Archive of Our Own

A few weeks after stopping Armageddon, Crowley realizes that Aziraphale keeps limping.

It’s not very often that it happens, but he does visit Aziraphale at least six times a week, so he catches on eventually. 

He notices a lot of the angel’s small quirks, and he has for years. Aziraphale is a creature of routine, of non-changing habits. Everything and anything, Crowley sees it all.

Aziraphale tends to wring his hands together in front of his stomach when he’s nervous. Sometimes, those hands linger to his waistcoat and he starts to fidget with the buttons. 

He also looks around nervously when he feels that way, his eyes darting every-which-way as he breathlessly gets through what he has to say. Aziraphale doesn’t pace, but he looks rather antsy in place.

Aziraphale pumps his fists in the air when he’s at his happiest. It’s a bit rare, but when it happens, Crowley always feels like he just won the lottery. 

He also makes the most sensual sound when he eats something he finds pleasant, or when he’s particularly enjoying himself. 

There are things that Crowley notices the angel likes to use when it comes to convincinghim of something, particularly his pout and those blessed eyes. He knows Aziraphale uses these two things to his advantage, because Crowley always relents. 

The pout is nothing compared to the angel’s eyes, which should be a crime. The fact that they exist alone and Crowley has the chance to even look upon them should be considered blasphemy. 

He throws Crowley a look, those eyes big and round and beautiful that Crowley has to do what Aziraphale wants. He can’t help it, when the angel looks at him like that.

So, there are a lot of small things about Aziraphale that he’s picked up on over the years. He tends to express things with his human corporation, and Crowley sees everything. Observing the angel became somewhat of a habit throughout the years, only so he could gauge how Aziraphale was feeling, of course. 

That was the thing, though. Aziraphale tends to hide whatever is wrong behind a veil that his human corporation protects, that no one else is privy to as long as he doesn’t speak about it. But, Aziraphale’s protections of his own mind aren’t perfect.

There are cracks. Ones that only Crowley sees. Aziraphale hides behind his words, his mind, but Crowley can still see it. 

Just like now, when he notices that there are some days that Aziraphale limps when he’s walking, and it’s on those particular days that they stay in the bookshop. 

Crowley thinks that their lounging on the singular armchair and sofa is why he hasn’t noticed it until a few weeks after they stopped the apocalypse. 

He doesn’t think anything of it at first, particularly because everything is rather comfortable when he’s in the bookshop with Aziraphale. 

He always felt safe in this bookshop, and he knows Aziraphale made it so on purpose. This was their safe haven, a place that not even Heaven or Hell could take from the Earth. This bookshop would be standing for a long time, even if they eventually decide they want to leave London.

Even without them inside, the bookshop would be a safe place for the beings who need it.

Crowley assumes this was part of how Aziraphale went around hiding it. Who was he to suspect something was wrong if Aziraphale was constantly sitting down in a place that was considered safe and sound?

But, as he’s come to know, there are cracks that only he can recognize. That was in the beginning, when he first noticed it. Aziraphale would stand up when Crowley claimed to be too comfortable to make some tea for him, and Crowley would watch Aziraphale favor one leg over another as he made his way to the back room.

Now that he’s there more frequently, he sees that whatever has happened to Aziraphale’s leg has been something that’s a bit more common than the angel first let on. 

More often than not, Aziraphale wants to have nightcaps rather than dinners outside. He wants takeaway rather than lunch. He wants to reread Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest for a few days on end instead of walking with Crowley to St. James’s Park to feed the ducks.

Really, he feels bad for not realizing sooner. The things that Aziraphale would rather do were so Aziraphale though, so Crowley never argued. If the angel wanted to stay inside, Crowley would be by his side.

Which, of course, extended to talking about it. If Aziraphale wanted to talk about it, Crowley would sit by his side and listen. He would ask Aziraphale what he could do to help, and he would do anything in his power to make sure the angel was happy.

But, they weren’t talking about it. There was one time where Aziraphale caught him looking, and all he did was smile at Crowley before walking up to a shelf to get a new book. Other than that, there’s no other acknowledgement that it was happening.

Aziraphale doesn’t mention it, and Crowley doesn’t say a word.

That changes today, though, as Crowley snaps the bookshop doors open. He’s going to ask, because if Aziraphale wasn’t talking about it, then the angel would ignore it until he was forced to confront it.

Crowley doesn’t think Aziraphale should ignore this if he seems to be in pain. Of course, he doesn’t show it, but something is wrong. 

Crowley won’t admit it out loud, but he’s worried. Fuck, although he doesn't want to ever say it, he’s very concerned.

So, he grips the bag of takeaway he’d gotten for lunch, and saunters into the bookshop. He miracles the doors closed as he’s inside, locking the doors.

“Oi, angel!” he shouts as he walks over to the little horse statue that sits in front of the shop, placing his glasses on top of it. 

Aziraphale peeks his head out of a nearby bookshelf, and he smiles upon seeing Crowley. If Crowley didn’t know any better, he would say that Aziraphale was practically glowing at the sight of Crowley’s demonic self.

“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale greets rather happily, gripping the bookshelf as he moves towards Crowley. “What brings you here today? I’m afraid I can’t go for an outing, I’m quite busy, you see.” Aziraphale then points to the various boxes that are on the floor. 

Crowley tilts his head in slight confusion. There aren’t that many boxes, but he does note that there are a lot of books inside of them. “Are you… reshelving?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes! I got rather tired of the current organization of them since customers keep coming back to the same sections and making up excuses to buy something. Honestly, as if I would sell any of these books because no one is buying them, as one of them said. It’s a little insulting.”

“Right,” Crowley says, and he gets it, he does. Of course the angel is insulted the customers keep coming back, but it wasn’t the books he was curious about. “So, why’re you using boxes to move them? Can’t you just… y’know, carry them?”

Aziraphale nods, wringing his hands together. Crowley sees that the angel is rather tense, which he’s a bit curious about. “Well, I could. This is easier for transport. Oh, would you be a darling and move the box next to you near my desk, please?”

Crowley doesn’t do it, instead taking one step towards Aziraphale with the bag of takeaway. “Got some Thai food. Mind having a small lunch break with little old me?” he asks, waving the bag around as he sees Aziraphale bite his lip, wrestling the request. “Come ooon , angel. Then we can reshelve these together, alright? It’ll be a fun little afternoon for us.”

Aziraphale glances between the bag and Crowley’s face, and his shoulders slowly lose all of their tension. “Oh, alright, if you insist. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on anything fun you have planned,” he says, and starts walking over to where Crowley is.

“Got nothin’ planned. C’mon, since when have you said no to some mango sticky rice?” Crowley asks, and he eyes the angel’s leg, watching as Aziraphale favors his left leg. 

If Aziraphale notices that he’s looking, he doesn’t mention it and grabs the takeaway bag. “Let’s go to the back room, dear. I’ve turned the air conditioning on in there. It’s a bit hot today, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t. Not at all, it felt rather moderate in terms of temperature. Nonetheless, he nods his agreement. 

He follows Aziraphale to the back room, wondering why the angel decided to reshelve his books when he was clearly not feeling well. Aziraphale places the food on the one table in the room, humming as he starts to take the food out.

Concern is all Crowley feels right now, really. He decides that he can’t really keep the facade of ignoring what’s happening and places a hand on top of Aziraphale’s free hand, which was laying on top of the table.

