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Crack. Crowley jumped sharply at the sound of lightning outside, standing quickly from Aziraphale’s sofa. The angel, who had been reading more so to make himself appear occupied than anything else, glanced over his novel. Crowley had been very clearly upset ever since he first made his appearance that afternoon, mumbling some half-hearted reason for his arrival but refusing to say anything more on the matter- or anything at all, really. Despite the angel’s attempts for conversation, Crowley could not seem to engage. Aziraphale didn’t mind the silence, but he could tell something was bothering Crowley.
“Are you alright, dear?” He asked tentatively, hoping that the demon might be able to offer him an answer or some way to help.
“Ngk. Never been more fine. Splendid, actually.” Crowley paused, unable to tolerate the angel’s piercing gaze for any longer. “Tea.” He said suddenly.
“Pardon?”
“Tea… Tea - do you want some? I’ll make you some.” He started toward the kitchen before Aziraphale could even answer, adding quickly, “No need for you to join me.” The demon speedily exited, the door snapping shut behind him. This only worried Aziraphale further, but he didn’t follow, assuming the demon needed space.
Crowley hated thunderstorms more than anything. When he’d seen the forecast that morning it’d instantly put a damper on his day, but the closer it drew to it, the more anxious he’d felt. Before he’d had the protection of Hell, but now - well, now he was on his own. There were plenty of forms, red tape and the like to stop Heaven from smiting any old demon, but neither him nor Aziraphale had a side anymore, and he couldn’t see what was stopping anyone from, well…
…teabags. He needed teabags. Teabags and hot water. He flicked the kettle on, searching for the teabags, but he didn’t know where Aziraphale had put them, they weren’t in the first cupboard he’d checked, or the second, and he was trying to fill his mind up with thoughts that weren’t the storm, but the wind outside was so loud, and it was making the window frames shake, and he realised he was shaking, and his clothes were too tight, and his feet were too hot, and-
“Stop it.” He said slowly, trying to command his corporation like he could so easily toward other things, but it wasn’t working. “Stop it now.” Crowley realised that he’d unintentionally miracled a teabag into his hand, as if it was his body’s attempt at a compromise. Not exactly what he’d wanted but close enough, maybe. At least it had solved one of his bloody problems. Absent-mindedly, he kicked his shoes off, hoping it wouldn’t bother Aziraphale. There - he’d solved two of his problems already. Feeling the cool ground through his socks helped ground him a little, bringing him back on task. He picked a mug from the counter- it was dirty, but he didn’t notice, dropping a teabag into the cold residue at the bottom and turning back to the kettle, which was bubbling loudly now. Crowley physically cringed from the sound, clamping his hands to his ears as it got louder, trying to ignore the memories of somewhere Below. He focused on his breathing as he waited for the sound to pass. Breathe in - 1, 2, 3, 4. Breathe out - 1, 2, 3, 4. He was doing very well, he told himself. Nothing bad was happening. He was okay.
The kettle clicked, and he relaxed slightly as the sound stopped. He could do this - he was just making a cup of tea. Humans did it every morning. Using both hands, he picked up the kettle and poured the boiling water unsteadily into the cup. Right, done. There was nothing wrong with him. Everything had gone according to plan. Picking up the cup, he turned toward the door, before realising he’d forgotten something. “Fuck. The sugar. The milk.” He said aloud, turning sharply back, and spilling some of the water onto his hand. “Fuck.” He hissed, increasingly frustrated, as he threw open the cupboard door and grasped at the sugar. Crack.
Aziraphale dropped his book and ran toward the kitchen as soon as he’d heard the crash, but had not anticipated the extent of the situation. Granules of sugar dissolved slowly in a pool of partially-brewed tea, both the mug and jar which had held them smashed to pieces on Aziraphale’s polished kitchen floor. However, the most broken looking thing was Crowley curled in a ball covered in both and rocking back and forth, apparently oblivious to the mixture of hot water, shards of ceramic and glass underneath him.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked gently, but the demon was oblivious. He clawed at his scalp, the pain from his fingernails digging into his skin easing the overwhelming feelings inside of him just a little, repeating the motion, dragging his nails harder and harder, letting himself think more clearly, enough to hear Aziraphale shout faintly, “Crowley, no!” but not enough to register what or who the Angel was talking about. The demon felt foreign hands grab at him, but pushed them away roughly, shouting, “Don’t touch me!”. Even saying just that took all his effort, however, and he pulled his legs further into himself, feeling his tears soak into the fabric of his trousers as he pressed his face into them. At some point his glasses had fallen off, and he couldn’t open his eyes, everything was too bright, too loud, too much.
