Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The rain seemed to fall in sheets, hammering against the Bentley's exterior as it cut through the streets of London. The windshield wipers worked overtime, squeaking faintly as they swiped away the relentless downpour, only for the glass to be blurred again in an instant.

Despite the storm's ferocity, the old car seemed as indifferent to the storm drenched street as its driver did to the complete lack of visibility.

Thunder growled somewhere in the distance and the streetlights overhead illuminated the car's interior and its passengers in brief flashes as they flew by overhead while Crowley cruised a casual 75mph through the tight heart of Soho.

You sat in the passenger seat, watching the water streak and beat against the window as the dark, almost Gothic atmosphere outside was completely blurred.

"All those jokes about London weather really aren't an over-exaggeration, huh? I don't think I've ever seen it come down like this." you mused, finally interrupting the comfrotable silence before a quick cough cleared the building scratchiness in your throat..

Crowley, one hand on the wheel and the other casually draped over the gearshift, didn't take his eyes off the waterfalling windshield for a moment. "Exaggeration's the human specialty, love. But in this case, dead accurate. Can't say I haven't seen worse, though."

You let out a little huff and smiled, ironically catching his attention in the form of a sidelong glance, albeit unnoticeable from under his dark glasses, with the soft sniffle that followed your words.

"But you don't seem to mind it too much. Couldn't wait to queue for coffee in the rain? Or maybe you fancy another walk along the Thames, in a gale, without a coat?"

"I had a coat!" you shot back confidently despite Crowley's scathing recap of your week in the city so far. "Besides, it's not exactly as easy for me to get around as it is for you. I've got to make the most of my time while I'm here. London is huge. No matter how long I'm here, I can never see enough. No way I'm gonna let the weather get in the way."

While visiting Crowley and Aziraphale was one of the major points of your trip, you'd planed your one-off week in the city around visiting with them at the beginning and end of your trip, using the days in-between to run around London as you saw fit. With plenty of little pop-ins to Azi's bookshop, of course.

"And you'll be heading home when, exactly?"

"After this weekend." You confirmed, muffling another cough into your elbow. "Catching my flight first thing Monday. Oh, and I... appreciate the ride." You added quickly at the end; a strategicly placed 'thank you' you hoped he wouldn't notice.

He'd just happned to be passing by as you were running back to your hotel this evening, and considering the way the weather had escalated from a drizzle to a light tsunami, you were rather lucky he had been. How he knew about your escapades from early this week, though, you couldn't be sure. Not that the answer would surprise you.

"Oh, 'course of course." Crowley hummed aloofly, brows raising as he turned sharply to park along the curb. You were momentarily surprised. The rain had muddled the windows so thoroughly you couldn't quite tell where you were but you suppose it was possible he'd already made it to where you were staying considering the speed he was going.

"Oh? Are we there already?"

"Not quite." He killed the engine with a flourish, the car purring into silence as he threw his door open and stepped out onto the street. You recoiled briefly in surprise, the sound of the battering rainfall tripling in volmue as the door was opened. "Gotta drop something off." He continued and you were instantly bitter about the way the falling water seemed to part around him. "Come on then." He casually nodded for you to follow before shutting the door.

You took a moment to sigh, pursuing your lips and briefly wondering if he'd be kind enough to extend that supernatural waterproofing to you, but those hopes we quickly dashed when you stumbled out of the passenger door and the rain immediately greeted you with a cold, unceremonious slap from nearly all directions.

It took everything in you to repress a shriek. The downpour was hard, icy and relentless, soaking through your clothes in seconds. The only bright side was that you'd long since realized where you were and made a mad dash for Aziraphale's bookshop.

"Why'd you park so far away!?" You whined, further waterlogging your sneakers as you splashed through the small current rushing along the curb.

Crowley, on the other hand, had only just rounded the bently, retrieving something from the trunk before following after you at the pace of someone on a leisurely stroll, the rain continuing to slide off and around him and the cardboard box he was now carrying with ease.

You weren't in any mood to wait for him to catch up, but when you reached the familer door of A.Z. Fell & Co, you were disgruntled but unsurprised to find it locked as it always was after hours despite the warm light illuminating the inside.

"Hurry hurry hurry!" You called, waving him over frantically

"I'm coming, I'm coming." He assured, but made no attempt to hurry at all. He had to find this hilarious because it wasn't until he finally got close did the knob you'd been desperately jiggling finally turn, and you nearly fell into the bookshop, your shoes squelching as you stumbled to steady yourself.

Despite being thoroughly soaked through, once inside, the warmth of the shop was quick to wrap around you, and the familiar scent of old books and faintly spiced tea was enough to just barley cut through the smell of cold rain clinging to your skin.

You sighed deeply, catching your breath and composing yourself after the run inside.

"Excuse me~." Crowley hummed and you stumbled again to the side as he slipped in after you, but once he was through you were quick to step back onto the mat that sat inside the entrance, conscious not to drip or track water anywhere inside. "Angel, I've got your books!" He called to the ceiling before tossing the heavy box with a careless thump onto a nearby table, and in doing so spun to look you up and down.

The expression on your face said it all but he only gave you a quick, toothy grin before yelling to the ceiling again, "You got any coffee?", and heading back to what you knew to be Aziraphale's kitchen without waiting for a response.

Not a second after he'd disappeared, though, came the response accompanied by eager footsteps.

"I'm afraid I'm all out at the moment, but I put some tea on when you said you'd be coming! I do wish you would have waited until tomorrow though, this is far from the kind of weather one should be-"

Rounding the spiral staircase from above came Aziraphale, but the hint of exasperation that often laced the angel's tone when speaking to Crowley was interrupted when he reached the bottom and caught sight of you dripping at his door.