Aziraphale looks up at him, tilting his head. “Crowley? Is everything alright?” Aziraphale asks, whirling around slowly to better face him.

His eyebrows are creased, full of worry for Crowley. And, wasn’t that something? The angel, who was clearly not at his best, was worried for him.

“M’fine. Nothing’s wrong,” he tries to reassure the angel, but it doesn’t make Aziraphale’s concerned expression go away. “Seriously, angel. Don’t worry too much about me, ‘kay? S’all fine.”

Aziraphale bites his lip, nodding hesitantly. “Then… what is this?” he asks, looking down at their hands. 

Crowley sighs, he isn’t actually sure how to breach the topic. He didn’t really have a plan going into this, which he sort of regrets. But, he thinks that being direct with Aziraphale will get him some answers, even if it takes some coaxing like it usually does.

“You don’t have to try to hide it, y’know. The pain in your leg,” he says, which makes Aziraphale’s eyes widen. “Reshelving can wait a day, can’t it? We can do it if you still want to, but it looks uncomfortable. Can’t be fun, walking. Lifting boxes.”

Aziraphale lets out a shaky breath, looking anywhere but at Crowley. “Yes, well… I suppose it can wait. We can just sit and talk after we eat, if you don’t mind,” he says, and Crowley doesn’t like how he’s ignoring the part about his leg.

“Don’t mind at all, angel. I like talkin’ to you,” Crowley says, and lets go of Aziraphale’s hand. 

He mourns the loss of the angelic warmth, but he doesn’t dwell too much on it or else he’ll do it again. Damn, he does really want to do it again. 

“I’m glad you do, dear. I hope you know the feeling is mutual.” Aziraphale gives him a small smile, a small thank you for your concern, it’ll be alright.

He doesn’t really think it will be. Not really, if the angel keeps ignoring it. 

Crowley watches Aziraphale happily open the boxes of food. He smiles a bit, he does like that Aziraphale’s mood has never tampered because of this, but he wonders if it’s all a distraction. He wonders if Aziraphale is trying to keep busy to ignore everything that was happening, to ignore that Armageddon affected him more than he wanted to admit.

“If you… if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen,” Crowley offers, because maybe that’s what Aziraphale needs. Maybe the angel didn’t know he could go up to Crowley and let him know what happened, which simply would not do.

Aziraphale looks up at him, his expression full of appreciation. It’s clear that he knows what Crowley is talking about, which doesn’t do much to soothe Crowley’s worry. 

“Thank you very much. It means so much to me, to know you’re here,” he says, giving Crowley a wide grin. 

Crowley smiles back, and gestures to the food. It’s clear the topic is over, now, and Crowley finds he doesn’t particularly want to push the angel when he looks so grateful that Crowley is here with him. “Don’t thank me and eat, angel. Wanna hear about the dog I met the other day?”

Aziraphale nods rapidly, rather eager as he pushes some green curry towards Crowley. “Oh, do tell me! I was thinking of getting a pet myself, you know. A small kitten.”

That piques Crowley’s interest. The angel wants a cat? The angel will get a cat. “What kind of kitten?” he asks, making a mental note to go search for some cats that Aziraphale will like.

“We’re talking about that later, dear. I want to hear about the dog!” Aziraphale exclaims, which makes Crowley go into the entire story of how he was strolling around Mayfair to put some coins onto the floor when a dog came up to him and followed him a long while before Crowley found their owner.

They don’t talk about Aziraphale’s leg again, not until three days later. 

Crowley isn’t in the bookshop when the shoe drops and Aziraphale can no longer not talk about what’s happening. 

He’s actually in a new local bakery that opened up, and he’s sure that Aziraphale was planning on trying it. Of course, as the demon he is, he decides to pop in first and grab something nice for the angel to munch on. 

Since it just opened up, the line for it is rather long, so Crowley’s been standing there for about thirty minutes now. 

He could be a bit mischievous, perform a miracle and get the people in front of him to make their decisions a bit faster, but he’s getting this for Aziraphale. He would appreciate it if Crowley waited in line, and he’s nothing but a courteous demon when it comes to the angel.

He’s close to the counter when his mobile rings. Crowley takes his phone out of his pocket, curious on who would be calling him. He’s already in the process of planning to put on a fake voice if this turns out to be some sort of scammer, when he reads the contact name.

Aziraphale, it reads, and wasn’t that something? The angel hardly called him, unless it was because he was bored, he had something interesting he wanted to share, or if something was wrong. Maybe Aziraphale wanted to go out today.

He answers the call, bringing the mobile to his ear. “Hiya, angel,” he greets, eyeing the pastries that are now in his view. Ooh, perhaps Aziraphale would like some scones? Maybe the blueberry muffins?

He hears Aziraphale move on the other side of the line, and he pictures him sitting at his desk, fidgeting away at something. “Dearest,” he says, his voice almost breathless. “Is– is it possible for you to come to the bookshop? Right now?”

Now? Aziraphale has called him multiple times for him to come to the bookshop, but in haste? That only happened when something was wrong. Crowley is immediately on alert, already at least a few centimeters from the Bentley. 

“Yeah, ‘course. Is something wrong? Are you alright?” he asks, and he drives as fast as he can. Not that Aziraphale needs to know, but he was going up to one-hundred twenty miles per hour on the streets of London right now. Aziraphale wants him there quickly, so he will go quickly.

“Just… come quick, please?” Aziraphale says, and Crowley doesn’t hesitate to make the Bentley go just a touch faster. 

He sounds a bit out of breath, but Crowley wonders if it’s because he’s far away from the phone or if it’s something else that he isn’t saying. Regardless, Crowley takes about five minutes to reach the bookshop, ending the call as he forces the doors open.

“Angel!” he shouts as he runs into the bookshop, and it feels weirdly reminiscent of when he ran into it when it was up in flames. He throws his glasses on the horse statue, a habit he’s recently picked up and probably wouldn’t ever stop doing.

Panic fills him as he whirls around the room, and can’t see any sign of Aziraphale anywhere.

He snaps, all the curtains shutting. Again, oddly similar to when he walked into the burning bookshop. He hates that it feels so familiar, spinning around a room to look for Aziraphale in a place where he couldn’t be found.

Crowley runs over to the angel’s desk, where he expected Aziraphale to be since that was where his telephone was located. His heart drops when he sees no angel, and no telephone.

Shit, shit shit shit. He runs to the back room, and there’s no angel there, either. Where was he?

“Angel!” he screams again as he goes back to the entrance of the bookshop. He spins around again, still not seeing any sign of Aziraphale. “Come on, angel, where—” oh, shit, the stairs! Aziraphale was probably in the flat upstairs. 

Crowley rushes up the stairs, practically ripping the door to the flat open. He doesn’t usually go up into the flat, so he’s not sure what to expect, but it’s definitely not a large bed that has a lump of an angel laying atop of it.

He’s frozen at the foot of the bed, unsure how to take this all in, really. He’s never seen Aziraphale laying limp in a bed before, even at his worst. 

He puts a hand out, but he’s not sure what to do. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Aziraphale was in pain and all he does is stand there.

