Chapter Text
The first time Aziraphale opened his eyes, he instantly regretted it and - as there seemed to be no very good reason to attempt to maintain consciousness - he slipped gratefully back to oblivion.
The second time he tried it, someone was kneeling beside him, urgently calling his name.
‘Angel, Aziraphale.. AZIRAPH … no, no don’t try to get up yet.’
Thin hands restrained him, gripping his shoulders firmly and holding him down against the hard floor. He fought against a rising tide of panic and struggled to escape the tight grip, trying to twist away from the hands that held him.
‘Wait, you’re injured, calm down. Shit Aziraphale, stop struggling, you’ll make it worse.’
Aziraphale stopped. Not because he wanted to, but because moving hurt and he thought if he carried on he might be sick.
‘Yeah, that’s better. As soon as you feel able to, you need to heal your injuries and then you can move.’
Aziraphale frowned in confusion. ‘Heal?’
‘Yesss!’ There was an unmistakable sense of urgency in the voice. ‘You’re bleeding, you’re concussed and fuck knows what other injuries you have. You have to heal, then we can get a long way away from here.’
‘Er… I don’t quite think…’ Aziraphale began. The blinding pain in his head was making it hard to concentrate. The voice sounded like it was coming from a long way away, out of sync with the image. He closed his eyes again, sinking back towards unconsciousness.
There was a hiss of frustration. ‘Come on angel, I know it’s hard to focus when you’ve been knocked out, but it would be a really good idea for you to heal quickly now.’
‘I think,’ said Aziraphale carefully, concentrating hard to get his tongue to shape the words he wanted to say, ‘I think you have me confused with someone else. I’m not a doctor. I don’t heal people.’
There was a string of colourful swearwords.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Aziraphale vaguely. ‘I would very much like to be able to assist Mr … erm.’ He forced his eyes open again and tried to focus on the silhouette leaning over him. It looked familiar, but just at the moment he wasn’t quite sure… Goodness he was tired… Perhaps if he could have a little bit more rest first… He shut his eyes again, drifting back towards unconsciousness.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ said the voice grimly. ‘You need to wake up.’
‘Do I?’ Aziraphale mumbled. ‘I’d really much rather sleep if you don’t mind.’
‘You don’t sleep!’
‘Ah,’ said Aziraphale slowly. ‘That explains why I’m tired.’
‘Is anything broken?’
Aziraphale considered the question carefully. He wasn’t usually clumsy or destructive – at least, he didn’t think he was - but then again, he felt terribly confused at the moment. Had he damaged something by accident? It was a distinct possibility. ‘If there is, I’ll pay for any damage of course,’ he offered.
There was another sharp intake of breath. Oh dear. Perhaps he’d said the wrong thing. It was so difficult to think straight. If only this person would leave him alone and let him sleep.
‘I mean do you have any broken bones?’
Realisation dawned very slowly. Was he injured? Well, that would explain the terrible headache and the fact that it had hurt when he tried to move. He must have had an accident of some kind. So where was he? Gingerly, he forced his eyes open and the sudden rush of colour and light triggered a tidal wave of nausea as everything spun. Hastily he closed his eyes again and took a few deep breaths, dimly registering that breathing hurt. What was the question he’d been asked? Ah yes, had he broken anything.
‘Um… I don’t actually know.’ He admitted.
‘You’re just gonna have to trust me angel.’ said the voice.
There was the soft shuffling noise of someone readjusting their position and Aziraphale flinched as fingers gently probed the back of his neck, pressing each of his vertebrae in turn. A hand slid under the small of his back, feeling his spine, reaching up towards his shoulder blades, then down towards his pelvis. That was rather improper, Aziraphale thought indignantly. He could be quite tactile himself, but to have these unknown hands, well, prodding him whilst he was lying prone felt distinctly awkward. Then again, given he hadn’t quite worked out what was going on, perhaps it would be rather forward to object.
‘I don’t think there are any serious breaks,’ said the voice uncertainly. ‘Your back feels ok. I’m gonna try and help you sit up. I’m sorry angel, but we really need to get out of here.’
Aziraphale felt an arm round his shoulders, hugging him tightly and easing him slowly up into a sitting position. The world lurched desperately, pulsating and spinning around him and he felt the nausea rising again as pain pole-axed through his head. His cheeks burned with a sudden heat, his heart was pounding in his chest and there was a high pitched noise in his ears. Oh heavens he was going to…
He vomited. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said dismayed, the shame almost as excruciating as the headache.
‘Shhh s’ok, just lean on me for a minute.’
Eyes shut, breathing hard, he leaned in, cheek resting against a sharp shoulder, held upright by the firm arm tight around his back. Gradually, his body began to accept the new orientation and ringing in his ears diminished.
‘Better?’
‘A little,’ he whispered, not daring to risk normal speech.
‘You’re still bleeding Aziraphale.’ The voice was taut with concern. ‘Gotta bandage your head. Can you sit up by yourself for a minute? You can lean against the wall.’
Aziraphale pushed himself away from the shoulder, swaying slightly and flopped back against the wall. Oh the coolness of the plaster felt so very welcome against his back!
‘Ready? It prob’ly won’t be very pleasant. Needs to be tight to stop the bleeding. Sorry if it hurts.’
It wasn’t pleasant and it did hurt. Aziraphale tried to concentrate on breathing slowly as the bandage was wound tightly round his head but it dug into the wound and stung horribly. For a moment, the edges of his vision went dark. No, he absolutely must not faint again. He tried to focus on the feeling of the wall behind his back, the polished floor beneath his hands and the smell of the person bandaging him; anything except the pain in his head. The smell was familiar and comforting and yet he couldn’t place it. There were vague notes of coffee and perhaps the smell of a leather jacket.
‘Done,’ said the voice. ‘Now let’s get outta here.’