His eyes widened in dismay as they took in your thoroughly drenched form. His expression shifted from surprise to see you, then delight, and then to immediate concern, his usual flustered demeanor amplified by the sight of you standing on the increasingly soaked mat at the door.

"Oh, my dear!" he exclaimed, bustling toward you with fluttering hands as if trying to decide whether to usher you inside or scold you for being reckless first. "What on earth are you doing out in this dreadful weather? You're absolutely soaked through!" Before you could respond, he yelled towards where the demon had disappeared. "Crowley! Get in here!"

"Hm?" Crowley popped back out, a steaming mug in his hand that he took a casual sip from.

"You couldn't have given her a ride? Really?" The angel chided and Crowley scoffed with mock offense, motioning towards you with his mug.

"I did! How do you think she got here? Would have had to walk herself the whole way to Marylbome, otherwise." He shrugged taking another sip of what you were sure you could smell to be fresh brewed coffee.

"I'm okay, " You finally spoke up, attempting to reassure Aziraphale. "Just got a little wet on the way in since someone decided to park halfway down the street." You exaggerated lightheartedly.

"That's not true." Crowley was quick to defend, leaning against the doorway to the hall and jutting his mug at the window. "Parked right out front. She's just a bit slow."

You turned to look through the storefront window and the Bently was in fact, right out front now, its headlights fading out as it seemed to have just re-parked itself on its own.

If looks could kill then the one you gave Crowley...still probably wouldn't have had much effect on a demon.

"But anyway," You decided to move on, "He did offer me a ride back to my hotel. So I can't complain too much. I'll be alright." You insisted, fighting another sniffle.

"Oh, no, no, no," Aziraphale tutted, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder and elbow to shepherd you deeper inside. "That won't do at all. You'll catch your death if you stay like this much longer!" He returned to fretting with a mixture of exasperation and genuine concern, gently guiding you to the back of the shop. "Come now, off with your coat." He coaxed and was quick to help you out of the dripping garment. You took your eyes off of it for just a moment, and once off of you, it seemed to have disappeared from his hands completely and into thin air. "I'll fetch you something warm to drink right away."

"That's really not necessary! I appreciate it but I really should be-"

"Nonsense," Aziraphale said firmly, already moving towards the backroom. "Stay there. I'll also fetch some towels, and a blanket! And Crowley, for heaven's sake, don't just stand there. Make yourself useful, please."

Crowley raised an eyebrow over the brim of his glasses, clearly unimpressed by the angel's scolding, but set his mug down with a dramatic sigh. "Fine, fine." He gestured lazily, and you felt a sudden warmth spread through your damp clothes. In an instant, they were bone-dry, though your hair was still wet and the faint chill of having been soaked still lingered on your skin. "There. Happy?"

Your expression softend in surprise as you looked down at yourself, "Yes, actually. Thank you." You thanked genuinely, shuffling in place in a bit of an attempt to shake off the remaining chill.

Aziraphale returned quickly with a few towels and a thick knit blanket stacked in his arms. He paused again when he saw your now-dry clothes before nodding approvingly and setting them by the large armchair that sat near his phonograph.

"Here we go, dear." The angel was at your side again in an instant, gently ushering you toward the armchair and making sure you got settled. "There now, sit down, and we'll have you warmed up in no time!" He assured, handing you a towel.

"Thank you, Aziraphale," you murmured, accepting the towel and starting to dry your hair. It might of been the act of sitting down so suddenly that aggravated the congestion building in your chest, but your murmured thanks came out terribly hoarse and you were forced to clear your throat with a deep cough.

The angel hovered for a moment, seemingly torn between bustling off to do more and staying to ensure you stayed settled properly. You'd actually let yourself relax for a moment, eyes falling closed with a deep breath and another quiet sniffle.

"Really Crowley, you might have mentioned she wasn't feeling well." The knit blanket was draped over your shoulders and meticulously tucketed around you, and you opened your eyes again in surprise.

"Huh?" Aziraphale's words forced you to try to perk up, not wanting to worry the angel, but he seemed to have already diagnosed you. "What? Azi, I'm fine. Again, just got a little waterlogged there is all." You laughed.

"Oh please. You've been out in that dreadful weather all day, haven't you? Honestly, you must take better care of yourself. That kind of recklessness is bound to catch up to you quickly."

"All week actually." Crowley corrected and Aziraphale's gasp of horror was so genuine it almost made you laugh again, despite another scratchy tickle building in your throat.

"All week? Oh, my dear! No wonder you look absolutely done in! Crowley, how could you let this happen?"

"Let this happen?" Crowley repeated with brows furrowed. "What, am I supposed to follow her around with an umbrella? She's a big girl, Angel. She makes her own terrible decisions."

You opened your mouth to protest, but another cough bubbled up before you could form the words. Crowley smirked, clearly enjoying the validation of his point. Aziraphale shot him a withering glare before patting your hand protectively.

"Well, if you're going to follow her around regardless it wouldn't hurt to be prepared!"

"I'm sorry what?"

"Oh, never mind," Aziraphale quieted down softly, his voice taking on its usual warm, soothing tone as he turned his attention back to you. "You're here now, and I'll make sure you're properly cared for. You'll not go running about in the rain again while you're under this roof, do you understand?"

You began to muster some argument, but your voice seemed to come out hoarse again. "Azi, really, I'm fine. I think I just have a cold, if anything."

"Nonsense," he said again, his gentle smile doing nothing to mask the resolve in his voice. "When it comes to humans, even a sniffle left unchecked can turn into all sorts of unpleasant things. Rest now, and let me handle everything. It'll be quite nice, you'll see!"

"But-"

You were interrupted again when he began fussing with the blanket he'd draped over your shoulders. "Are you warm enough for now? I can fetch another blanket if need be." Then, a fittingly angelic sounding jingle, like that of a bell, sounded from the bookshop's backroom and he stood up tall. "Oh! That would be the tea! You stay put and I'll be right back!"