Aziraphale looks up from where he’s curled up, and Crowley can’t help but notice how pale and clammy the angel is. He smiles at Crowley, and it’s small, weak thing. “Hello, dearest. Do you mind miracling a cold pack for me? I’m afraid I can’t focus enough to do it.”

Crowley swallows, his eyes wide. He does what he’s asked to do, because of course he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all. 

He walks to the side Aziraphale is facing, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He hands the cold pack to Aziraphale, who gratefully takes it.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and Crowley watches as he puts the pack on his right thigh. Aziraphale sighs in relief, but his face still conveys how much pain he still feels.

And, Crowley gets it now. The pain that needed a cold pack, the way that Aziraphale was limping. It was an injury, wasn’t it?

Crowley isn’t too familiar with anything medical that the humans had come to learn about their corporations, since he didn’t get injured that often. The only time he really felt the extent of any injury was when he fell, and that was the worst shit he’s ever had to feel.

But, he’s seen humans getting injured, and he’s seen this pain happen before. It's a pain that won't go away.

“Angel,” he starts, looking out of the sole window in the flat. “Is… is it from the Great War?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

If it was, Aziraphale had to hide this for so long. Six thousand years of living on Earth, and Crowley hadn’t noticed a thing until after armageddon. He would feel horribly, if Aziraphale thought it not safe enough to talk to Crowley about his pain.

He feels Aziraphale tap his hand, which makes him look down. Aziraphale looks up at him, shaking his head solemnly. 

“It isn’t,” he replies, lightly grabbing Crowley’s hand. 

Crowley hums, and he squeezes Aziraphale’s fingers. If that’s all Aziraphale is willing to tell him, that would be fine. It reassures him slightly that it wasn’t so long since Aziraphale got injured, but still. 

“It’s from… well– well, it started after I got back to Earth, actually,” Aziraphale says, which doesn't exactly clear things up. 

Crowley and Aziraphale frequently went back to their former head offices, after all. Wait… after he got back? Had one of those bloody archangels dared to hurt him? Bastards, the lot of them. Brick by brick, he was going to tear Heaven down for what they've done.

Crowley starts rubbing a small circular motion on the angel’s palm as his breathing picks up slightly. “Who did this?” he asks slowly, hoping his anger towards Heaven isn't bleeding through. 

It wouldn't do, to have Aziraphale think that he's angry at him. He'd never be angry at Aziraphale for not telling him, obviously, but he knows his emotions can get a bit misinterpreted by the angel. 

If he sensed the anger, he would think it was at him. That was just how it was, especially since Heaven tended to get angry at Aziraphale for the smallest things. It was hard to forget all those years he'd been treated that way, so Crowley gets it.

What he doesn't get, though, is when Aziraphale looks up at him in confusion. “Who did this?” Aziraphale parrots back at him, rather incredulously. “How do you mean?”

“You said it was after you got back here from Heaven,” Crowley offers, and now he's confused. “An angel did this, right?”

At this, Aziraphale's eyes widen in understanding. He slowly shakes his head. “Oh, Crowley… I think I wasn't as clear about it as I’d like to be, I’m sorry. I-It happened after I was…” Aziraphale trails off, squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh dear, this is quite hard to talk about…”

Crowley is very puzzled. Maybe Aziraphale hadn't seen the angel that did this? That was alright, of course, Crowley was just curious. And, he didn't want to push Aziraphale at all.

“S’okay if you can't talk about it, angel,” he reassures, watching as Aziraphale curls into himself a bit more. “Is… is there anything I can do?”

Aziraphale only smiles, but his face looks pained. “Your being here is the best thing you can do, dearest. I find it terribly hard to do this on my own, and the pain makes it hard to focus on performing miracles,” he says, intertwining their fingers together. “And, the cold pack helps immensely.”

Crowley is happy to hear that, and if it's what the angel wants, it's what he will get. 

“M’glad you called me,” he says, smiling at their intertwined hands. “You know you can call me whenever, yeah? Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“I do know. I wouldn't have phoned you here if I didn't think you'd assist me,” Aziraphale says softly, a grin ever present on his face.

“Good. I, erm… s’alright if I stay, then?” he asks, mostly because he wouldn't want to presume anything. It's possible that after a few hours, Aziraphale would want some silence.

Aziraphale nods rather slowly, though, pushing all doubt that the angel didn't actually want him there out of his mind. “If it was up to me, I’d like you to stay forever.”

Crowley lets out a small breath. Forever? If Aziraphale wanted him for that long, he'd stay. Fuck it all, he'd never leave. “Is it not up to you, angel?”

Aziraphale chuckles, and it’s a small, bitter thing laced with pain. The sound isn't pleasant, and it makes Crowley's chest ache. 

“No, dear. Nothing is up to me,” Aziraphale says. Crowley only looks down, and Aziraphale looks rather morose. 

The expression doesn't fit him, not really. Crowley doesn't like it. It reminds him too much of how Aziraphale looked at him in the Bentley in 1967, giving him a thermos full of water that could easily destroy him.

“Lots of things are up to you, angel. If you want me here, I’m staying. S’that simple,” Crowley mumbles, and he feels Aziraphale tighten his grip on Crowley’s hand.

Aziraphale groans and presses his face into his pillow. Crowley is on his feet in an instant, but he doesn't let go of Aziraphale's hand. “Angel,” he says, because– well, he's not really sure what to do. “Ah– erm—”

Aziraphale opens one of his eyes, letting go of Crowley's hand. He reaches up instead, and Crowley realizes that Aziraphale wants a hug. 

They’d never hugged before, not like that, but he doesn't have time to dwell on that. He gathers Aziraphale into his arms, making sure that the cold pack is still on his thigh as he tries to maneuver the two of them onto the bed.

He manages to do it somehow, Aziraphale’s head cushioned on his shoulder as he lets out another groan. Crowley brings a hand to Aziraphale's curls, running his fingers through them aa slowly as he can.

Crowley isn't sure how Aziraphale does it, but whenever they're lounging on the sofa together, Aziraphale running his hands through his hair brings him the most relaxation he's ever felt. 

He only hopes he can give Aziraphale that same feeling now. Maybe he has magic hands, too. Or, maybe Aziraphale performs a miracle? Nah, he'd hear it manifest in the air.

Aziraphale lets out a few shaky breaths, and Crowley can feel the heat of it on his collarbone. “D-dearest… can you summon another…?”

Crowley doesn't hesitate to miracle another cold pack into existence, placing it next to the other one. “Is this big enough? Cold enough?” he asks, because he can make it be so. 

“S’fine,” Aziraphale says, pulling Crowley closer. “Thank you, it… it really does hurt a lot, and it has been all morning. It doesn't get this bad that often, but…”

Crowley hums, he's seen Aziraphale limping around, after all. It's, with no doubt, painful on days where Aziraphale is moving about. 

“Will you call me if it gets this bad again?” Crowley asks, resting his head on top of Aziraphale's.

“Yes, I wouldn't want to be alone for this. If you wouldn't mind this, of course— oh, dearest, I’m sorry, I didn't even ask if you could, ah, if we could hug.”

“I wouldn't do anything I don't want to do. Don't worry ‘bout it,” Crowley says, because it's true. There was very little that he wouldn't do for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale lets out a sigh of relief, but it's replaced by his breath hitching in pain. “O-oh, thank you,” Aziraphale breathes, groaning into Crowley's shoulder right after.

