Archive of Our Own

It had been an incredibly long day. For Aziraphale, at least. It seemed to drag on to a frustrating degree, lagging far behind the angel’s desire to progress, to get day’s deeds and and the day itself done and over with. The nagging feeling raced throughout him. It fidgeted inside of him, as if it couldn’t remain still.

The restlessness was not the only thing plaguing him. He had thoughts sticking into his mind like needles. It was hard to rid himself of them, so he had decided he would simply ignore them and carry on.

He carried on with his work, performing miracles left and right. Helping a little girl find her father after she got lost in a crowd. Heeling the aching wounds of someone who had been hurt during a sporting event. Inspiring somebody who he had sensed was filled with self doubt and anxiety. Just little things. But they helped people. He was helping people. It was a good thing, he was good, he was an angel. An angel deserving of his post. He earned his title. He had to continue to maintain his performance to keep it. For Heaven’s sake. For God’s sake. For his own sake.

Aziraphale had been busy with this endeavor throughout the day. Miracle for him, for her, for them, for everybody. Anybody who needed it. That was what it was to be an angel! Doing good! Doing as he should. Oh, lord. Those needles stuck further into his mind. He needed to keep going. Keep helping. Keep doing better.

They didn’t retract. Even at the end of the achingly long day, when Aziraphale decided to return to his bookshop. Just for a bit. Just for a cup of tea, maybe some leftover cake from Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death.

He walked into his bookshop, and promptly settled himself with his tea, a book, and a strawberry tart. As he held the tea in his hands, its warmth offered a sense of tranquility. It didn’t last; the feeling was drained from him by those needles.

Not enough. A little more. He could always do a little more. Had he done enough?

Oh, surely he could take a moment. He must’ve done plenty. Aziraphale thought so. But, what if? There was always that “if”. How long was it before his next performance review? Before Micheal, Gabriel, and Uriel summoned him to dissect his good deeds throughout the past year? To offer him a brief congratulations, before starting to pick apart his mistakes? Before they showed him every misstep? Every missed miracle, every job not done to perfection, as an angel should do it? Every way in which he didn’t quite measure up to God’s other servants, some of which were of a lower rank than he?

That yearly reminder had spurned his efforts throughout the day. Kept him from faltering, helped Aziraphale to bury himself in his work, if only to ignore the threat of that reminder that stabbed into his mind.

His hand gently shook, slightly disturbing his cup of tea. Aziraphale set it down. He tried to turn his attention toward his book, an original copy of Pride and Prejudice.

The feeling wouldn’t leave him. It simply… nagged, and nagged. Not enough. Could do more. But he started to feel as thought he couldn’t do more. It felt like so much… how much was there to do? How… it was….

It felt as though Aziraphale’s mind was blanking. All of his thoughts seemed to form a mass of worry and confusion, an equivalent to if they had dissipated entirely. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He should get up. Or stay seated. Or just… just… something. He wasn’t sure. His heart pounded and quivered. His stomach began to feel as though it were being sliced from the inside.

Aziraphale willed himself to breathe. He felt woozy. Was he ill? He shouldn’t be, he was an angel after all. Perhaps it was simply an issue with his corporation.

Whatever it was, it was growing into something aweful. Aziraphale broke into a cold sweat, panic spreading through his check. He doubled over, shaking.

He was going to be sick. He might be… he wasn’t sure. But he very well could be sick. The sharp feeling in his stomach was getting worse, and he felt nauseous.

Aziraphale dashed to the bathroom, flung the door shut, and braced himself on the sink. Something in him quivered, and a silent scream pervaded his being. He couldn’t scream aloud. He was choking. He felt as if he was choking. He gasped for air, gripping the sides of the sink tighter.

It was awful. Absolutely horrible. He just wanted it to stop. The pain, the shaking, this… feeling, whatever it was. He wanted to cry. But he couldn’t. He simply stood there, praying he wouldn’t vomit, praying this would go away. Aziraphale shut his eyes; the lights seemed too bright.

___________________________

Crowley pushed the bookshop door open, the eager ring of its bell getting on his nerves. Irritation prickled throughout his body, and he had the makings of a headache. He whipped off his sunglasses, and rubbed his eyes. He was borderline exhausted. The entire day has been spent tempting people left and right. Hell had gotten word of a sudden increase in miracles and good deeds, and quickly grew intimidated. They had sent Crowley to “correct” this issue. It was strange. there was so much goodness going about; it provided a strange aura. It felt “loved”, as Aziraphale would say.