After Aziraphale bustled off again toward the backroom, you allowed yourself to sink deeper into the armchair with a groan, feeling the warmth of the blankets start to seep into your thoroughly chilled bones.

The smell of brewing tea began wafting through the shop and Crowley plopped himself into one of its many mismatched chairs, his long legs crossed as he pushed his sunglasses down just enough to peer over them at you.

"You know," he drawled lazily, "for someone who claims to be fine, you're looking suspiciously weak-willed right now."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale's voice called from out of sight. "Be nice!" He scolded but Crowley just grinned.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real energy behind it. You were more worried about inconveniencing Aziraphale at the moment.

"But that's what you get for running around like a daft tourist, aye?"

You let out a small laugh despite yourself, though it quickly dissolved into another small cough. Maybe you were a little worse off then you originally thought.

Crowley leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself, but before he could continue his teasing, Aziraphale returned, carrying a single tea cup and saucer to you with a sense of urgency that would have led anyone to believe it was the cure for cancer.

"Here you are," He began, setting it on your lap before gently guiding your hands to the saucer and handle, as if worried you didn't have the strength to hold it on your own. "Drink this, dear. It'll do you good. Chamomile with a bit of honey. It's quite soothing.".

"Aziraphale..." You sighed, your resolve slowly caving as you took a sip.

"Good, good," Aziraphale said, "Now, you'll stay here for the night of course, won't you? No need to rush off anywhere."

"I really couldn't impose—"

"Nonsense," he interrupted again with his word of the day, waving off your protest with a flutter of his hand. "You're not going anywhere in this weather, not while you're under the weather yourself. I'll fetch you some night clothes and once you've finsihed your tea we'll get you straight to bed."

"To bed???" You groaned and Crowley nearly snorted, slapping his knee.

"Excited to play nurse again, are we, Angel?"

"Perhaps I am." Aziraphale nodded, "But with only the most honest intentions in mind, of course." He assured you. "I look forward only to seeing you back in tip-top shape! Now, drink up, and I'll arange the guest room~"

Chapter Text

Aziraphale's determination was a force of nature in itself, and any protest you might have mustered was effortlessly steamrolled by his resolute fussing. You weren't even sure how it happened, but before you knew it, your teacup was empty, and Aziraphale was back at your side, plucking it from your hands when he noticed that you'd finished.

"Good girl. Now, let's get you upstairs. It's much cozier up there."

You weren't sure how that could be possible, considering the way the homey atmosphere of his bookshop alone seemed to sap all your energy away, replacing it with a deep sleepy warmth, but something told you if you ventured to find out you really wouldn't be leaving tonight.

The look on your face must have tipped him off to what you were thinking and he stopped with a sigh, tilting his head almost sympathetically.

"Come now, don't pout. It's for your own good", he said, gently but insistently helping you to your feet. The blanket around you shoulders slipped slightly as you stood, and Aziraphale hurried to wrap it securely around you again as a makeshift cloak before taking a careful hold of your arm.

As he guided you to the staircase, Crowley was still sprawled comfortably in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles on a ottoman with his gaze fixed disinterestedly on his cellphone as you passed by. His eyes only flicked up for a moment with a smirk when you made a nasty face at him, having firmly settled on blaming the demon for the predicament you were now in.

Aziraphale hovered just behind you the whole time, one hand gently resting on your back as if worried you might collapse while ascending the spiral staircase.

"Careful now. Watch your step. There's no need to rush."

"I'm not dying, you know. It really just feels like a cold." you muttered, though the protest came out weaker than you intended.

"No, but you're unwell, and that's reason enough to take precautions," he replied with a kind matter-of-factness.

"And I'm not a child," you clarified, taking up a bit of bitterness with the angel since this level of fussing was over the top, even for him. You stoped on the stairs to look back at him exasperatedly, quickly growing more and more self-conscious about all the attention.

"Indeed. Which is why I expect you to have the good sense to listen," he countered again gently, giving you a look that was equal parts steadfast and understanding. "Now up you go, or I'll have Crowley carry you. The sooner you're settled, the sooner we'll all feel better."

You groaned again, dragging your feet as much as you could manage, but the angel had a way of shepherding you around with surprising ease for someone who so often only fretted and fluttered. He paused only briefly at the top of the stairs to straighten your blanket again before ushering you into the small, neatly kept guest room.

His 'guest room' was as warm and inviting as the rest of the bookshop, with soft lamplight casting a warm glow over the antique furniture and ever abundant shelves lined with books. A thick quilt adorned the old but ornate bed, and the sight of it made your resolve waver again as your growing weariness was tempted by the urge to fall into it.

"There we are," Aziraphale said, motioning you to sit on the edge of the bed. "Now, you stay put and I'll go fetch those bed clothes."

"Azi, you really don't have to do all this. You're acting like I'm on death's door."

But he'd disappeared briskly into the adjoining room, and simply sitting on the bed's edge was enough convince you of how comfortable it would be.

You sighed, slumping slightly as you pulled your blanket tighter around yourself.

Before you could dwell on your predicament further, Aziraphale reappeared, carrying what looked like a nightgown over one arm and another blanket under the other. He set the blanket down on a side table before holding up the nightgown with a satisfied smile.

"Here we are! It's nothing fancy, but it will do nicely for the night."

You stared at the garment, blinking. It was impossibly vintage, floor-length, with lace trim and delicate embroidery that looked like it belonged in a Victorian period drama.

"Aziraphale, I can't wear that-"

"Of course you can," he interrupted cheerfully, draping the gown over your arm. "It's warm, it's modest, and it's far better than sitting about in damp clothes."