They stay like that in a comfortable silence for a long time, long enough for the sun to go down. Crowley miracles the lights on, and Aziraphale shows his appreciation for the gesture by whispering a thank you through his gritted teeth.

Crowley doesn't mind, of course. Hugging the angel was very comfortable, and his hair was as soft as literal clouds. And, whenever he stopped his motions briefly to scratch at his hair or whatever else, Aziraphale would bump his head up slightly to make Crowley start running his hands through his curls again. It was cute.

Though, he wishes he knew more about what happened. All he knows is that Aziraphale was in Heaven, and perhaps an angel did this. He wouldn't push Aziraphale to tell him, obviously. He could only hope that one day, he would know where the injury came from.

Now that it's probably nighttime, Crowley should get going. Technically, he's stayed for the entire day, and Aziraphale hasn't exactly asked him to stay longer. 

But, it's clear Aziraphale is still in pain, and it's exhausting him quite a bit. He's still awake from what Crowley can tell, but he's a bit limp in Crowley's tight grasp.

His eyes drift towards the closet, and realizes just how small this flat was. Woah. It was only a few centimeters away, Crowley could practically stretch an arm out and reach whatever clothes the angel decided to tuck inside of it.

In the dim lighting of the room, though, he can't really make out what's inside. He can see something slightly protruding out from the bottom. A several somethings, actually, that were cylinder in shape.

Hm, that was curious. Time capsules, perhaps? Aziraphale was a sentimental angel, after all. He also liked to keep a lot of small trinkets around, so it wasn't that surprising to him if that's what it was.

As much as Crowley hates to destroy the comforting lull of their silence, he can't help but be curious. It's in his nature. “Angel?” he asks quietly, in case Aziraphale was sleeping.

Aziraphale shifts a little. “Yes, dear? Oh, have you got somewhere you need to be?”

“Ngk, no,” Crowley replies, he really hopes that Aziraphale wants him to stay. “Jus’ wondering about your closet. What’s inside?”

“Oh! Well, it contains a lot of my older clothing. Some of my extra cardigans, too. I love my current one, but it’s for if I accidentally spill tea,” Aziraphale answers, and despite his excitement, his voice is very quiet. 

Crowley knows it’s because the silence of the room made it all so comfortable to be in, and there was something very wrong with disturbing that.

“Knew it, your love for clothing astonishes me, angel mine. What about the cylinder things sticking out?” Crowley asks, and immediately regrets it when Aziraphale tenses in his arms. Shit. Shit shit shit. 

Crowley moves a bit, shifting so he can see Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale only looks at him, blinking slowly. “Angel? Is– should I not mention those?”

“Oh… I apologize, dear. Mention it all you want, I just forgot that they were inside,” Aziraphale says, giving Crowley a small smile. Although the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, it looks pretty genuine. He knows the angel is still in pain, so he expects it.

Crowley, however, has better night vision than Aziraphale. Something about demons being drawn to the darkness and angels toward the light, Crowley wouldn’t know the actual reason. 

He squints as he looks at the cylinders again, and he can make out a slight red color.

Red… okay, time capsules weren’t red. Or, they could be. Could they?

Aziraphale lets out a small breath, pressing against Crowley a bit more than he already was. Every part of their corporations were touching now. “They’re fire extinguishers,” Aziraphale reveals, his tone full of sorrow. 

It’s Crowley’s turn to freeze, because holy shit. Holy shit, Aziraphale got fire extinguishers because he doesn’t want to ever see his bookshop burn. 

He doesn’t want this safe haven to go up in flames again, he doesn’t want to lose, and lose, and lose until he has nothing left.

“Oh, angel,” he breathes, moving a hand to cup the angel’s face. He does so gently, and Aziraphale immediately melts into the touch. “Shit… m’sorry it burned down, angel. I’m so sorry.” There’s not much he can say, really. 

He grieved it, too, when he saw it burning. He’s nothing but sorry that he couldn’t stop it, that he didn’t make it in time to save Aziraphale from discorporation.

Crowley knows Aziraphale doesn’t blame him for anything, but he can’t help but feel slight guilt for not being fast enough. For a demon that goes far too fast for Aziraphale to catch up, all he can do is be too late to save him. So much for going too fast.

“Crowley, you haven’t done a single wrong thing. Those extinguishers are for an emergency, should it happen again. I should’ve told you, really,” Aziraphale says, breathing rather heavily as he finishes. 

The pain Aziraphale is feeling is relentless, isn't it? Crowley really wants to burn Heaven to the ground right now, seriously. 

The bookshop fire was something they hardly talked about, though. 

This was mostly because it was a rather devastating event. Aziraphale discorporated, he lost his life in a human corporation, and the bookshop may have very well burned to the ground. It was hard to face that it even happened.

But, Crowley guesses they’re talking about it now. It was hard not to, when Aziraphale had taken multiple precautions to not have it happen again.

“Well, s’good to know,” he mumbles, watching as Aziraphale lays his head on Crowley’s chest. The angel’s fluffy hair tickles his chin a little, but he doesn’t really mind. Aziraphale was still in his arms. Still hugging him! 

This was the longest they had any physical contact. He’s used to accidentally brushing his hand against Aziraphale’s as they’re walking, giving him handshakes and performing joint miracles with the angel through that hand holding. 

They held hands on the bus back to his flat, and that was exhilarating. Having Aziraphale’s soft, plump hand in his own for more than a few seconds was everything he’s ever wanted. 

Ever since then, they’ve only briefly touched their hands together.

They’ve never gone further, until now. He hopes that he’ll get to have Aziraphale in his arms later, and more often in the future. 

It’s then that Aziraphale mumbles something into his chest, and it’s a bit muffled that Crowley can’t understand it. “What was that, angel?” he asks, and Aziraphale puffs his head up so he’s looking at Crowley. 

Aziraphale bites his lip, hesitant to repeat his words. After a few minutes of what Crowley assumes is the angel wrestling with his thoughts, Azirapahale lets out a long sigh. “It’s from the fire and my discorporation,” he repeats, his voice almost a whisper.

Crowley raises an eyebrow. Weren’t they talking about the fire extinguishers? “Erm… what was?” he asks, moving some of Aziraphale’s curls off of his sweaty forehead. 

Aziraphale purses his lips, and Crowley isn’t sure he wants to know what Aziraphale is talking about as his expression turns a bit grim and dark. 

Aziraphale’s next breaths are a bit shakier than usual, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of Crowley. Crowley can’t help but realize how blue they are. In the light, Aziraphale’s eyes change colors and turn into a hazel at times, but right now there are beautiful pale blue eyes staring up at him.

Fuck. He was so screwed. 

He continues to run his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, his thoughts were getting a bit off track. Discorporation. The fire. Whatever the angel was wrestling with in his thoughts, Crowley hopes that he can find a conclusion and tell him what he means. 

“It– I’m talking about my injury, dear,” Aziraphale whispers, letting out a sigh. Crowley’s eyes widen, and he can’t help but gasp. Holy. Shit. “It came from– oh, it was rather horrible, you see. Sergeant Shadwell came into the shop after I had finished talking to the Metatron. He thought I was a demon, and, well, it led to me stepping into the active Heavenly summoning circle, effectively discorporating me and m-my corporation. I assume the fire started when he left, b-but the holy light from the circle… it hit me rather hard in my right thigh, and there is a sizable burn on it that aches very much everyday.”

