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Panic Attacks (Day 8)
Aziraphale looked up at the straw man looming over the drunken crowd of Londoners with a puzzled frown.
“Was he one of yours, or one of ours?”
“Hmm?” Crowley asked over a piece of gingerbread cake already stuffed in his mouth.
“Guy Fawkes.” Aziraphale cocked his head to the side to study the effigy at a different angle. “I can’t remember.”
Crowley swallowed the last bite of his cake and wiped his hands on his trousers. Crossing his arms, he gazed up at the effigy with a furrowed brow.
“Well,” he said, “he was trying to murder someone.” He tilted his head. “Then again, he was going after the monarch. They’re quite popular Down There.”
Aziraphale scoffed.
“The British monarchy is not one of yours.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow.
“Are you sure about that?”
Aziraphale paused for a long moment, thinking hard. The smile faded from his face in stages until it closer resembled a frown.
“Come to think of it…” he grimaced. His eyes widened as he turned back to Crowley. “Oh dear, you might be right.”
“Gingerbread?” Crowley offered, miracling a new cake onto his plate.
Aziraphale cast his eyes down to the offering. He bit his bottom lip, as if he were really considering turning it down. Then he snatched a piece of cake into his hand and stuffed it into his mouth.
Crowley smiled, knowing he’d won this round.
“So,” Aziraphale said over the food in his mouth, “When do you think they’ll - Woah-oh!”
Someone up ahead had lit the bottom of the poor effigy. The straw caught the flames immediately, spreading them with a fury up the leg of the straw man. It had been packed with paper and cloth, which caught more and more of the flames until smoke rose from the fire and into the heavens.
Aziraphale found himself grinning, despite himself. There was a strange pleasure in watching the straw eaten by fire. The crowd was hollering and cheering and clinking cans and bottles of beer like they’d just won an important match, and perhaps they had. The entire plot of land was bathed in a warm, orange glow that lit up the fascination in everyone’s eyes.
Aziraphale couldn’t look away.
“This is much better than last year,” he said. “Do you remember the rain?”
Aziraphale watched a spark fly into the dark blue sky, threatening the grass below. Before it could do any harm, it withered into nothing more than a sooty piece of straw, burnt almost to nothing.
He turned to the Demon, expecting him to be grinning at the destruction in front of them. Demons liked fire, didn’t they? They practically bathed in it.
But his Demon wasn’t smiling.
He actually looked rather grief-stricken.
“Crowley?”
At the sound of his name, Crowley turned sharply to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. His own were glowing a brighter yellow than usual. There were lines in his face that weren’t there a moment before; lines of utter terror.
Crowley suddenly grabbed Aziraphale’s hand so tightly it hurt. Aziraphale yelped and tried to snatch his hand back, but Crowley wouldn’t let go.
“Come on,” Crowley growled, pulling Aziraphale back through the crowd, pushing past people like they were a curtain blocking a doorway.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale tried to wrench his hand free again. Again, he failed. “Crowley, what’s wrong? Where are we going?”
Crowley didn’t respond. His long legs carried him quickly through the throng of people, leaving Aziraphale chasing after him with a multitude of apologies to the people he bumped into. Locked into this race, his mind started to wander. Had Crowley sensed something wrong? Were these people in danger? Or was Crowley leading him into some strange, dark adventure of the night?
When they were finally free of the crowd, Crowley let Aziraphale’s hand slip out of his grasp. His hands instantly went to cover his face, blocking his yellow eyes even from Aziraphale’s close stare. Breaths wheezed in and out of his lungs.
Aziraphale’s heart stopped.
“Are you alright?” he asked. He took a tentative step forward, reaching out a hand toward his friend.
“No,” Crowley hissed.
He sank to a crouch. After another gasping breath, he dropped his elbows bonelessly onto his knees. Bowing his head, he hissed in a few more quick, uneven breaths.
Aziraphale dropped to his knees beside him.
“Crowley, what’s going on?”
“I…” Crowley gasped another breath. “I can’t…I can’t breathe properly.”