Well, that was done and over with. Crowley looked about in search of Aziraphale. Where was he? Maybe he was still out.

Crowley’s thoughts on the subject were swiftly abated when he saw Aziraphale walk out-

No… not walk out. Stumble out. He stumbled into the front room, looking very pale. It didn’t appear as though he saw Crowley at first. When Aziraphale did see him, he immediately righted himself. Even so, there were hints of panic behind his eyes, and his hands still shook.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley said. His stomach dropped.

“Y-yes?” The angel faltered.

Oh, Hell. Something was definitely wrong. He could easily tell when Aziraphale was pretending to be alright; he had done so several time over the past thousand years. He donned a mask, held himself in a manner of exaggerated confidence, and did not easily drop the disguise.

Now, it didn’t seem as though Aziraphale had donned the disguise in the first place. He was clearly on the verge of breaking. In fact, it seemed as though he had already broken.

“You look like you’re going to faint or something,” Crowley said. “Something’s happened. What happened, Angel?”

Aziraphale was silent.

“I was feeling… unwell… a bit earlier,” he said in a low, even voice that couldn’t quite mask a slight tremble. “I’m a bit better now, I think.”

Think. He thought he was better. This wasn’t good. Anxiety gripped Crowley.

“I simply… had a very long day,” Aziraphale said. He walked over to the nearby end table, and took a sip of tea, clearly pulling on his disguise. He carefully sat down on the sofa, gripping his teacup as his hands gently shook.

Crowley simply stared, deliberating what he should do next.

After a few moments, he decided to sit down next to Aziraphale. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his spread knees, eyes fixed on Aziraphale.

“What happened then?” He asked. “In your day, what’d you do?”

“I had a lot of work to do,” he said, still speaking in an even tone. It very nearly matched his usual manner of speech. “A lot of miracles to perform.” His voice wobbled. “Had to make sure that I turned in a decent performance…”

Aziraphale set down his tea.

“S-so I was quite busy,” his voice grew strained. “L-lots of miracles t-to…”

Realization dawned on Crowley. Those excess miracles… no…

Had Aziraphale worn himself out from performing miracles? He must have, as he was still incredibly pale and had dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Seems like it. You’re not looking good.”

“I-I suppose I am a bit light headed,” Aziraphale admitted.

“Uh huh,” Crowley said doubtfully.

He could see that Aziraphale was, once again, on the edge of breaking. Any second be would spill the truth. Crowley leaned back, legs still spread, now resting on arm on the back of his sofa. He hoped he didn’t look too concerned. Expressing his worry at what was bothering his angel would only put Aziraphale off even more.

“Sounds like a lot of miracles,” he paused, trying to find the one sentance, that one word that would get him to open up. “Got you all worn out. What’d you do it for? Lot of people get themselves in trouble?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Simply doing what I must, as an angel. It’s a very demanding job, keeping the world in order, must always….” He faltered.

Crowley felt his patience run out. Before he could think, before he could stop and remind himself to go easy on the angel, he said,

“I know something’s going on, Angel. Just tell me. Something’s off. You’re sick, or exhausted… look, it’s fine. Just tell me what’s happened!”

“Well, I recently realized…” Aziraphale’s raised his head, not meeting Crowley’s eye, “that I needed to improve myself. That I could stand to do better as an angel.”

A familiar feeling churned inside of Crowley. It was thick, unpleasant, and felt utterly rotten. Had Aziraphale had that Heavenly Performance Review, or whatever it was? Aziraphale had always been a mess after one of those, as his higher ups had always chipped away at his confidence. His happy, passionate, excitable, and overall relaxed nature twisted and formed a being that was nervous and work-obsessed. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. The following year, Aziraphale would build up his confidence, only to have it torn away from his again at the next review. The relentless cycle infuriated Crowley, although he tried not to show it. Aziraphale wouldn’t take well to his criticism of Heaven, although Crowley knew that the angels put far too much pressure on him. Holding him to a stupidly high standard. It made Crowley burn relentlessly, and he tried his damndest not to accidentally catch fire in his moment of anger.

“Who said that. Did you get a note from Heaven? Have that… Review… thing?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. But… there’s nothing wrong with giving it my best! It’s simply my job. Simply what I’m meant to do. And they needn’t tell me how to do my job, or that I should be doing it.”