Crowley is very, very much aware that he’s shaking in anger right now. Satan as his damn witness, he was going to burn Heaven. The fire hadn’t discorporated him, it was the active summoning circle. The fire hadn’t harmed Aziraphale, but divine forces have. 

Shit, Crowley doesn’t even know what to say to that. Hearing about Aziraphale’s discorporation was something else entirely. And, knowing that Aziraphale meant that his burn started to ache after he got back from Heaven after his discorporation… fuck. 

And, and, Crowley could’ve prevented this. Fuck, if he stayed with Aziraphale, if he didn’t want to run away to protect the only being that he ever cared about, then he could’ve saved him. Instead, he lost him. He fucking lost him to Heaven and they just let him—

“Dearest, I’m alright. I’m right here.” Aziraphale brings a hand up, placing it on Crowley’s chest. He gives Crowley a small smile as Crowley starts to breathe slower, the hand on his chest more comforting than he thought it’d be. “There was nothing that would have spared me, Sergeant Shadwell was rather insistent that I was doing harm.”

“But you weren’t,” Crowley snarls, because it wasn’t fair. Aziraphale had contacted the Metatron for help, to save humanity in a way that was passive. He had discorporated in an attempt to help humanity without hurting any of them. This wasn’t fair.

Aziraphale only smiles sadly at him, shaking his head. “I wasn’t,” he agrees. “Crowley, it… it’s alright. I’ve made my peace with it, and accepted that I will be feeling this ache for as long as I live.”

“It… it’s not alright. Don’t say that your discorporation is alright. You died, angel,” Crowley says, almost pleading Aziraphale to hear him. 

He knows the pain will last a long time, he's not upset that Aziraphale had come to terms with that. No, he just didn't want Aziraphale to think dying was okay. It wasn't, not for him.

“I– yes, Crowley, it’s not,” Aziraphale relents. “Nothing that happened that day felt alright. But truly, dearest, this is a part of me now. This… this pain will happen more often than not, and that is just how our essences work.”

“Yeah. You’re right, and I’ll be around to help when needs must. I’ll help you whenever you want. S’just, don’t like you talking about how you died like it was something that didn’t matter. It does, angel, so much. To me,” Crowley says, trying not to wince at how his voice cracks at the end. 

Aziraphale’s expression softens, and he moves his hand from Crowley’s chest to cup his face. 

Crowley stares as the angel gives him another smile, this one less sad. 

“I’m sorry, dearest. I hadn’t realized it’d be seen as that, I do know how much you care. And I appreciate it, my darling demon, that you’ve come to my aid so many times because of those feelings. Know that it’s a mutual thing, my dear.”

Oh. Oh, could there ever be anything more sweet?

Aziraphale was really tugging on his heartstrings here. Crowley feels his face flush a bit, especially with Aziraphale’s warm hand resting on his cheek, but fuck. If Aziraphale wasn’t the sweetest angel in the world, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

It reassures him, though, that Aziraphale feels his death was something that shouldn't have happened. And, he knows that Crowley isn’t leaving whenever he needs him. 

Crowley would be a call away to help Aziraphale with his pain, to assist him in anything he may need.

And, if the angel just wants to hang out, Crowley knows that Aziraphale can see he won’t be a bother if he requests Crowley’s presence for some lunch. Everything he wants, Crowley will be by his side throughout all of it.

He’s not exactly sure how to convey the hot, almost dizzying feeling that he's experiencing. Crowley is vaguely aware that this is probably his love for the angel, ready to burst out of him and be contained in this small room. He almost dares it to do exactly that.

Aziraphale has never commented on sensing his love, though. There are moments that he accidentally lets it slip, and the angel doesn't respond, although he does look at Crowley like he's just seen something unexpected. Maybe he did feel it then.

He sees Aziraphale start to sweat again, and realizes he’s pushing himself a bit, which simply wouldn't do. He puts his own hand atop of Aziraphale's, feeling the angel’s hand shake ever so slightly.

He gently takes Aziraphale's hand, grasps it like it's something even holier than holy water. 

“I have an idea,” he says, which gets an eyebrow raise from Aziraphale. “How about you try sleeping now? Won't take away the pain, obviously, but it’ll help you feel rested.”

Aziraphale furrows his eyebrows. “Sleep… dear, as tired and weary as I feel, I’m not sure what good it will do me. I’ll awake up in the same state, surely.”

That wasn't how sleep worked, but Crowley couldn't guarantee the pain would lessen, either. It hardly worked that way for humans. 

Crowley knew Aziraphale would be stubborn about this, though. Which was fine, but Aziraphale does look like he needs a good night's rest.

Aziraphale's expression is still pained, as it's been this entire day, but there's an added element of exhaustion. It can't be easy.

“You might not. Sleeping’s a mind reset, there's a reason humans do it,” he reasons, watching the cogs turn in Aziraphale's beautiful head. 

He shakes his head, though, a silent resignation. “I’d loathe to waste any valuable time I have with you to sleep,” Aziraphale says, his voice a low whisper. 

And, wasn't that something? An angel and a demon cuddled up in a bed, not wanting to let go or waste any time doing anything else but just being with each other. 

Getting to this point in their history was so hard, but Crowley thinks it's worth it all. It has to be.

Aziraphale presses his face against Crowley's chest again, a pained sound coming from the fluff of hair that he can see. 

Aziraphale clutches him tightly, not too tight that Crowley isn't too worried for the level of pain. Though, he knows it must hurt a lot if Aziraphale can't put any weight on it and move around.

His heart aches, moving so that his arms are fully around Aziraphale again. Crowley starts to rub Aziraphale's back, as he’s seen done in movies whenever characters feel ill or just are in need of comfort.

Aziraphale lets out a gasp, and Crowley feels his body get squished again. “Angel?” he asks, now a bit more concerned about the level of pain.

Aziraphale shakes his head. “I’m alright, Crowley, just, oh… could you make the cold packs a bit cooler?” he asks, popping his head up so he's once again looking at Crowley.

Crowley performs a cooling miracle, and Aziraphale sighs in relief. He groans again, though, and Crowley hates that all he can do is lay here and watch Aziraphale be in pain. He hates that he can't do anything more.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale breathes, but he looks up with a small crease in his brow. “Are you alright, dear? Do you… do you need to leave soon?” he asks.

Is he alright? Is he alright? The bloody angel was in pain and he's asking if Crowley is alright? Damn. Damn it all, really, if he was doing a bad job showing Aziraphale that he didn't mind staying here.

“Not goin’ anywhere unless you want me to,” he replies. “M’fine, obviously. Got an angel in my arms, couldn't ask for anything else.”

Aziraphale seems satisfied, humming. It's, once again, replaced by a pained sound that Crowley can't help the frown that fills his face.

He starts his motions on Aziraphale's back up again, feeling how tense Aziraphale is. He slowly massages those tense muscles, because what else can he do, really?

He's not sure it's helping the pain, but it's clearly helping Aziraphale untense. He’s putting a little more weight on Crowley now.

“Oh… oh, thank you,” Aziraphale whispers again, no longer looking at Crowley. His face is tucked into Crowley's neck, his breaths coming in hot and fast.

“S’no problem,” Crowley mumbles, because it really isn't a problem, not when it's Aziraphale. “Just wish I could do more.”