Aziraphale set a hand on each of Crowley’s shoulders, holding him steady. The poor dear was crying, tears slipping down his cheeks as the breaths continued to roll through his chest. It reminded Aziraphale of a man he’d seen fall to an arrow wound a few centuries earlier. The air gurgled in Crowley’s throat as if he were choking on the blood that had drowned that poor human.
“Crowley, listen to my voice.” He squeezed Crowley’s shoulder again. “You’re alright. I just need you to breathe with me.”
Crowley struggled over a few more breaths. His knees buckled, dropping him into the grassy field. Aziraphale caught him round the shoulders and pushed him back up onto his haunches.
“Breathe in,” Aziraphale took in a big, dramatic inhale. “And out.”
He repeated the process once more. When he finally noticed Crowley following his lead on an inhale, he offered an encouraging pat on the back.
“There we go. In,” Aziraphale took in another breath. “And out again.
Crowley’s breaths rattled through his lips. But now, at least, he was getting more oxygen. He was steadying himself, leaning less and less on Aziraphale and more and more on his own folded legs. His shaky hands came to rest on Aziraphale’s arm, pulling it close to himself until it settled against his chest like a seatbelt.
Aziraphale murmured, “I’ve got you.”
“I…”
“Shh, shh,” Aziraphale said. “Take in a few more breaths.”
Crowley obeyed. Squeezing Aziraphale’s arm against himself, he forced more air into his lungs. On the exhale, he let the breath roll through his lips until his chest was completely empty. Taking another breath, he nodded.
He was alright.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked, then coughed to try and fix his voice.
Aziraphale shook his head. He pulled Crowley closer to himself, until they were almost hugging.
“Don’t apologize.”
He loosened his grip on Crowley and leaned back to look him over. Tears had dried on his face, glowing in the light of the streetlamp hovering above. His lips trembled with every attempted word and every breath. But he was slowly regaining control. Slowly returning to himself.
“What happened?” Aziraphale asked timidly.
Crowley closed his eyes and took in one last calming breath. When he next looked at Aziraphale, he seemed to be memorizing every feature of the Angel’s face.
“Ever since the fire at the bookshop…” he broke off and shook his head. “I thought I’d be alright tonight. You were here.” He cast his head away, hiding his expression. “But as soon as they lit the effigy, I felt…anxious. I don’t know why. We’re safe here. You’re safe. It’s not Hellfire.”
Aziraphale looked at his hands, now dropped to his lap, and pretended he wasn’t hiding his expression as poorly as Crowley was hiding his own. He squeezed his hands into fists and forced himself to look back up into those piercing yellow eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Crowley laughed.
“Now what are you apologizing for?”
“It was my fault. The fire at the bookshop. I didn’t mean to make you think-” he broke off, unable to finish his sentence out loud. Instead, he took Crowley’s hand into his own. “I’m alright.”
“I know!” Crowley shouted, then winced at the sound of his own voice. “I know. But…knowing doesn’t seem to help.”
“I know.”
They shared a small smile. What wordsmiths they were.
Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand once more, then let it slip out of his grasp. He moved his trembling fingers back to his lap. Twiddling his thumbs, he turned a careful eye toward Crowley.
“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. A gentle smile touched his lips. “For saving me.”
Crowley gave him a lopsided smile. In any better lighting, Aziraphale would have seen the Demon blushing.
“You weren’t even in danger. I’m just an idiot.”
“Hey!” Aziraphale chided. “That’s not fair.”
Crowley scoffed.
“Are you actually angry at me for being self deprecating?”
“Yes!” Aziraphale raised both eyebrows. “I think that’s half my job description.”
Crowley cocked an eyebrow at that.
“I don’t know if your friends in Heaven would agree with that.” He stared into the distance for a long moment. Slowly, a smile curled his lips. “What a team we are, eh?” He met Aziraphale’s puzzled expression with a laugh. “An Angel who cares about a Demon’s feelings and a Demon that’s scared of fire.”
“Ah,” Aziraphale said, “Quite right, too.”
Crowley met the Angel’s eyes.
“Yeah?”
Aziraphale smiled sweetly.
“Yeah.”