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In Crowley’s admittedly biased opinion, horses were a mistake. Sure, they had soft noses and looked cool when they ran, but their sprinkling of merits paled in comparison to the downsides.
Riding horses set off the pain in Crowley’s hips like nothing else, a deep throbbing ache that refused to lift for days after. Horse tended to panic over everything that moved—or even things that didn’t—which activated Crowley’s own exaggerated startle response. Which, of course, just scared the horse more.
But more than anything, the real problem was that horses had a mind of their own. And no matter how many different ones Crowley rode, none of them seemed to agree with him about anything.
“The path is literally right there,” he said to his current mount. The horse snorted and stamped, then tried to shuffle sideways again. “No, you really don’t wanna go down the mountainside like that. There’s loads of loose shale. That’s not a good plan.”
The horse stubbornly ignored every light tap of his heels, every gentle tug on the reins, every pleading comment. It just stood there.
Crowley let out a low growl. “I’m supposed to be meeting Aziraphale, you blessed nightmare. You’re gonna make me later than I already am if you won’t get on with it.”
For a moment more, the horse remained rooted in place. Then, entire body rippling in a powerful burst of motion, the horse bolted.
“Nonono!” Crowley slipped in the saddle, lost hold of the reins, and clutched at the black mane to steady himself. “Bad horse! Whoa!”
Ignoring him, the horse thundered down the steep, rocky slope. It skidded a little, whinnied angrily, and bucked.
One second, Crowley had been clinging desperately to the horse. The next second, he was airborne.
He flung through the air and crashed into the mountainside with one arm extended to break his fall. Something cracked, and he yelped in pain. Everything whirled around him, blurred out as he tumbled.
By the time he slid to a halt amid the rocks, his horse was long gone, galloping down the hill with zero concern for him. Crowley swore violently. He was gonna be really, really late meeting Aziraphale now.
Hissing sharply, he struggled to his feet. His entire body throbbed with pain, an inferno of it blazing in his left wrist. Broken, probably.
“Terrific,” he muttered, glaring at the little village in the valley below. “That’s just bloody terrific.”
Clouds gathered as he slowly limped down the mountainside, his vision occasionally dimming when the pain worsened. He blinked away a few tears, focusing on his breathing. This sucked, yeah, but he was a demon. He could handle an uncomfortable walk, even injured.
Well, more of a hike, really. But he could handle that, too, and reward himself with a solid drink once he reached the village.
A few drops of rain bounced off his sunglasses. He made the mistake of looking up, just in time for the storm to cut loose.
“Oh, come on!” He gritted his teeth, shivering as the deluge drenched him and soaked through his clothes. He could hardly even see, the downpour too intense. And if he tried to hike down now, he’d probably slip, fall, and discorporate himself. “Seriously? What, am I just supposed to stand here in the rain for the rest of the day?”
“Crowley!”
Crowley jerked his head up at the yell, startled. “Aziraphale?”
“Yes! I’m here!” Aziraphale emerged through the veil of rain, waving his arms enthusiastically. “Oh, there you are! I’ve been so worried.”
“Hi.” Crowley tried to smile, but his lip trembled as the relief flooded through him. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Oh, you old silly.” Aziraphale came to his side and took his right arm in a gentle grasp. “I was on my way to meet you, and then a rather chaotic black horse went hurtling past me down the mountainside. Yours, I presume?”
“Unfortunately, yeah,” Crowley said. “Er, I think my wrist is broken.” Aziraphale froze, looking down at the arm he was holding onto. “Not that one, the other one.”
“Oh. Oh, yes, I do believe it is.” Aziraphale leaned to look at it. “Well, this will be easier to mend once we get to the inn. Let me help you, hmm?”
Shivering, Crowley gratefully leaned against Aziraphale’s warm side as the angel took him in a careful, supportive hold. And then, suddenly, he wasn’t being rained on anymore.
Crowley looked up to see a canopy of white feathers over his head, Aziraphale’s beautifully fluffy wing shielding him from the downpour. He smiled.
It was easier climbing down the mountain with such steady support, although it still hurt so damn much that Crowley occasionally thought he might faint from pain. His muscles trembled, legs barely supporting him.
“Almost there,” Aziraphale said, helping him across a particularly rocky area towards the base of the slope. “Here we are, the village is just up ahead. I’m going to have to put my wings away in just a moment, I’m afraid. Don’t want to startle the humans.”