“I know, dear. That makes the two of us,” Aziraphale says, and there aren't any more words to be had when he lets out another pained groan.

The entire night, Crowley spends it in relative worry. Especially since the pain wasn't fading into the little less of an ache that Aziraphale had been able to walk on for weeks.

When Aziraphale talks, it's often with more breath than it should be. Less of his voice and more of the pained noises he's making, but he's still talking. Crowley thinks that's a good sign.

“What does it feel like?” he eventually asks when the aches seem to taper off a bit, but it's obvious it's still there. 

Aziraphale isn't holding onto Crowley like he's a lifeline at the moment, so he can only hope that riding it out together is helping.

“It feels like a bunch of things at once,” Aziraphale replies, his voice a small, weak thing. “Do you remember when you were shot with arrows after we formed our arrangement?”

Oh, shit. “Yeah, hurt like Hell. You healed me, though,” Crowley replies. He frowns, though, knowing that it hurt so bad he couldn't focus on the fact that Aziraphale was helping him back then. “You– it's like that?”

Aziraphale hums, letting out a shaky sigh. “Yes, but there is some burning as well. A-and a bunch of needles prickling me. It's quite confusing, all I know is that I ache.”

Crowley nods, tucking Aziraphale closer to his body. He knows now, that Aziraphale's been aching for a long time, and he won't let him handle this pain alone when he so clearly wants to have a certain demon nearby to help him.

Crowley doesn't realize his dozing off in the middle of the night, mostly because the bed is warm and the angel he's holding is warm, too. It's far too comfortable for him to keep his eyes open, and he thinks he feels a slight wet pressure on the crook of his neck when his breath evens out.

Nonetheless, he sleeps.

He wakes up when it's early in the morning, blinking his eyes open as he tries to understand why he's laying on a bed softer than his own.

Crowley narrows his eyes at the lump of angel he's holding onto a few centimeters away from him, a bit confused. When had Aziraphale gotten here? And, where the hell was he?

He blinks rapidly to make the sleepy blur of his vision go away, and looks at how Aziraphale is curled up next to him. His knees are touching Crowley's stomach, and he groans quietly into his pillow, his lips slightly parted as he breathes rather heavily.

Crowley’s eyes widen, the previous day coming back to him. Oh, shit, he didn’t mean to fall asleep. He wanted to stay up with Aziraphale, but he looks down and realizes that Aziraphale fell asleep at some point, too.

He frowns, knowing that Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to do such a thing. Crowley moves some of Aziraphale’s curls away from his face, letting out a sigh when Aziraphale doesn’t stir. All he does is groan a bit, obviously still in pain, but he’s otherwise unconscious for now.

Well, Crowley isn’t a guardian, but he can try to be one for now. He’s seen Aziraphale guard humans and also a particular demon who was just a touch reckless, so he knows what it looks like, to protect those you love.

Crowley realizes that Aziraphale’s arms are around his stomach, as if he was feeling slightly sick at some point in the night, before his sleep. Crowley only sighs, he really regrets not staying up last night.

He watches as Aziraphale puts his face in the pillow again, his breathing uneven as he starts to sweat a bit more. Crowley continues to stroke his hair, feeling Aziraphale melt into the touch every single time he does so. 

He wonders if Aziraphale knows what he’s doing. Perhaps he just wasn’t thinking too much of it like Crowley was, but still. Was he aware of it? Did he know just how warm it made Crowley feel?

Aziraphale starts to stir, his eyes fluttering open slowly as they look around the room. Crowley watches as he goes through the same thoughts of confusion he had when he woke up. It seems they were both disoriented.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asks, his eyes shifting to Crowley’s face. He has a small smile on his face, which Crowley feels glad to see. 

“G’morning,” he greets, scooting closer to Aziraphale. He gestures towards Aziraphale’s leg with his head. “As bad as yesterday? D’you need help with anything?”

Aziraphale glances down, sighing. “Yes… it appears I’ll be staying here much longer.” Aziraphale starts to wring his hands together, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks back up. “Dear, I’m not so helpless in this state. I just ache.”

Oops, he hadn’t meant it that way. “I know, angel, s’just… I worry.” A lot. So much more than you’ll ever know.

Aziraphale’s expression softens, wincing slightly as he tries to move closer to Crowley. “Oh, dearest, please don’t worry. As I’ve said, your being here helps immensely.”

Crowley is glad that his presence is enough to soothe Aziraphale. As long as it is so, he will stay.

He doesn’t think he feels like leaving Aziraphale again, really. Thinking about how Aziraphale was discorporated in his absence was quite difficult. Feeling that grief, and now knowing the extent of it all was all weighing down on him a bit.

Something must show on his face, because despite the sweat that’s rapidly building up on the angel’s forehead, Aziraphale’s expression softens even more. How could it be possible, that he could even be softer?

“Crowley, I don’t mean to pry, but do tell me what you’re thinking about,” Aziraphale requests, almost panting now. “I… I’ll listen. I always will, dear.”

Crowley can’t help but smile a little bit. “S’fine, angel. Just thinking about how… fuck, it was difficult. Y’know, grieving you and havin’ to save the world at the same time. And knowing what happened… I should’ve been there, y’know. What if I left to Alpha Centauri?”

Aziraphale purses his lips. “You wouldn’t have. I know you wouldn’t leave Earth like this, dearest—”

“I was going to, angel. I was gonna leave all this shit behind, I’m not as righteous as you want me to be,” he snaps, because he would’ve. Fuck it all to Heaven, he would’ve left this all behind. Hell, Aziraphale had seen him practically defeated in the bar. 

“I’m not asking you for that, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, his voice firm. “You didn’t leave, and I’m not sure why, but the reason has nothing to do with righteousness. I’m telling you, dear, that I know you wouldn’t leave this behind when you were the one that convinced me this was worth saving.”

He did, hadn’t he? But, he knew deep down that Aziraphale would save the world even without any of his convincing. 

That was just who Aziraphale was, even if it was God’s ineffable plan to have all of this go to ruin. 

Aziraphale lets out a small sigh, tensing as Crowley sees another wave of pain flow through him. “Please, believe me when I tell you that there was nothing else you could’ve done. You’ve helped so much more than you’ll know. So much more than I can tell you,” Aziraphale whispers, his eyes downcast as he scoots even closer.

Crowley takes this for what it is, gathering Aziraphale into his arms and pressing him close to his chest. He feels Aziraphale relax into the embrace, putting his arms around Crowley’s waist. 

“I believe you,” Crowley says, because they did all they could to stop Armageddon, couldn’t they? 

And, even if Aziraphale couldn’t exactly convey how much he’s helped, Crowley can feel it in every smile and every touch that the angel gives him.

“Good,” Aziraphale breathes, before groaning again. “Oh, dear… this is quite– quite a dilemma.”

“What is?” Crowley asks, feeling Aziraphale’s warm, heavy breaths on his skin.

“It’s a bit more painful than yesterday,” Aziraphale mumbles, and it’s a bit muffled by how hard Aziraphale is pressing his face against Crowley’s chest. “I hope you don’t mind staying longer, my dear.”

“Never will,” Crowley says, not wasting a beat. “S’long as you want me here, angel.”

