Chapter Text
Crowley hated the fourteenth century.
One of the nice things about Time, Crowley always said, was that it was steadily taking him further away from the fourteenth century.
He enjoyed Torment and Sorrow as much as the next demon, but this...this seemed a bit much.
He walked out of the latest house of victims, pulling the beaked mask from his face. Needed a breath of fresh air after that, the stench of Death was becoming far too overwhelming.
Speaking of, Crowley didn't think he'd ever seen the man so happy.
Death and Pestilence worked hand in hand, now more than ever. Somehow they concocted a disease so deadly, so volatile, so malignant and grotesque, that, once afflicted, the human body could succumb to failure within half a day of exposure to it.
A condition so severe its name was simply Death.
After a few clear breaths (not that he needed to, but old habits, you know), he replaced the mask over his face, once again inhaling the gentle scent of lavender and sharp mint. Apparently someone, somewhere, determined those particular plants good for keeping sickness at bay.
He walked to the small village's church, little more than a rectangular building with a few rows of pews and a small pulpit. Nowadays it served as a different sort of sanctuary, the benches pushed aside in favor of cots and bedrolls, a sort of infirmary for those who hadn't yet been holed up in their homes. Once he arrived, he just stood silently outside the door. Anyone who questioned why was simply told there wasn't enough space for him to enter without causing trouble.
The doors opened, and a few beaked people in cloaks walked out, all practically indistinguishable from one another. Crowley made a 'psst!' noise to attract the attention of the last doctor in the crowd. When they didn't answer, he cleared his throat. "Doctor Fell."
The beaked figure stopped at that, turning around to stare with empty, dark, round eyes. "...yes?"
Crowley walked over, gently putting a hand on the other's shoulder. Though it was impossible to see, the touch said it all. He was trembling.
Just as I thought.
"Come with me a moment...I think we could use a break." He studied Aziraphale, trying to gauge his reaction, but the masks proved such a task impossible. He was more relieved than he'd like to admit when the other beak bobbed up and down in a nod.
Crowley took his hand and gently led him down the silent, empty streets, all the way to a now-abandoned vineyard at the edge of town. He sat down in a shaded spot amongst the vines, and pulled down the mask and hood. His auburn hair fell behind him in a loose ponytail, and he tossed the beaked face aside.
Aziraphale was silent, but eventually sat down next to him. He carefully took the mask off, then pulled his knees to his chest.
They sat in somber silence for a while, and eventually Crowley pulled a cluster of grapes from a nearby vine. While on the plant they looked a bit underripe, and far too sour, but by the time they were in front of him they were plump and purple. He plucked one and tossed it in his mouth, then held it out to Aziraphale. The angel hesitated, and he sighed. "Th' field's been abandoned...the owner already died...'s'not theft if it was gonn' go bad anyway." Aziraphale seemed satisfied with that argument, and held his gloved hand out to take them.
The silence stretched until crickets and frogs chirped in gentle harmonies, and the sun sank over the horizon. The first few stars dared to peek over the sky's veil. Each of the pair had a few bunches of grapes while they sat, simply basking in the other's company.
Just before the moon made her entrance, Crowley let out a long sigh and turned to Aziraphale. "....'s'not your fault, Angel."
Aziraphale flinched at the words, and he opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Tears stung his eyes, and all he felt he could do was lean to one side, laying his head on the demon's shoulder. Crowley nodded, putting an arm around him in a gentle embrace.
"What have they done to deserve this?" He finally whispered, his voice breaking. "How could they have possibly angered Her this much, that they all have to die?" He was shaking more now, and Crowley just held him tighter.
"...im afraid that's just how it'll be sometimes, Angel. 'S'outside our control, unfortunately." Crowley did his best to keep his tone gentle. If he wasn't careful, this was going to end in an angry rant to the Heavens. No one wanted that.
Aziraphale shook his head. "I've been healing as many as I can...but they deteriorate so quickly...its been impossible to remain on top of it all..."
