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“I thought this was just supposed to be about, well. Non-interference,” Aziraphale said weakly, head swimming.
“It is! Mostly.” Crowley was pacing a bit, back and forth beside the bed, which made Aziraphale rather more dizzy. Something about the rapid movement flickering in front of him. “But you’re sick.”
“I’m not sick,” Aziraphale protested, then sneezed. His head began to spin even more. “Angels can’t get sick.”
“Right. Right. Well, whatever you are, it’s not good.” Crowley held up a hand to stop Aziraphale’s protest. “Nonono, that’s not an insult. I just mean you’re in pretty rough shape right now. Not really up to doing the whole angelic blessings thingy. Definitely not up to walking out of London to bless the weary travelers or whatever.”
“Weary pilgrims,” Aziraphale corrected, then had to close his eyes. Oh, he did not feel well. Crowley was certainly right about that, even if Aziraphale had to consider him wrong on most things as a mere matter of principle. “So, what are you proposing?”
“We swap roles, at least for the day.” Crowley plopped down on the edge of the bed, and Aziraphale moaned in vague protest at the swaying movement. “I’ll go off and take care of your angel business. Do up your blessings and miracles and divine ecstasy or whatever other damn thing is on your to-do list.”
That did sound awfully appealing, as sick as Aziraphale felt. He curled up tighter under his blankets, shivering. Crowley laid another blanket across him. “Thank you. But if you’re off doing my job… what sort of demonic things am I supposed to be doing?”
He felt a slight pang of guilt for even considering it, but that wasn’t what worried him most. At the moment, he was so dizzy that he likely couldn’t stand up. He was in no shape to tempt anyone into anything.
“You, Aziraphale, are gonna stay right here in bed and not move until I get back. Get it?” Crowley asked, nudging his arm. Aziraphale gave him a baffled look. “You’re indulging in sloth. Most demonic thing there is.”
Aziraphale tried to rub his eyes, but he was far too exhausted to even raise his hand. “Are you entirely certain that counts? I… I don’t want to let you down. Er. Let down my side of the… thingy.”
“Arrangement. And yep, I’m sure. I’ve got it easy, honestly, nothing could go wrong.” Crowley thumped the mattress, and Aziraphale winced. “You stay right here, got it? Be as lazy as you like. Indulge yourself.”
Aziraphale’s idea of indulging himself involved some rather yummy foods, a good book, and preferably Crowley’s presence somewhere in the same building even if they weren’t in active conversation. But he was too queasy to eat, too tired to read, and Crowley had to leave.
First, Crowley helped him drink water and washed the sweat from his face, then sauntered off to play angel for the day. Aziraphale sank into his own current role, that of the epitome of sloth.
He didn’t quite fall asleep. Wasn’t much fond of sleep, as a rule, and only occasionally dozed off while reading a less than interesting book. Sleep seemed such a waste of time.
But he was in no shape to resist the murky, shadowed land of near sleep. Whenever he opened his eyes, everything went all spinny, and that was not particularly enjoyable. So he kept his eyes closed and let himself drift.
Sometimes, he thought he might have dozed enough to dream. Little bits of pieces of things that didn’t make sense crept into his awareness. Sunlight, or the smell of flowers, or walking down the road. Perhaps he really was dreaming.
When he smelled the blood, he was quite certain it was a dream. There was certainly no reason for there for be blood.
And then the words pierced through his daze, a steady mutter of “ohshitohshitohshit…”
Aziraphale forced his eyes open, blinking several times to try to clear his head. It didn’t work very well, everything still blurred and the room spinning, but things did clear enough to make him rather alarmed. “Crowley? Why are you bleeding all over my bed?”
“Whoops, sorry.” Ashen, Crowley gave a brittle smile. “I’ll go bleed in the corner of the room instead, shall I?”
“No, that’s not what…” Aziraphale managed a weak gesture to the bloody mess of Crowley’s shoulder. “I thought you said nothing could go wrong. What happened?”