Aziraphale hums, tightening his grasp on Crowley’s waist. “Please don’t leave,” he whispers. Crowley feels like there’s something else that Aziraphale isn’t saying, but he isn’t sure what. 

“Don’t think you can get rid of me that easily. M’staying here until you get sick of me,” Crowley says, which makes Aziraphale giggle.

Aziraphale lets out another pained sound, but Crowley hears his small, whispered, “Never will,” and it has to be enough for them. 

This has to be enough for them to get through this.

There are a lot of hard days where Aziraphale is essentially bedridden, and there are a lot of days where the pain is bearable enough for Aziraphale to walk. 

All of those days start with a phone call, and end with a demon and an angel either snuggled in the flat or laying together on the sofa.

When Aziraphale doesn't feel well enough to move but wants to go to St James’s Park or just wants to be outside, Crowley does the Next Best Thing to make him smile.

In the wonderful world of live streaming, there is a twenty-four hour duck stream where ducks flutter about in a giant pond. 

Crowley shows it to Aziraphale when he's incredibly put out, and Aziraphale visibly brightens. 

He gets very excited about seeing the ducks, cooing about when they interact with each other or are enjoying themselves greatly. He never asks about the technology, as he just wants to see the ducks swim around, and he's very happy to see it. 

Crowley knew Aziraphale would like it, because of course he would. They were very cute ducks.

Aziraphale flutters around the bookshop on days where he doesn't feel like he can brave the outside world, and Crowley doesn't ever stray far. 

He picks up takeaway when the angel feels peckish, and when Aziraphale wants Crowley to tend to the Bentley because dearest, she must be feeling lonely, he does so. He's never too far, he was always a call away.

They're free now, after all. They could do whatever they pleased. Which, of course, meant that Crowley could gift Aziraphale with whatever his heart desires.

He's given Aziraphale chocolates many times, and he's always rather pleased whenever Aziraphale takes the chocolate in his haste and starts picking away at it. 

But, well, now he has something else in mind. He figures he'd ask the angel about it first, but he wants to do something that will help Aziraphale get around when he's not in too much pain to move, but is still in a struggle to do so.

“You… you want to buy me a cane?” Aziraphale asks while they're sitting on the sofa, his voice full of wonder as he closes his book. “Dearest, that… I would love it, but, oh, they can be rather expensive, and—”

“Money’s not an issue, angel, honest. If you think it’ll help, I’ll buy one for you. S’no trouble,” he says, catching Aziraphale’s gaze as he sits up a little straighter.

Aziraphale hums, and he places a hand on Crowley’s arm as if it was the most casual thing in the world. “If it's not too much trouble, dearest…”

“It’s not,” he confirms. Not for Aziraphale, nothing would be too much trouble for him.

Aziraphale smiles, nodding his agreement. “Then, I leave the selection up to you,” he says, patting Crowley's arm before returning it to the book on his lap.

“Me? Aren’t you worried I’d choose a particularly evil looking one? What happened to your standards?” he asks teasingly, watching as Aziraphale looks at him affronted.

“Don’t you start, Crowley. I know you wouldn’t give me one that looks evil– whatever that means. You are a fashionable demon, after all,” Aziraphale says, all prissy and proper. “Plus, humans are very good with their woodwork, don’t you think? I remember yours from 1862, it was impressive.”

Crowley notes that Aziraphale mentions woodwork, and stuffs it to the back of his brain for later. A wooden cane is probably what Aziraphale preferred, then. 

He doesn’t say you’re the impressive one, angel, even though he wants to. It’s completely unrelated to the topic at hand, why was he even thinking that? Instead, he says, “Leave it to me,” and they leave the conversation at that, opting to talk about dinner.

The next day, Aziraphale tells him that he’s going to open the shop. It gives Crowley some time to go out and buy some lunch, along with a cane. 

The bookshop is open every so often, but it’s as sporadic as Aziraphale’s hours before Armageddon. Aziraphale still limps around, but the smile he gives Crowley before he leaves tells him that the aches are bearable, and that he will be fine.

So, Crowley drives over a few blocks to get some sandwiches for their lunch. Usually, when the shop is open, Aziraphale likes to indulge in long lunch breaks to savor his food, as he says. 

Crowley does not think that he just wants to lessen the time he sees his customers, of course.

After he picks up the sandwiches, he saunters over to the shop next to the sandwich eatery, walking in to find multiple crafts made of wood scattered throughout the room. Perfect, he was sure to find something here.

He wanders around the shop, seeing a bunch of various trinkets that he assumes humans were fond of making. There were a lot of them, and there were an awful lot of clocks. They were really nice, though. They looked a lot like the grandfather clock in the bookshop.

Then, he sees a particular cane in the corner of the shop. He rushes over to it, eyes widening as he looks at the handle. “Oh, angel, you’re going to love this,” Crowley says to himself, grinning as he examines the handle of the cane.

It was a beautiful carving of an angel wing, looking very much like the real wings that he’s seen on Aziraphale. Oh, shit, it was perfect. Positively perfect.

He purchases it, and makes his way to the bookshop. He returns about thirty minutes after their specific lunch time, because he has to be a little mischievous and keep Aziraphale on his toes, and practically slams the doors open in anticipation.

Crowley places his glasses on the horse in front of the shop as usual, smiling to himself as he sees Aziraphale sitting at his desk rather undisturbed.

The cane is hidden on his back, and he’s holding their sandwiches in his left hand. He’s hoping for a rather good lunch, and that Aziraphale is in good spirits right now. Any customers that don’t leave would get a small nudge away, of course, because it was lunch time.

“Angel!” he shouts, as he always does. “Got the sandwiches you wanted!”

Aziraphale’s head perks up from where he’s sitting at his desk, smiling oh so sweetly up at Crowley. “Oh, welcome back, my dear!” he exclaims, standing up as he sees Crowley wave the bag around.

“Back room?” Crowley asks, to which Aziraphale nods happily. 

The two of them make their way to the room, Aziraphale happily chatting about his morning. Aziraphale seems to be happy, despite the pain that he’s feeling as he limps ever so slightly to the table.

“I got a new shipment from an auction today,” Aziraphale tells him as they sit down, opening his sandwich bag. “There were a bunch of first edition books I never got the chance to acquire, you know. I have a new edition of Casino Royale, too!”

“That’s great. What were you doin’ at the desk, then, if you weren’t shelving them?” Crowley asks, taking a rather big bite of his sandwich. 

He needs some food in his nervous stomach, honestly. He knows Aziraphale will enjoy the cane, but that doesn’t really stop the very low chance that he won’t.

Aziraphale smiles at him, waving a finger around. “If you must know, dear, I was drawing. I was waiting for you, of course. You very well know my lunch starts earlier than this.”

Drawing, hm? He’s never truly looked at any of Aziraphale's drawings, he’s only seen them in passing. “Ooh, angel, you have to show me later.”

At that, Aziraphale turns slightly pink. Oh, that was interesting. He looks away in… embarrassment? “Perhaps– ah, maybe tomorrow. I need to finish it first.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow at the reaction, though, putting his elbow on the table so he can lean his chin on his hand. “Finish it, hm? Is it a naughty drawing?”

Aziraphale almost drops his sandwich, his mouth agape. “Oh, honestly! It isn’t naughty at all, you– you silly demon,” Aziraphale says, but his face gets even more pink.