"They're not damp anymore," you tried to argue, gesturing to yourself.

"Ah, but they're hardly suitable for sleeping in, are they?" he countered with a knowing smile.

Right, he really did intend for you to stay the night...

"I'll be heading out then!" Crowley's voices rang from downstairs and you panicked. That was your ride, after all.

"Crowley, wait!" You jumped to your feet, the blanket slipping off your shoulders as you dashed to the top of the stairs. "Crowley!" you called again, gripping the bannister as you decened a few steps to catch him.

He was already at the door but paused to glance back at you. "What?" he drawled, his tone oozing disinterest.

"Y-you're my ride!"

"Relax, love," Crowley called back, "Angel's got it all under control, doesn't he? You'll be juuust fine here."

"But..." you mumbled, your voice climbing in pitch as you realized he wasn't bluffing.

"Besides," the demon continued. "Rain might've cleared up by tomorrow morning. I'll take you back to your hotel once you've slept off whatever plague you've caught."

"Actually," Aziraphale began, coming quickly up behind you to pull you back upstairs with a disapproving shake of his head "She'll be staying here tomorrow as well, until she's well enough to leave. Won't she, Crowley?"

"Yes, sure, whatever. May I go now?"

"Of course, and thank you for the delivery!" Aziraphale nodded to the demon politely as you were once again sheparded back upstairs and into the guest room, the click of the door as Crowley left was the nail in your metaphorical coffin, leaving you to wonder if he'd only been referring to the books the demon had stopped by with.

"See? All sorted. Crowley understands. Now, No. More. Fussing." He chided ever patiently and took a step back, picking up the nightgown from where you'd tossed it onto the bed and handing it to you again. "Get changed, and if you insist on discussing this further, I ask you to wait until tomorrow. When it comes to humans, something as simple as a good night's rest can do wondering for the body and the spirit. I'm sure you're outlook on the situation will have improved in droves. You're just a bit frazzled after getting caught in that dreadful storm."

You stared at him, flabbergasted by his utter certainty that you'd concede defeat. But truthfully, maybe you already had. There was no fighting Aziraphale when he was like this.

The only person that really stood a chance was Crowley. And you knew he wasn't likely to offer you an escape; not with the way he seemed to enjoy watching this go down.

With a resigned sigh, you examined the nightgown in your hands.

"Fine..." you relented.

Aziraphale smiled triumphantly. "I'll give you some privacy then," he said quickly, slipping out of the room so you could change.

As you undressed and slipped into the nightgown, you couldn't help but laugh softly at how ridiculous you looked in the mirror. The lace trim tickled at your wrists, and the embroidery along the seams seemed too detailed to belong on a garment that anyone was actually expected to sleep in. Still, the fabric was soft and comfortable, and by the time you finished tying the tiny ribbon at the neckline, you had to admit you felt considerably cozier.

It's just one night, you thought to yourself. Maybe two tops if you couldn't convince him you were well enough by tomorrow morning. So... you finally decided to accept defeat.

You cared deeply for Aziraphale after all, so his company was always welcome, and this wouldn't exactly be your first night spent in the bookshop. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't fallen alseep on one of the loveseats downstairs before and woken up nearly swaddled the next morning with the angel overjoyed to have had you stay the night, even if accidentally.

This was no different, right?

Aziraphale reappeared with a gentle knock, waiting for your confirmation before stepping back into the room. His face lit up the moment he saw you in the nightgown, a delighted and almost prideful smile spreading across his features as he clasped his hands in front of his face.

"Ah, doesn't that look lovely!" he said as he hurried to your side. "I'd say it suits you rather perfectly, don't you think?"

You gave a weak laugh, pretending to fiddle with one of the lacy cuff as a way to hide your bashfulness. "If you say so."

"Indeed I do." Aziraphale's delighted smile softened as he noticed the faint weariness tugging at the edges of your expression. "Now then, my dear," he said, folding back the large quilt, "let's get you properly settled."

The soft-spoken certainty behind his words was what finally had you give in, and with still only a small drag of your feet as you closed the distance, you slid into the bed.

As soon as you did, he began a flurry of small tasks; seemingly materializing a small decanter of ice water and a glass to set on your bedside table, leaning around you to fluff your pillow and then carefully resting both hands on your shoulders to ease you into laying down.

You gave him a funny look as your head sunk into the pillow, embarrased by the way as he seemed to feel the need to take every little action into his own hands,

"If Crowley saw the way you were fussing around like this, he'd never let either of us live it down."

"I do not fuss!" Aziraphale corrected certainly with a huff and folded the quilt over you, pulling it snuggly up to your shoulders. "And don't you mind him," He added dismissively, fetching the extra blanket he'd set side earlier and unfolding it to drap over you as well. "He enjoys teasing, but I know he'd never dare mock you in earnest." Finally, the heavy knit blanket you'd come upstairs with was picked up and thown on the top, adding that extra bit of weight that forced you to sink into the soft mattress completely.

He adjusted all three until they layered over you perfectly, and you raised a hand from underneath, attempting to help straighten them yourself.

"I can do this part," You reassured, only to be tutted again as the angel gripped the edge of the blankets and pulled them up to your chin this time

"I'm sure you can, but you won't," Aziraphale said matter-of-factly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Not while I'm here to help. You need only to rest. Really now, one would think you'd never been cared for properly before." He muttered and you averted your gaze, feeling considerably vulnerable as the angel loomed protectively over you until satisfied with his work. "There we are," He said, his voice almost a whisper as he nodded proudly at a job well done. Clearly beyond proud to see you "properly" bedded down. "Are you quite warm enough, dear?"

"Perfectly toasty." You admitted with a light blush and a sniffle.

This seemed to remind him of something and he quickly excused himself before hastily returning with a box of tissues that he set beside the water on the nightstand.