“Yeah, I know. Thanks, angel.” The break from getting drenched had been a relief, and it was always nice to be reminded of how much Aziraphale cared. Crowley treasured all those moments of kindness, hugging them close to himself through the bad days.
He groaned with relief as they stepped into the inn. A welcoming gust of warm air washed over them. Aziraphale took him to a room with a crackling fireplace and nudged him to sit on a really lumpy bed.
“Here, let’s get you out of this wet cloak.” Aziraphale took it without waiting for a reply, then smoothed Crowley’s dripping hair out of his face. “There you are, my dear. How do you feel?”
“Like I fell down a blessed mountainside,” Crowley snapped, cradling his injured arm to his stomach. “Little warmer now, though.”
“Excellent. We shall get you back in tip top condition in no time.” Frowning slightly, Aziraphale bowed his head over Crowley’s swollen wrist. “Oh dear, yes. This is very broken. May I?”
“Mm,” Crowley replied, dizzy now.
Aziraphale touched the back of his hand and closed his eyes, and a careful tingling miracle swept through Crowley’s arm. The healing energy mended the break, although it stayed a little puffy.
“That swelling ought to go down in a bit.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and held it gently, giving him a worried smile. “Are you hurt anywhere else, my dear? I see a few bruises and scrapes.”
“Nothing big, I don’t think. My hips are bloody killing me, but I was just riding. So that’d be normal even if I hadn’t been tossed off.” Wincing, Crowley shifted position to try relieving the pressure. It didn’t help, and neither did the ongoing shivering.
Aziraphale’s warm hand cupped his cheek, steadying him as he shook. “Oh, you are freezing,” he murmured. “May I loan you some dry clothes? And perhaps assist in warming you up?”
Crowley’s mind locked up at the question. “Hrgk? I mean, er… yeah, I guess.”
Shivering almost too badly to manage it, he shed his drenched clothes and changed into the soft, baggy ones that Aziraphale provided. They were definitely not his color—all beige and white—but comfortable nonetheless.
Aziraphale stopped him as he tugged the tunic on and gently touched his side. “Oh, you’re all bruised! How painful is this?”
“Nh.” It hurt a lot, deep aches. “My ribs are kinda sore.”
Tutting softly, Aziraphale laid his warm hand across Crowley’s ribs. Another careful miracle, and the pain eased. “There, much better. Ought to be much more comfortable for snuggling.”
Despite the lingering chill, the heat of embarrassment flushed through Crowley as Aziraphale draped a blanket around his shoulders. “Demons don’t snuggle.”
He tried to say it in a sharp tone, but it came out as more of a grumble. Aziraphale patted his hand, indulgent. “Of course not. Now, you just lie down…”
Whether or not demons snuggled normally, Crowley was too cold to put up a better fight. And not only that—he was close to Aziraphale, close enough to be overwhelmed with longing. Warmth, softness, and being near Aziraphale? He couldn’t resist that.
Groaning, Crowley let himself be bundled close against the massive heat source that was his best friend. He inhaled deeply, breathing in Aziraphale’s familiar scent. As warm and welcoming as the rest of him.
“There, much better.” Aziraphale slid his fingers through Crowley’s hair, combing the wet locks away from his face again. “How does this feel?”
“Ridiculously soft.” Crowley offered a grin, which was only mildly compromised by his teeth chattering. “You’re really damn warm, too. How are you so warm?”
“Hmm, I’ve never really thought about it.” With a quiet hum, Aziraphale coaxed him closer and stroked his hair. “I suppose I just am, perhaps an angelic quality. And you certainly seem to be taking advantage of that warmth. What happened to demons not snuggling?”
“Oh, shut up,” Crowley grumbled, snuggling closer. “This is a lesser evil than discorporating. Just wanna warm up, that’s all.”
“Mhm. Very convincing argument.” The smugness in Aziraphale’s tone sent another annoying twinge of longing through Crowley. Ridiculous or not, he loved his angel. Especially when he was being a bastard.
Crowley growled vaguely in protest, then just closed his eyes and rested in the safety of Aziraphale’s arms. Later, when he was better rested, he’d come up with a better justification for the snuggling. For now, he just let himself enjoy it.