Crowley can’t help but continue teasing him, giving Aziraphale a sideways grin. “Silly demon? You’re the one drawing rather naughty things in your sketchbooks, reading erotica—”

“Please, you have a statue of two angels who are definitely not wrestling in your flat. I am hardly doing anything naughty,” Aziraphale interrupts, putting his sandwich down in favor of crossing his arms. “Do not talk to me about naughty things.”

“Then, what did you draw that you don’t want to tell me, hm? I can handle naughty things, angel, that statue is in view of me everyday,” he says, and Aziraphale only looks at him in exasperation. Oh, how he loves to rile the angel up.

“If you must know, you indecorous demon, it’s you,” Aziraphale says, hiding his face as it heats up even more. “I- I drew you.”

Crowley’s eyes widen, his lips parting. “You– you what?”

Aziraphale puts his hands down, letting out a small breath. “I drew you, yes? Alright? Let’s get back to eating, much to talk about.” He grabs the sandwich again, and takes a big bite.

Crowley can only stare, because Aziraphale. Drew. Him? Honestly, he’s incredibly flattered that Aziraphale would do such a thing. He’s acutely aware that he’s probably blushing, because his face feels rather hot. 

“I don’t mind being your muse, angel,” he says, and he means to tease. He really does, but it sounds a bit like flirting which Crowley is definitely not doing. Not at all.

Aziraphale smiles at that, though, his gaze back on Crowley’s face. “Oh, that’s… well, you’ve always been my muse.”

If he thought Aziraphale couldn’t surprise him even more, he does it again and again. Shit, always? He’s always been Aziraphale’s muse? Aziraphale’s source for artistic inspiration, that was him?

Crowley stammers a bit, opening and closing his mouth as he tries to form words. “I– er, ngk, mmnnnyeah. Really?” he asks, eating another big bite of the sandwich in his hand. 

Aziraphale was actually going to be the death of him, he was sure of it.

“Of course, you are a magnificent being. I can’t imagine anyone else being my muse,” Aziraphale says, rather matter-of-factly. 

Gosh, does he know? Does he know just how much of a lovable bastard he was being? Crowley is almost certain he does, but he isn’t sure. 

He’s also almost certain that when Aziraphale shows him the drawing, he’s going to discorporate. Just knowing the fact that he was the inspiration— fuck. Fuck, Aziraphale was going to make him melt into a puddle of demon from all of this.

Crowley watches as Aziraphale finishes his sandwich, grinning up at Crowley. “Well! Would you care to share a glass of wine with me, dearest? I find that being slightly tipsy helps me to deal with customers. Don’t tell them that, though.”

“Oh, you really are a naughty angel, aren’t you?” Crowley teases, wiping his mouth with a tissue. Though, this seemed to be a good time to, well, give Aziraphale his gift. “Wouldn’t ever say no to wine. But…”

He snaps, which brings the cane into his hand. He slowly looks up to Aziraphale’s face, who is staring between Crowley and the cane with his eyebrows raised. “Erm, got you the cane,” he mumbles, thrusting it in Aziraphale’s direction.

Aziraphale grabs it slowly, his breath hitching as he takes it in. “Oh… oh, Crowley… this is so gorgeous. The wings, it’s beautiful! Oh, you shouldn’t have, you darling thing,” Aziraphale says, wiping tears out of his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just such a kind gesture—”

“M’not kind, just wanted to give you it. Nothin’ else to it, alright?” Crowley interrupts, noting how Aziraphale is sniffling. He miracles a handkerchief, handing it over to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale gratefully takes it, blowing his nose. He’s glad that Aziraphale likes the cane, the tears a clear sign of how much he appreciates it. 

Crowley isn’t used to accepting the angel’s thanks, so he helps Aziraphale deal with his emotions to show that he's received the thanks in full.

He does enjoy seeing Aziraphale happy. Crowley feels a rush of excitement rush through him, knowing just how much Aziraphale felt grateful to have this. Aziraphale tended to show his emotions through his human corporation, so seeing it now just solidified how ecstatic he was.

Aziraphale is actively missing his tears with the handkerchief, so Crowley makes a grabbing motion with his hands when he looks up at him. 

Aziraphale places the handkerchief in Crowley’s hand, and Crowley leans over to wipe the tears away.

Aziraphale looks up at him, his eyes full of wonder as Crowley slowly pats them away. He tries not to look at the beautiful things, but he can’t help it. Christ, Aziraphale was going to actually be the end of him. 

A grin fills Aziraphale’s face once they make eye contact, and Crowley expects him to thank him again. It would make sense, since Crowley cut him off.

However, Aziraphale puts the cane on the floor with his left hand, opposite of where the burn on his leg is, and stands up. 

His eyes light up as he puts some of his weight onto the cane, and he makes his way over to where Crowley is sitting. 

Of course, the cane won't take the pain away, but it’ll help with walking. Which, was why Aziraphale seemed to be satisfied with it.

His face is sparkling with excitement and happiness, and Crowley thinks this is a good look on Aziraphale. He deserves to be happy all the time, he thinks.

“Thank you ever so much, my dear,” Aziraphale whispers, and he kisses Crowley’s cheek.

Crowley feels like he’s flying. What. What was happening? His face heats up as he looks up at Aziraphale, who smiles down at him in the sweetest way he’s ever seen anyone look. His mouth is slightly open, because he doesn’t know what to say. What does he even do?

What do you do when a sweet angel walks up to you and kisses you? Crowley is at a loss, honestly.

Aziraphale giggles, like the sweet thing he is. “Let’s have a drink now, hm? And, if the pain doesn’t get any worse, we can go on a short walk outside after I close later. We can visit the other shops here on Whickber Street. I’d rather not push myself since it still hurts, you understand if we build up walking to the park, yes?”

Who was Crowley to deny that? “S-Sounds good,” he says, still reeling from the kiss. Just. Woah. 

The angel kissed him, what is he supposed to do? He’s not even sure he’s functioning right now, honestly.

But, he refuses to let Aziraphale gain the last laugh here. He stands up, kissing Aziraphale’s temple. “Let me get the drinks,” Crowley drawls, watching Aziraphale bring his free hand up to touch the spot he just kissed. Oh, the sweet thing, honestly. 

“I– o-oh, yes. Meet you on the sofa?” Aziraphale asks, looking up at him with what Crowley can only assume is love and adoration.

He nods, smiling as he parts ways with Aziraphale to go to his kitchen. He hears the little pattering of Aziraphale’s footsteps and the cane, and he’s looking forward to the rest of their time together today.

The pain doesn’t go away, and the hard days don’t go away. The nice days don’t go away either. 

There are a lot of cold packs in Aziraphale’s freezer now, and there are also electric candles and a candelabra that lines the bookshop walls. There are fire extinguishers in Aziraphale’s closet, alongside dozens of his older clothes.

And, there is Crowley’s coat hanging alongside Aziraphale’s linen one on the coat rack. There’s a small, crimson satin blanket that lays on Aziraphale’s sofa, and there’s a special little place near the only window in the flat for a tiny houseplant to lay on.

Crowley wouldn’t have it any other way, really. He knows Aziraphale wouldn’t, either. After all, how could he give this fragile, precious life he had with Aziraphale for anything else?

He grabs the wine, and makes his way to his awaiting angel on the sofa.