Work Text:
2500 BC
“Well, that makes it official,” Crawley declared, hand still on Aziraphale’s sweaty brow. “You, my fine feathered friend, are sick.”
“I can’t be sick,” Aziraphale bemoaned in the congested tones of one who is officially sick. “Angels can’t get sick.”
“Oh, you can.”
“No, we can’t!” Aziraphale waved a hand weakly. “It’s part of the… the… we have bodies!”
Crawley blinked. “You wot.”
“Bodies!” Aziraphale repeated, more urgently.
“Yes. Yes, Angel. You do, in fact, have a body.”
“Yes.”
Crawley sat and peeled the sweaty blanket off Aziraphale. “You have a very sick body.”
“No!” Pouting, Aziraphale tried to smack Crawley’s hand away. He missed and hit himself in the shoulder. “It’s… celestial. I have… celestial bodies.”
“You have multiple bodies?”
“No! The… angels.”
“The angels have celestial bodies?” Crawley miracled a wet cloth and draped it across Aziraphale’s fevered brow. “Including you?”
Aziraphale nodded, then went into a sneezing fit. Once recovered, he mumbled, “Yes. Celestial bodies… can’t get sick.”
“Right. Well, unfortunately for you, you’ve also got an Earthly body.” Making a face, Crawley glanced across the angel. His sweaty robe clung to his soft curves. Every bit of exposed skin had gone red. “Your Earthly body is extremely fucking sick.”
“You shouldn’t… swear. It’s bad for you.”
Crawley snorted. “I’m not the one who got sick. See, this is what happens when you stress yourself you trying to save everyone.”
A confused frown rumpled Aziraphale’s face. “Saved everyone together.”
That was a sore spot. Demons absolutely weren’t supposed to save anyone, let alone God’s favorite human and his family. “Shut up.”
Aziraphale’s lip trembled, and he started to cry.
“Oh. Oh, fuck.” Crawley awkwardly patted Aziraphale’s shoulder. The damp robe stuck to his hand. “Hey, don’t do that. Sorry. I won’t tell you to shut up again.”
“No, it’s not that.” Aziraphale sobbed again, a really pitiful little noise. “I just… angels shouldn’t be sick. Gabriel would be so angry with me.”
“S’alright. Gabriel’s angry at anyone who doesn’t live up to his illustrious standards.”
Aziraphale started to cry harder. “I’m an awful failure. I shouldn’t be sick.”
Crawley dropped his head in his hands. It pushed his sunglasses uncomfortably into the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got a body. Just blame the body if that makes you feel better, eh? Major design flaw, being able to get sick.”
“But the Almighty designed it. It can’t be flawed.”
“Tell that to the… thingy in your throat next to the other thingy.” Crawley tried to remember what they were called. But since he hadn’t worked on humans, he quite possibly had never known. “Er. The pipe for food, and the pipe for air. Bloody awful design, putting them next to each other.”
“I don’t want to fight,” Aziraphale sobbed. “I don’t feel well.”
Sighing, Crawley soaked another rag, then wiped away Aziraphale’s sweat. It was sticky and kinda gross, but the poor thing needed someone to take care of him. “I know you don’t. No more philosophical arguments until you feel better, promise.”
Aziraphale gave him a bleary look. “But I like philosophical arguments.”
“Not right now you don’t. Apparently.” Sighing again, Crawley poured a cup of water. “Okay. You should probably drink this, okay?”
Eyes narrowed, Aziraphale tried to shrink away. “What is it? I… I shan’t allow you to tempt me to drunkenness, you evil fiend!”
“Really rude thing to say to someone trying to take care of you.” Crawley dipped his finger in the water and held his hand above Aziraphale’s mouth. A drop of water splashed against his chapped lips. “There, see? Not wine. Are you convinced I’m not trying to corrupt or murder you yet?”
Aziraphale licked his lips. “I suppose. But are you lying? You said demons lie.”
Crawley actually barely ever lied to Aziraphale, barring exceptional circumstances. “About what?”
“Me being sick.”
“Really?” Crawley touched his cheek, the skin still hot. Not quite as bad as it had been earlier, which was good. Maybe the cool cloth was helping. “Do you feel like the paragon of health?”
Aziraphale considered it. He shook his head. “Not really. I-I do feel sick, in fact. But celestial bodies.”
“But Earthly body.” Crawley lifted Aziraphale’s head enough that he could drink, then eased him back to the pillow. “Look, I know you’re all angelically resistant to needing help or whatever. But will you just let me help you? You need it.”
Hesitating again, Aziraphale eyed him. Finally, he nodded. “I would appreciate it. I don’t feel well.”
“I’m aware.” Crawley dampened another cloth, then took Aziraphale’s hand and squeezed. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you, get you all better in no time.”
“Oh.” Aziraphale smiled at him. “You’re very kind.”
“I’m a demon. I’m not kind,” Crawley muttered, gently bathing Aziraphale’s face.