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When Aziraphale had last seen Crowley, he’d told the demon to be careful. But that had been nearly a year ago, and now the age of piracy was in full swing, no doubt thanks to Crowley’s influence on the high seas.
Aziraphale ventured deeper into the bowels of the ship, lantern swinging idly back and forth with each wary step, causing the rats hiding below deck to scatter as soon as the dim light touched them.
Crowley was down here somewhere. He could feel the familiar thrum of the demon’s presence, stronger here than it had been upstairs. But even so, he wasn’t able to distinguish which direction it was coming from.
That is, until one of the rats—a brave doe with dark, beady eyes—cautiously stepped out of the shadows.
“Hello there,” Aziraphale smiled hopefully. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have seen my friend—er, I mean, any dastardly pirates down here, have you?”
The rat squeaked, then darted off into the darkness.
“Oh,” Aziraphale wilted, smile dimming. Although Crowley had never seemed to have any trouble with it, perhaps it had been silly of him to bother asking a rodent for help.
Sighing, he held his lantern up higher. Besides a few cannons, barrels, and crates of stolen cargo, there really wasn’t much down here. Nevertheless, he pushed on deeper, and soon came upon a row of rusted iron bars that made up the brig.
And there, chained up to the far wall, laying motionless beside a puddle of vomit, was Crowley.
“Crowley!” After banishing the chains, Aziraphale hurried inside and knelt down at Crowley’s side. He was still breathing, which was a good sign. But even so, it appeared extremely labored and wet. “Can you hear me, dear fellow?”
“‘Ziraphale?” Crowley managed to turn his head towards the sound of the angel’s voice, groaning softly. His eyes were awfully unfocused, with one even appearing well on its way to being swollen shut. “What the deuce are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Aziraphale shot back, brushing his hand through Crowley’s long, matted hair. Then, he relented, “I’m here to break you out of this dreadful place.”
“Uh,” Crowley grunted, squinting against the dim light of the lantern to have a look around. He had always been a touch sensitive to light, but this was ridiculous. “Where’s this place, exactly?”
“You don’t know where you are?” Aziraphale asked, alarmed. Carefully, he shifted through Crowley’s hair, immediately stopping when Crowley hissed in pain. “That’s quite a large bump you have, and I’d wager you have quite a nasty concussion as well. Does it hurt?”
“Yes, it bloody well hurts,” Crowley snapped. His whole entire body was throbbing in agony, nausea rising uncomfortably up his throat. But he swallowed it back down, knowing that puking would just make everything so much worse. “Can you fix it?”
“Ah. About that,” Aziraphale winced sheepishly. “You see, Gabriel reprimanded me for frivolous miracles again last month, and—”
“Wait, you mean to tell me that wanker was upset ‘cause you spared a quarter of London from being burnt to a crisp during that great bloody fire?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say he was very enthusiastic about it,” Aziraphale huffed. “Anyhow, Heaven has been keeping an eye on me ever since, and I’d rather not give them another reason to check in.”
Although Crowley didn’t have nearly enough energy or focus to heal himself at the moment, he could see how it definitely wasn’t a great idea to risk having Aziraphale push it. “Probably for the best, yeah.”
“But I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if I popped us back to the bookshop,” Aziraphale offered. “Unless you’d prefer to stay at an inn?”
“Bookshop’s fine.”
“Jolly good, that settles it then. Can you stand?”
“Yeah,” Crowley grunted, head spinning. In truth, he wasn’t quite sure if he could, but admitting it felt like weakness. “Just... gonna need a moment.”
“That’s alright, dear fellow. There’s no need to rush.” Aziraphale held him steady as he trembled. “Slowly, now. That’s it. You’re doing splendidly.”
“Hnrk.” With a grunt, Crowley finally managed to get to his feet. His knees immediately buckled, but Aziraphale caught him before he could fall. “Cheers for the rescue, by the way.”
“All part of the Arrangement,” Aziraphale beamed, adjusting his grip. “After all, you’ve gotten me out of plenty of jams in the past.”
“It’s not a contest.” Crowley leaned heavily against him, biting back another wave of nausea as the world spun. “Plus, I like rescuing you.”
“I know you do,” Aziraphale admitted, wrapping an arm around Crowley's waist for additional support. “But I like returning the favor every once in a while.”
And before Crowley could protest, Aziraphale snapped them back to London and settled Crowley into bed.