"Thanks..." You said quietly, unsure of what more you could express in this moment besides your thanks.

"Of course! You should have everything you need to soldier through the night!"

You giggled at that. He made it sound like you were fighting for your life from atop the soft sheets and under the heavy blankets.

The angel glanced around the room hurridly for a moment more, lingering on your area the longest as if deciding if there was anything else to be done. "I suppose that's all for now then, hm?" He stated rhetorically and you gave a small nod. "I'll leave you to get some rest then, do call if you need absolutely anything," he stressed, "or better yetー" He raised his hand and a small tinkling sound was heard. "Ring this," He amended, a small bell now gripped between his thumb and forefinger that he set softly on the nightstand. "No need to strain yourself more then necessary after all~"

You giggled again. "Pfff... sure," you agreed, knowing full well that bell would never be touched.

"Then I will leave you to it! Do get some proper rest tonight, won't you?" The angel gave you a bit of a pout and a pleading look.

"I'll do my best." You sighed, but you wouldn't have to do much of anything considering the way your eyelids and body had grown increasingly heavier since being tucked in. Everything had been orchestrated perfectly to ensure you stayed put after all.

"That's a good girl." He cooed as if truly proud of you for making the right choice.

Then, to your mild surprise, he began collecting your clothes from where you'd left them on a nearby chair.

"What are you-"

"Just tidying up," he said quickly, his tone light and casual. "No need to worry. I'll have these cleaned and pressed by morning."

"Ah..." You made a small hum of acknowledgment before nestling further under the covers with an air of finality. You weren't sure your clothes had ever been "pressed" before. Whatever that meant exactly. But you were sure it could only be a good thing if Aziraphale was the one doing it.

He folded your things before tucking them under his arm with a cheerful hum and then turned to leave, pausing briefly to do a double take when he noticed your shoes sitting bed-side on the floor.

The angel pursed his lips in thought, giving them a critical once-over before glancing to you. When he saw that your eyes had drifted closed, he hurried over with the lightest of steps and plucked them off the ground, tucking them quickly– and out of sight– under the rest of your clothes.

You must have sensed his presence because your eyes fluttered open again. Aziraphale froze as if caught in the act of something at the foot of the bed, but you only squinted curiously, having grown sleepy enough that you hadn't the mind to actually be suspicious.

He responded to your tired gaze with an acknowledging nod, lifting your now neatly folded shirt and jeans a tad, as if to say, 'nothing to see here!'

You made a sleepy hum and let your head lull to the side again, sinking slowly back into the pillow.

The angel shook himself back into form with a quick relieved huff, and with quiet steps once again, took his leave of the guest room as to not disturb you further.

He stopped only once on this way out the door to take a final glance back at you.

You'd rolled over, your back to him now with one of the bed's extra pillows hugged to yout chest in a makeshift snuggle.

Aziraphale smiled softly and proudly at the sight, knowing it meant you were really comfortable.

So with a guided click of the door, he wished you a quiet goodnight and stepped out into the hall to head for his study.

"The sweetest of dreams, my dear."

Chapter Text

The morning came gently and with it, the roaring sound of last night's downpour had been replaced by the softer tapping of raindrops against the windowpane.

Your eyes had just barely opened, but the muted gray light of the overcast sky peeked weakly through the undrawn curtains, and you could already imagine the damp chill of the world outside, a stark contrast to the cozy warmth enveloping you now.

You rolled over with a sleepy hum and noticed that your phone, keys and a few neatly folded bills were setting on the nightstand. It was the contents of your pant pockets you'd forgotten to empty before undressing last night; placed there with care by Aziraphale no doubt.

The fancy glass bottle he'd brought had also been refilled. You'd nearly emptied it last night after waking up rather thirsty once or twice, but it was once again full to the stopper. A doily had also been placed underneath it to catch the condensation growing on the sides as well as a coaster under your glass.

As you finally shifted to sit up, the ache in your head made itself known, along with the stuffiness now completely blocking your nose. And you couldn't help but groan, accepting that the cold you'd brushed off last night had fully settled in.

Plucking a tissue from the box on the nightstand, you were prepared to make an effort to relieve the pressure in your sinuses, only for a soft knock to rap against the door.

"Good morning, my dear," Aziraphale's voice sounded carefully through the wood, hoping to alert you to his presence if you were awake but stay quiet enough to not disturb you if you weren't. "Are you awake?"

You almost responded but felt the slight resistance in your throat and clammed up immediately. You knew for sure your voice would betray your condition immediately.

While you didn't have much of a game plan, you were relatively desperate not to let Aziraphale know that you really were sick now. The still clean tissue in your hands was quickly crumbled and tossed in the trash to hide the evidence, and you resolved to keep quiet. If you didn't speak, maybe he wouldn't notice.

Aziraphale's knock came again, this time accompanied by the silent creak of the door opening slightly. His head peeked around the edge, expression tempered by cautious concern until he saw you sitting up in bed and smiled brightly.

In your mind, you felt caught like a deer in the headlights.

"Ah, you are awake! Very good." He nodded, his head disappearing back behind the door for a moment before letting himself in the rest of the way.

He was practically glowing. Humming a happy tune as he carried along a wooden tray table inside with him. Atop it sat a plate, covered securely by a silver cloche, as well as a small ornate tea tray at the side, complete with two cups, a flowery teapot and the servers for sugar and cream respectively.

You were a bit doe-eyed at the sight but were far too distracted with the thought of giving away your condition to give it much thought.

His happy humming continued, even beaming proudly for a moment when he saw you staring, unaware you were practically staring through him, as he set everything down on a nearby dresser.

"How are we feeling?" He asked, a flicker of anticipation passing over his features as he arranged a few things on the tray. "Still a bit out of sorts?"