The smell of the sugar was making his head hurt, and he continued to scratch at his head, but it wasn’t working well enough. Crowley stiffened as he felt the scent change, and a different, familiar scent overpowering that of the sugar. “Crowley.” The voice said again, causing him to flinch despite the angel’s attempt of speaking as softly as he could. “You need to stop that, you’re hurting yourself.” Stop what? Crowley thought to himself, trying to focus on one feeling of pain, but quickly overwhelmed when he started to think about his corporation’s feelings of pain. There wasn’t just one, and he couldn’t handle it, quickly shutting it off.
Aziraphale panicked a little when Crowley wouldn’t stop, his brain finally registering the danger that the liquid and broken pieces on the floor posed, and miracled them away, with a wave of his hand. Usually, he tried to clean up the human way, but today he could not afford the luxury to do so. Crowley’s safety came first. Quickly, he started scanning the room, wondering what might have set Crowley off, trying to imagine all the possible situations.
“Your hands, Crowley. Can you put them in front of you, on your knees?” The demon shook his head stiffly, remembering all the noises that would come back if he moved them. He couldn’t deal with it. Instead, he opened his eyes just a little and was surprised to see that the room was now dark. Crowley didn’t remember turning off the lights. He didn’t remember drawing the blinds now, either. The smell of sugar was also gone, there was just the smell of him. I can do this. Crowley thought to himself, taking a deep breath and steadying himself, before slowly unclamping his hands from his head and moving them towards his knees. It was taking all his effort, but he managed to keep them there, slowly getting acclimatised to the sound of the rain, clenching his face in pain.
“Good, you’re doing really well, Crowley.” Aziraphale said softly, clearly relieved once Crowley had stopped hurting himself, but still not sure what was causing his pained expression. “Can you speak right now, dear?” He asked gently, nodding in understanding as the demon shook his head. “That’s okay, you don’t need to speak. I can do all the speaking for both of us.” Crowley nodded in agreement, trying to focus on the sound of Aziraphale’s voice instead of the howling of the wind, doing his best to calm his shuddering breaths.
“Okay, my dear boy.” He paused, trying to think of the best way to frame his question to make it easy for Crowley to answer. Ideally, he would like to find the source of what was bothering Crowley so much, but it might be hard for him to communicate presently. Crouching down, he came face-to-face with the demon, smiling encouragingly. “Do you want to go to the bedroom? It’ll be more comfortable.” He did his best to speak slowly and clearly, giving Crowley time to process what he had said, and think of his answer. Aziraphale desperately wanted to hug him tight and never let him go, but he knew that wouldn’t be helpful at all right now.
After a long pause, Crowley nodded slowly. The angel beamed, proud of him. “Is it okay if I miracle us up there?” Aziraphale couldn’t tell if the change of environment would be too overwhelming for him, but he thought it might be easier than walking. After another longer pause, Crowley nodded again, though clearly much more apprehensive. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he clutched onto the hem of Aziraphale’s jacket. Aziraphale seemed a little worried, “Are you ready, dear? We don’t have to rush.” but Crowley nodded his head fervently.
In an instant, they were transported upstairs, onto the plush comfort of the bed. Crowley was aware of what had happened, but kept his eyes shut still, rocking back and forth on the quilt. Aziraphale was sat patiently with his hands in his lap, gently reassuring the demon. “It’s okay, Crowley. We’re in the bedroom now. It’s nice and dark. A lot quieter up here too, don’t you think?” He smiled at him, hoping to reassure the redhead, though he knew Crowley couldn’t see him through his tightly shut eyes.
“If you need me to leave, just-” Aziraphale started to say, but before he could finish his sentence, he felt two arms rush to wrap around him tightly, and he couldn’t help but to chuckle a little. He was careful not to move too much, or hug him back, not wanting to upset Crowley. Instead, he sat carefully in the demon’s embrace, who was clinging desperately to him. “It’s okay, Crowley. I understand. I’m not leaving.” Crowley didn’t let go.