“I think you do it fine. You help people, you’re kind and all that stuff an angel’s supposed to be,” Crowley tried to assure him.

“I can always help some more,” Aziraphale’s voice was a bit higher than normal. “I can never help too much! As a matter of fact, I was thinking of popping down to the hospital once I’ve finished my tea.”

“Angel, look at yourself. You look halfway to Death’s door, for….” Crowley paused. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’d like to stay, but I have much more work to do! Can’t slip away from my duties,” he said.

“I think you’ve done enough. Any more miracles, all Hell will literally have to break loose just to keep things even.”

Aziraphale bit his lip for a moment, then released it. “A-alright.”

Something was still off. Aziraphale was clearly tense.

“And besides, I can keep going tomorrow!”

“You’ve done a lot, angel,” Crowley said. “I think you could take a whole month off, with all you’ve done.”

“In a perfect world, yes,” the facade was back. “But, never a moment that I couldn’t use to improve the world! And myself.”

“I think you’re fine. Don’t see what there is to improve,”Crowley remarked honestly.

A beat. Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap, and looked directly at Crowley.

“Of course I could improve. Anyone can.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to,” Crowley said.

This seemed to give the angel pause. His face fell a bit, his eyes seemed to subtly flick about. He leaned back, hands still folded.

“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”

Absolute silence.

“Who says you should?”

More silence. Not that Aziraphale needed to say anything. Crowley already knew the answer.

“Tell you what,” Crowley said. “I’ll put something on. TV show, movie, what ever you want,” he gestured to the small tv that they had decided to install when Crowley moved in. “‘N I’ll make… something.”

Aziraphale nodded. “If you’d like, dear. Would you mind reheating my tea? I fear it’s gotten quite cold.”

Crowley stood, took the cup, and said, “‘Course, angel.”

He left for the kitchen, trying his damndest not to stomp out. It was so aggravating. All he wanted was the ability to talk some sense into Aziraphale. No. That wasn’t the problem. He had done that many times over the years, and it worked. For a while, at least. Until the angels got to him again. All of the angels, all of Heaven was utterly toxic. Crowley knew how much pressure they were clearly putting on Aziraphale. He saw how much it hurt his angel. It burned him, it made him want to do something, yell, rant, hurt someone. Crowley could feel a deep, strong urge to protect Aziraphale. If he only could keep him close, if he could shield him from all of Heaven and their… complaints.

If only he could do something. If only Aziraphale could do something. It wasn’t as if he could tell Aziraphale to leave Heaven. After all, the angel would never have it. He would staunchly refuse, and the whole thing could escalate into an argument that Crowley did not want to have.

Besides that, Aziraphale seemed to enjoy being an angel. He liked doing good deeds. Crowley saw how his eyes would light up when he saved someone’s life, helped somebody overcome their challenges, or even brightened their day a little. He could never take that from Aziraphale, nor suggest that he leave it behind. He loved his work, even when it drove him to the edge of a mental break. Even when it caused him such frustration and exhausted. Even if it demolished his self esteem.

As Crowley watched the teacup spin around as it reheated in the microwave, he tried to rid himself of the hopelessness he felt in the pit of his stomach. If only he could do something. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He would simply have to watch his angel rise, before inevitable falling because of something neither of them could control.

Crowley sighed. The least he could do as be there. At least he could help put his angel together again. What else could he do? He couldn’t let Aziraphale suffer. Couldn’t let him break down or destroy himself from overworking.

He returned to Aziraphale with his tea. He sat beside him, and inched closer. Aziraphale seemed to take the hopeful hint, and grew closer, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley’s heart seemed to contract and flutter at the same time. Despite the fact that the two of them had been physically close for a while, the sensations that came with being physically touched felt new and a bit jarring. Even so, it was very nice. It warm and sweet in a way Crowley couldn’t quite describe. He snaked his arm around Aziraphale, lightly holding him. He hoped this would help. He hoped that he could help. He hoped that everything he felt, all the ways he cared about and adored his angel could be expressed through touch. Thinking about it, it sounded silly. Absolutely ridiculous. Despite this, he held Aziraphale a little tighter, wondering if it was the right thing to do. If he should keep holding Aziraphale like this. He seemed to like it, as he snuggled closer to Crowley.

Neither minded the feeling and their closeness, as they stayed that way for the rest of the evening, and fell asleep in a similar manner later that night.