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Pain followed Crowley like a shadow.
He’d gotten used to it over the millennia, but that didn’t exactly mean he enjoyed dealing with it. It wasn’t bad all the time, most days being better than others—when pain was moderate and contained in his hips or legs—but those other days were tougher to manage.
Case in point, migraine days were also labeled as Regretting Existence Days until a solid nap made the thudding at his temple bugger off.
Only problem with that, though, was that he was too anxious after the almost-apocalypse for a restorative nap alone in his flat.
And so, head throbbing in protest at being dragged out of bed, Crowley went to the only place he’d ever been able to relax—the old settee in the bookshop.
Which was exactly where Aziraphale found him.
“Oh, Crowley. I didn’t know you were here,” Aziraphale said, cheerfully, and then lowered his voice to a whisper when Crowley groaned through clenched teeth. “Is something wrong, dear?”
“Had a headache all day, got really bad. Think ‘s a migraine now.”
“Poor thing,” Aziraphale cooed, avoiding the creakiest floorboards while he padded towards his desk. Quietly, he rummaged around for the bottle of painkillers he kept on hand just for this occasion. It wouldn’t do much, but it would help some. “What’s brought it on?”
Knowing the routine by now, Crowley opened his hand and waited for Aziraphale to slide two small pills into his palm.
“Dunno, couldn’t relax enough to sleep it off either.” Popping the pills into his mouth, Crowley swallowed them dry—a perk of sometimes being a snake—before Aziraphale could hand him a drink.
“Well, you’re welcome to the bedroom upstairs if you’d like,” Aziraphale ran a hand through Crowley’s sweaty hair, smiling when he pushed into the contact, “or you can stay on the sofa.”
“Sofa’s fine.”
“You didn’t drive here like this, did you?”
“Nnnnyeh, not really. Car did most’ve the work when she saw me stumbling, more than usual anyway.” Wincing, Crowley rubbed at the back of his neck, still too tense. “Wouldn’t let me turn the key until I promised to let her drive.”
“Good on her for looking out for you. She’s very clever for a car, you know.”
“‘Course she is, gets it from me.”
“Of course,” Aziraphale chuckled lightly. “Feeling any better?”
“With you here, yeah.” Crowley then pressed a palm to his eye. “‘S still there, but s’not as bad. Pills’re taking the edge off.”
“That’s good, but don’t go pushing yourself just yet. How about an ice-pack for your poor head? Or would something warm help better?” Without waiting for an answer, Aziraphale summoned up a cool flannel, rested it over the demon’s closed eyes, and then gently maneuvered Crowley’s aching head into his lap. “There we are, how’s that?”
“‘Sss good,” Crowley hissed a sigh, lines of pain softening.
The shadow of pain would be back later, but for now it was just that—a shadow.