“Something went wrong,” Crowley snapped. He was trying to peel cloth from the gash, then apparently gave up and just held a wadded up black shirt against the wound. “Was heading to do the blessings, but there were these robbers…”
“And they tried to rob you?” Aziraphale asked.
“No! They went after the pilgrims. And I was, y’know, supposed to be doing your blessings and everything, protect the weak or whatever angelic shit, so I went up to them.” Crowley was swaying a bit now, and Aziraphale caught the side of his tunic. He wouldn’t be much good if Crowley started to fall, but still. “Anyway, I said, Look, there’s plenty of other people to rob, why don’t you go find some richer targets?”
“And then what?” Aziraphale asked.
“And then they stabbed me.” Crowley sighed. He was swaying more now. “Pilgrims took care of ‘em, I guess. I fainted a little. Got the blessing done, but that pretty much wiped out the rest of my energy, haven’t been able to focus enough to heal this…”
Under ordinary circumstances, Aziraphale would have offered to mend it. Crowley had been tending to him through his illness, after all. But his own energy and focus were quite obliterated. “I suppose you ought to lie down, then.”
Crowley gave him a startled look. “Nnh?”
“Lie down.” Aziraphale tugged weakly at his tunic. “And don’t make me repeat it. I’m tired.”
“Sure you don’t mind me getting blood all over your bed?” Crowley said sarcastically. But he laid down with a shaky breath beside Aziraphale, trembling. “Ooh, ouch. That’s—ngk—really not fun.”
Aziraphale patted his uninjured arm. “You’ll be just fine, dear boy. Rest up. Engage in sloth with me.”
At that, Crowley managed a weak snort. “Guess I will.”
While Aziraphale would have much preferred that his friend not be injured and that he, himself, not be sick, the prospect of engaging in sloth today was rather lovely. Still, he couldn’t quite resist. “And you know, Crowley, that really was quite good of you to come to the aid of—”
“Oh, shut it,” Crowley grumbled.
---
Despite worries, Aziraphale was rather enjoying himself. He lacked the energy to do anything about those worries at the moment, or even the energy to stay awake fully. He dozed again, snuggling against Crowley’s uninjured side.
He did fret, though. Crowley had been bleeding quite a lot earlier, and too weak to heal himself. He could be in rather awful condition by the time one of them recovered enough to tend to it in earnest.
Finally, once Aziraphale’s body decided he’d had enough rest to be capable of movement, he opened his eyes and touched Crowley’s hand. “Crowley, dear boy.”
Crowley grunted quietly. Sweat glistened on his greyish skin, and he was shivering a little. “Er. Hi.”
“Hello. You look terrible.” Struggling to catch his breath, Aziraphale pushed up a bit. He could hardly keep himself upright, but he studied Crowley’s shoulder. The wadded shirt across the wound was entirely saturated with blood. “We’re going to have to at least get this bandaged. You’re bleeding so much.”
Crowley’s yellow eyes cracked open, glaring at him. “S’ not that bad.”
“It is that bad.” Aziraphale’s strength gave out, and he slumped back against the pillows. His heart beat far too quickly, a rapid thready patter that left him feeling as though he might faint. “And don’t argue with me. You’re… far too weak to… argue with…”
He ran out of his own strength. Crowley gave a soft snort. “You’re one to talk, eh? Sound like you’re gonna pass out.”
That was an annoyingly good point, not that Aziraphale would ever admit it. He preferred to be the winner in their arguments, or at least to make a good showing. Which meant that he certainly was not allowed to pass out.
He waited until he caught his breath before picking the discussion back up. “I’m not, er. In the best of shape, I must acknowledge, but someone needs to heal that shoulder wound. Are you capable of doing so?”