Not quite thinking, you shook your head vehemently.

He hadn't been looking in your direction, though, and turned to you with a hum when you seemingly didn't respond.

"Hm?"

With his eyes on you now, you shook your head again with what you hoped was a convincing display of casualness this time.

"Ah, that's good. Quite good. What did I tell you? The wonders of a good night's rest!" He seemed to almost sigh in relief, his smile returning as he lifted the little tea tray from the larger tray table and closed the distance to place it on your bedside table. "I thought you might enjoy a bit of tea to start the day?" The question was likely intended to be rhetorical, but when you only continued to glance about doe-eyed, you saw his expression shift expectantly.

So you nodded quickly, overcompensating with enthusiasm in an attempt to reassure him.

Luckily, he seemed to brush off the strangeness of your silence once again with an agreeing hum and began to set everything carefully in its place, his movements always precise and practiced as he poured the steaming liquid and added just the right amount of milk and sugar before stirring it with a soft clink of the spoon.

After that, the gentle clink of porcelain was the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

Your head felt like it was filled with cement and your body ached just sitting up, but so far so good, you guessed.

For a little while, as he prepared each of you a cup of tea, the two of you sat in the quiet that Aziraphale had usually found peaceful, but as you continued to avoid offering him so much as a, 'Morning, Azi!', he fidgeted slightly, smoothing down nonexistent wrinkles in his waistcoat between each action as if looking for something else to say.

But he forced his movements to remain calm and methodical, and was sure to unfurrow his brow before turning to you with the lovingly prepared beverage.

"Here we are~ Just the way you like it." He assured sweetly, his full smile returning as he was sure to earn your signature and always grateful little 'thank you!'

But when he passed you the tea, you reached for it silently, gripping the saucer with both hands and only an acknowledging smile.

His brow didn't remain unfurrowed for long.

You, on the other hand, smiled a bit more genuinely as you lifted the china cup to your lips, taking a comforting sip and sighing quietly at the way the warm beverage offered a bit of relief to the pressure in your sinuses.

Your enjoyment, though, could only last a few seconds before you felt his gaze lingering on you and you dreaded the worst.

You dared not look up, keeping your eyes on your tea as Aziraphale tilted his head slightly, giving you something akin to a stern, expectant pout; like a parent waiting for their child to admit guilt.

Setting his own untouched tea back on the nightstand, the angel was sure now that something was amiss, and his mind began to race through the possibilities.

Until...

"You're cross with me, aren't you?"

You froze mid-sip and finally looked up at him, cocking a brow in confusion with a barely audible, "...hm?"

"Oh, you are cross with me. I knew it!" He reiterated, throwing his arms up slightly as he began fretting in place.

Your eyes widened in alarm when you finally realized that he'd completely misinterpreted your silence. You opened your mouth to reassure him, but the thought of speaking and revealing your stuffy voice made you hesitate. Instead, you waved a hand frantically, shaking your head again to indicate that nothing was wrong.

"No, no, you must be," Aziraphale continued, his voice tinged with regret. "Oh, I've overstepped, haven't I? I've been far too meddlesome? I do tend to get carried away with my... fussing. Oh, I'm a fusser!" He winced at the word, as if yours and Crowley's teasing had finally gotten under his skin.

You kept shaking your head, mouthing the word, "No," and motioning for him to slow down but the angel was already beginning to ramble.

The earnestness of his guilt made you feel awful. You wanted to reassure him, but the more he spoke, the harder it became to find the right way to communicate without using words. So instead, you quickly set your tea aside and reached out to place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze and offering your best reassuring smile.

Aziraphale paused, his lips parting slightly as he stared at your hand, then back at your face. "Oh- oh... are you... not cross with me?" he asked, his voice now soft and hopeful.

You shook your head emphatically, your expression earnest. No, you were in no way "cross" with him.

His face softened immediately, relief washing over his features as his shoulders sagged just a touch. "Oh, my dear..." he murmured, his hand lightly covering yours where it rested on his arm with a sigh of relief. "You've no idea how much better that makes me feel."

You smiled and nodded gently, but before you could relax entirely his brows knitted together again, this time out of curiosity.

"Then... whatever's the matter?" he asked, leaning in to get a better look at you. "You've been so quiet this morning. It's not like you at all." he added, a new note of concern creeping into his voice. "Are you sure you're feeling quite yourself?"

Of all the moments you could have hesitated, this was the worst and your hand slid off his arms as soon as you noticed that he'd noticed the small pause in your expression.

You gave an awkward thumbs-up and kept your lips sealed in a tight smile.

Despite what the bulk of this morning so far would lead one to believe, Aziraphale was quite observant, and his gaze quickly flicked to the tissue box on the nightstand, then back to your face. The flush in your cheeks, the slight weariness of your eyes, the way you sniffled ever so softly; it all seemed to click into place.

The angel's expression hardened, "You do look a bit peaky," he muttered. "Come now, let's have a look."

Your eyes widened in horror as a gentle hand was extended to your forehead, and with the kind of speed that made your aching head pound harder, you ducked under the covers to avoid it.

Aziraphale blinked in startled surprise as you disappeared beneath the covers, clutching them tightly around youself like some kind of shield. His hand hovered in the air for a moment, then slowly dropped.

"Really now, hiding under the covers?" He chided, "I promise, I'm only trying to help," he coaxed gently, his voice adopting the soothing tone someone might use with a frightened animal.

You shook your head, your voice muffled but unmistakably nasally as you spoke without thinking, "I'm fine!"

That was all the confirmation Aziraphale needed.

"Come now, there's nothing to be embarrassed about," he cooed, the mattress shifting slightly under his weight as he sat at the edge of the bed. "It's perfectly natural for humans to catch colds from time to time. All the more reason for me to help you."

