain catching up with him. “Awfully rude, though I can’t entirely blame them.”
“I can,” Crowley grumbled. “Little wankers.” A hand drifted over the back of Aziraphale head and the pain receded to a dull ache. Aziraphale hummed appreciatively. “Why didn’t you just miracle yourself out?”
“Hit my limit, I’m afraid. Can’t do anything until tomorrow.” Aziraphale’s teeth chattered as he shivered harder, the adrenaline of almost discorporating finally dropping. “That was… quite scary.”
Crowley snapped his fingers, drying the both of them instantly. “Yeah.” He pulled Aziraphale closer against his side. “Yeah, it was.”
Aziraphale sniffed and wiped his eyes, surprised to find them wet with something other than water. Oh dear, now he just felt silly. There was no need to cry over this. He was safe now. Crowley saved him. He wasn’t tied up, he wasn’t hurt, he wasn’t even wet anymore. But he just couldn’t get his body to stop trembling.
“Not gonna judge if you cry, you know.”
Aziraphale glanced up. Crowley was looking out toward the lake, jaw tight. Aziraphale sniffled again. “’M an angel. Angel’s don’t cry.”
Crowley huffed a humorless laugh. “Drowning’s not fun the first time around. Or the second time. Or any of the other times, really.” He glanced at Aziraphale before looking away again, thumb rubbing against Aziraphale’s shoulder idly. “Call it a symptom of having a corporation or something. Either way, I won’t judge. You know that.”
He did know that. He shouldn’t, what with Crowley being a demon, but Aziraphale knew that. Crowley rushed to his aid without a second thought and saved him, kept him from discorporating. And now he was comforting him, holding him close and saying he was allowed to cry.
Tear welled in Aziraphale's eyes before he could think of another excuse to fight them off. He twisted, hiding his face in Crowley shoulder. And, just like he promised, Crowley didn’t utter a word of judgment. He just moved his hand from Aziraphale’s arm up to his head, slowly running his fingers through soft curls in a soothing manner as the angel let out muted sobs.
He was still scared. Aziraphale would probably be avoiding any body of water larger than a puddle for the next few decades, preferably for the next century. But, so long as he had Crowley to look out for him, he knew he’d be okay.