They had shifted by now, the angel cradled carefully in Crowley's arms. "I know."
"It seems that every time I try to help, I'm always just barely too late."
"I know."
"They're innocent, they don't deserve something like this."
"I know, Angel."
Aziraphale finally choked out a sob, and Crowley was certain he'd never heard anything so devastating before. His heart ached in a way he couldn't quite place.
"The last one I tended to....it was a little girl. A child, Crowley." He sounded so desperate, so shaken by what he had seen. "The sores had already taken her beyond my ability to help...and- and she just...she kept asking me when it would stop hurting..." his voice was little more than a whisper. "...I told her the truth. 'Soon,' I had said, much as I didn't want to. I wished to tell her it would be alright, that it would be better...but...you know how I feel about lying..." he shook his head. "So I did a smaller Miracle...told her to close her eyes...and dream of whatever she liked best." Fresh tears spilled over his cheeks. "I've never killed anything before, Crowley....but what else was I meant to do...?"
Crowley sighed. "...y'didn't. Not really. You gave her peace. She was heading there anyway...letting her sleep through it was the best thing you could've done, I think..."
"It- it felt so...wrong, though...letting her fall away....and practically doing nothing for it." His fingers curled into fists, the leather of the gloves creaking under the pressure. He flinched. "....I felt her grow cold in my hands...and could do nothing but watch, only praying that the pain faded." He shook his head.
"...you did your best, Angel...thats what matters," Crowley said softly, wrapping his arms tighter around him.
He felt shaky arms around his back eventually, Aziraphale clinging to his slender form and sobbing quietly into his shoulder. The angel's cries echoed across the vineyard, fading into the skies and meshing with the chirps of the crickets in a grieving song.
Crowley held on to him tightly, looking up at the sky. He felt...angry. Angry with the World, for being so awful...Angry with Death and Pestilence, for being the cause of such severe suffering...Angry with God, for letting this all happen...and Angry at Himself, for not knowing how to fix things. For not being able to help. For feeling so...useless.
He wasn't quite sure who to be upset with for making the angel cry.
Aziraphale wiped his eyes, sniffling and sitting up. "...I...I should be okay, now..."
Crowley sighed. "...you've been under a lot lately. You need rest."
"I don't sleep..."
"I didn't say sleep. I said rest. You're exhausted. I don't think I've ever seen you this tired before...not to mention this miserable. You need a break." Crowley frowned, gently taking hold of Aziraphale's hands.
The angel frowned, sorrow returning to his expression. "But...those people...they still need help..."
"And so do you, it seems." He shook his head. "You've already helped the humans way more than your assignment requires. Besides, at this rate you're going to work yourself to discorporation. I'm-" his voice caught in his throat. "I'm...worried. Ab- about you." He tried to ignore the sudden flush of heat in his cheeks, and looked away.
Aziraphale sighed. "And...I suppose there's no talking you out of this?"
The slight pull of a smile tugged at the demon's lips. "Angel, in all the time you've known me, have I ever been anything other than a stubborn bastard?"
His companion responded with a weak smile of his own. "...no, I suppose not."
Crowley grinned. "Lets go, then. I think I know just the place." He grabbed his mask and gloves and stood up.
Aziraphale nodded, following suit. As he stood, his stance swayed slightly, and Crowley reached out. "...you alright, Angel?"
"Hm? Oh...yes, I'm alright, Crowley...just...a touch dizzy, all of a sudden...give me a moment."
Crowley frowned. "...you're absolutely pallid, are you sure you're feeling okay?"
Aziraphale smiled. "Yes, of course, my dear boy...I just...perhaps I should...sit down..."
He took a step, then stumbled, falling forward against Crowley. He looked ghostly, his skin flushed and pale and hot to the touch. The demon caught him, a colorful string of curses falling from his lips.
"Angel? Angel, talk to me! Shit! Angel, say something! Wake up! Aziraphale !"