A hand landed atop the blanket over your shoulder, and you felt a pang of guilt. In that moment as you hid under the blankets like it would do any good, you were becoming increasingly aware that your actions were almost as over the top as Aziraphale's silly mother-henning.

Now you were being unintentionally silly too, borderline childish, immature even, and it was all because you were in the presence of one of the few people you felt safe being 'silly' around.

There was a moment of silence, the kind that suggested Aziraphale was waiting for you to give in. When you didn't after a few seconds, still coming to terms with it all, he sighed dramatically, the sound as theatrical as something that should have come from Crowley.

You finally peeked out from the edge of the blanket, your eyes meeting Aziraphale's soft gaze. He wasn't angry, or even exasperated. He looked... fond. Too fond to be looking at you, you thought, and just fond enough to force you to give in. With a sigh, you poked your head out the rest of the way and let the blanket slip down to your shoulders.

"There now," he said warmly, his smile thankful as if you'd just done him the greatest favor. His hand hovered cautiously, giving you the chance to move away before it landed lightly against your forehead and the coolness of his palm felt heavenly against your overheated skin.

"Oh, dear," he murmured after a moment, his brow furrowing in concern. "As expected, you've a fever."

Aziraphale withdrew his hand and you hung your head as a good few seconds of silence stretched between you.

"I knew it!"

Aziraphale's triumphant exclamation was accompanied by a radiant smile, or perhaps it was a self-satisfied smirk, and you cocked your head up immediately in surprise. "I knew it!" he repeated, his voice brimming with pride. "I had my suspicions last night, of course, but I thought to myself, 'No, surely she'll admit it when she's feeling truly under the weather.' And yet, here we are!"

He straightened up with an almost smug little huff, his eyes sparkling with a mix of satisfaction and concern as he regarded you. "It's quite a good thing I insisted you stay the night, or heaven knows what state you'd be in now."

All that remorse from moments ago in regards to his 'fussing' had vanished, replaced by the vindication that he really had made the right decision from the get-go.

You blinked slowly, reminded that despite his good nature, even an angel couldn't resist the allure of a good "I told you so".

But he seemed to remember himself after a moment, coughing into his hand to begin again with more humility as his eyes settled back on you with a soft look of concern, "But that's no matter now." He amended. "What matters now is seeing you well again."

You glanced away as he leaned in closer to examine you once more

"Let's start with your symptoms. You've the fever, of course and you're rather stuffy by the sound of it, as well as harboring some congestion I'd imagine? What else? How's your throat, any soreness?" He interrogated you with earnest concern.

You shook your head softly.

"You're quite sure? You are being honest with me?"

You nodded. It was true. Your throat wasn't sore exactly, but the congestion in your chest and pressure in your head did make talking a bit of a chore.

"I see. Is there anything else? Anything at all?"

"My... head hurts." You admitted. That couldn't be more true. When you glanced too hard in any direction, when you shook or nodded your head, and even when you sat up or laid back down, it felt like your brain made a soft thump into the inside of your skull.

He hummed thoughtfully then gave a serious nod. "I see, well I'm afraid that leaves no room for argument then. You're far too unwell to be gallivanting about. It's clear you need at least another full day, if not more, to recover properly. And I'll see to it, personally, that you stay put."

"Mmmmm...." You pursed your lips and made a chittery groan from your throat in an exaggerated show of disdain at the idea. Aziraphale was a sweetheart. Probably the sweetest person you knew. But to this day you still found kindness, from him or anyone else, hard to accept. Knowing Aziraphale had helped you work on that. The guy was nothing BUT kind after all, stubbornly so to the point where your usual attempt to deflect didn't even work.

At least last night you had the mercy of going to bed, but a full day if not more of being subject to these levels of protective angelic cosseting might actually kill you.

"Really now," Aziraphale began with a half sympathetic, half exasperated look that faded to something soft and coaxing when he met the pleading look in your eyes, "Hmm," He hummed and then smiled kindly, "Do you think you could do me a favor, my dear?"

You narrowed your eyes at him and he let out a little laugh.

"Since I must insist that you remain where I can keep an eye on you, perhaps you could find it in your heart to enjoy your time here; under my care?"

Dammit... enjoy it? How could you not enjoy it?

You glanced around yourself, at the layers of blankets tucked over you lap, at the quickly cooling tea you'd set aside and then down at the nightgown you were wearing in defeat.

Guilt, that's how. But regardless, you were sure denying him now, while he was giving you that fond, affectionate look would only make you feel guiltier.

So with a single word, even more final then the one you gave last night, you rolled your eyes and gave in. For real this time.

"Fine..." You scoffed but there was no bite behind it at all, only a deep pink rushing to your cheeks as Aziraphale seemed to feel every bit of emotion you didn't dare express outwardly and grabbed your hand to give it a tender squeeze.

"Oh, thank you, dear! I assure you you're in the best of hands." He beamed, "Now then, I'll ensure that you have everything you need for your recovery, but for nowー" He raised his eyebrows playfully and turned to fetch the tray table he'd set aside earleir, returning to your bedside with it in hand, "how about some breakfast to start the day, hm?"

"Azi, no–" You exclaimed with a hopelessly bashful look as he gently set it to straddle your lap and adjusted it just so. "You didn't..."

"Aziraphale, yes!" He countered enthusiastically, once again correctly interpreting your 'distress' as the bashful appreciation that it was. "No tummy troubles I'm assuming? So it'll be important you keep your strength up, and a good breakfast is sure to set the precedent for a good day!"

Aziraphale grinned, his excitement palpable as he carefully gripped the handle of the silver cloche and, after waiting a second for dramatic effect, lifted it with a flourish.