“‘Course I’m capable,” Crowley mumbled, trying to raise his uninjured arm. He managed to lift his fingers, but that was all. Then he went limp, gasping for air. “Right. Right. Okay. Just need a… minute to…”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Crowley. You’re far too weakened for any such thing.” Aziraphale ignored the sweat trickling down his own face now, as well as the increasing queasiness. The smell of blood wasn’t particularly helping with his nausea, but cleaning that up would certainly need to wait. “Here. I’ll tend to it.”
Before he could become overwhelmed by fatigue—or before Crowley could try to talk him out of it—Aziraphale waved his hand towards the mangled shoulder.
His vision immediately blacked out, and he fell back. For a moment, there was nothing other than his frantic heartbeat and ragged breaths. Oh dear. He might have overdone it.
“Ohshitohshitohshit, Aziraphale?” A trembling touch on his cheek. “Nnnh, Aziraphale, you stubborn bastard. Are you okay?”
Aziraphale attempted to answer, but he couldn’t manage it. It did seem he’d overdone it. But Crowley was moving again, and that was what mattered.
“Hallo?” Another touch on his cheek, this time an insistent pat. “Come on, Aziraphale. If you don’t say something, I’m gonna have to start making some really blasphemous remarks or something until you get annoyed enough to tell me off.”
Oh, that awful old serpent. Aziraphale forced his eyes open, although he couldn’t manage much. “Don’t… you dare.”
Crowley grinned at him. The silly old dear was still very pale and sweaty, but somewhat upright. “There you are. Right, okay. I’m gonna… ngh.”
Apparently, what he was “gonna” do was also nearly pass out. He slumped back against the pillow, head lolling against Aziraphale’s. He was breathing quite normally, though, and he patted Aziraphale’s arm.
Aziraphale smiled a little and closed his eyes. He was sweating quite badly now, trickles of it soaking into his clothes and hair. His fever must be rising. But Crowley wouldn’t bleeding out, and his continued presence on Earth was well worth a fever.
---
Apparently, he had finally managed to fall asleep in earnest. Everything was rather dark for some time, and rather peaceful.
When Aziraphale awoke again, it was to a cool cloth against his face, gentle sponging. It felt quite lovely, very soothing.
And it was a very good sign, too. It meant Crowley was feeling better.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale mumbled. His mouth didn’t seem to be entirely cooperating with him.
“Hi.” Crowley squeezed his hand, then went back to bathing his face and neck. “Trying to get your damn fever down a little. It’s better than it was earlier, still higher than I’d like. How do you feel?”
“How do you feel?” Aziraphale countered.
Crowley pursed his lips, then apparently decided not to waste energy arguing just now. “Hn, could be worse. My shoulder still really hurts, but you stopped the bleeding. We both slept for a while. Now, will you answer me?”
“I did answer you. I just answered with a question.” Aziraphale slightly regretted spending so many words on the correction, but he simply couldn’t resist. He took a few deep breaths, gathering his strength. “I do feel much better. Still awfully tired, but better. Thank you, dear boy, that feels good.”
“S’ the least I could do.” Expression going very soft, Crowley caressed Aziraphale’s cheek. “You really shouldn’t have patched me up like that, you ridiculous angel. Can’t resist the opportunity to do good, eh?”
“I’m afraid not.” Aziraphale beamed up at his adversary, although it was rather hard to beam when he was so tired. “Besides, it seems to me that this sort of thing is part of the Arrangement too.”
“Ngh. Yeah, guess I can’t argue with that.” For a moment, Crowley just bit his lip, staring down at Aziraphale. Then he bent and brushed a light kiss to Aziraphale’s feverish brow. “Now, c’mon. Enough good deeds for the day. Let’s get back to indulging in sloth.”
Aziraphale chuckled, then coughed a few times. It seemed he certainly needed much, much more rest. Normally, he’d be quite annoyed by the prospect of lying in bed without the energy to read.
But lying here with Crowley beside him, holding his hand, really wasn’t so bad. Perhaps there was indeed something to be said for sloth.