On the plate underneath was a big croissant sitting beside a serving of scrambled eggs, topped with a bit of parsley, a few slices of bacon and a small dish of fresh fruit containing strawberries, blackberries, and some orange slices. At the side there was also a dish of butter and a dish of marmalade, neatly placed for spreading. The presentation was tidy and thoughtful, prepared with care like the kind of thing you'd see served at a fancy Cafe.

"Voilà," Aziraphale said with pride, gesturing to the tray as though he'd just successfully pulled off one of his magic tricks. "A proper breakfast; made with love, of course. Nothing too heavy, just enough to lift your spirits and nourish the body."

"Oh, Aziraphale, this is..." You began in awe, about to insist that it was too much, that he didn't have to do all of this, when a small, 'ahem', from the angel cut you off. You looked up and met his smile. It was soft but expectant.

"If I recall, we did just agree to let ourselves enjoy our time here? Did we not?

So you took a small breath and smiled, you really smiled, and then continued differently.

"Perfect. It's perfect. Thank you, Aziraphale."

"Think nothing of it, my dear! I assure you. Seeing to your well-being is an absolute pleasure." He reached for the teapot and refilled your cup, adding a bit more cream and sugar before placing it on your the tray table as well. "Now, eat up while it's still warm. And don't hesitate to ask if you'd like anything else. I'll be happy to oblige."

You hummed happily and began to dig in.

You couldn't help the small hum of appreciation that escaped you after a few bites and Aziraphale beamed from his place beside you, picking up his own cup of tea and taking a seat at your bedside. For a few minutes, you ate and he sipped his tea with an air of quiet contentment, reading the morning paper he'd brought up with him and silently emoting to whatever it said.

You glanced at him between bites, noting that he didn't appear to have brought anything up for himself. He seemed content just to sit with you as you ate, but you couldn't shake the question that had popped into the back of your mind.

"You're not eating?" you asked softly, your voice still a little hoarse but warm with curiosity.

Food was one of his favorite things after all.

Aziraphale blinked, startled out of his thoughts, and turned his attention to you. His expression softened immediately. "Oh, I've already had breakfast," he explained, setting his teacup down on the bedside table with a delicate clink. "This morning was a bit of toast with marmalade and some tea. Quite scrumptious." He mused joyfully. "I made a point of having it quite early, you see. Knowing you might still be unwell, I rather wanted to focus on making sure you had the best morning possible!"

"Aww, Azi...that's so sweet."

"But worry not!" he added quickly. "I'll have plenty of chances to join you for meals yet. Lunch, of course, followed by afternoon tea, then dinner. And with you a bit more settled, breakfast tomorrow morning as well. And I'm quite looking forward to all of it, if I do say so myself~ On top of that it's–" his face scrunched a bit in thought, "what day is it, my dear?"

"Thursday." You answered with a sip of your tea.

"Ah, yes! Thursday! The shop's closed on Thursdays– or wait, perhaps that was mondays?" He seemed to think again but waved the details off with a flutter of his hand and a smile, "Doesn't matter! What I do mean to say, is that for the rest of the day you'll have my undivided attention!"

Chapter Text

By the time lunch rolled around, the rain outside was still falling at a light drizzle, continuing to tap faintly against the bookshop's windows. Inside, the warm glow of the shop's lighting reflected on the polished wooden surfaces, casting a cozy atmosphere over what would have otherwise been a dreary afternoon.

Aziraphale had, of course, taken it upon himself to prepare lunch. He'd insisted you stay cozy in the guest room until it was ready, but you'd managed to convince him to let you join him downstairs.

Still wrapped in one of his heavier knitted blankets, you sat at a small, round table in one of the bookshop's cozier nooks.

"I've prepared just the thing for such a dreary afternoon," Aziraphale announced proudly as he placed two small, steaming bowls on your respective sides of the table, along with a plate of five or so neatly stacked and golden brown 'cheese toasties' between you.

You smiled brightly at the sight. Tomato soup and grilled cheese, a classic. The soup was garnished with a bit of cream and basil and the gooey centers of the sandwiches were just visible from where they'd been cut in half, diagonally of course.

"And for dessert-" he gestured to a small tray off to the side, "Some lemon drizzle cake~"

You couldn't deny that this was beyond delightful and drummed your feet happily against the floor as he set everything out. "Ahh! It looks awesome!" You cheered and Aziraphale seemed to preen at the praise, sitting across from you and smoothing a napkin over his lap. His delight in orchestrating moments like this was infectious, and after this morning, you were doing your best to honor his request and allow yourself to enjoy it all wholeheartedly.

"Please, enjoy~" He prompted and you happily complied, snagging one of the sandwich halves from the tray and dipping the corner into the soup before taking a bite.

It was just as nostalgic as you'd hoped, but the basily flavor of the 'bisque', as he had eventually referred to it, was a nice extra touch and your happy little shimmy returned with a satisfied hum as you dipped again.

You still weren't the most talkative thanks to the mild discomfort in your head and chest, but Aziraphale filled the silence eagerly, chittering about the littlest of occurrence on Wickber Street over the last few weeks, or whatever he'd read in the daily paper this morning. And knowing the cause now, never once did your silence bother him. Instead, he seemingly pulled just as much engagement from your enthusiastic nods and agreeing hums.

Aziraphale carefully dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin, setting it aside before continuing.

"Oh! You know that little bakery down the street? The one with the blue shutters?

You hummed in acknowledgment, tucking into your second grilled cheese.

"That's where I got this little morsel this morning," He nodded to the small, rectangular cake on the table, "and apparently they've just won an award from the Shopkeepers and Street Traders Association for their éclairs! Best in Soho, apparently. Though between you and I," he leaned in conspiratorially, "I'm not entirely sure how they managed it. They tend to use a bit too much chocolate icing, don't you think?"

You swallowed your mouthful and gave a small nod, adding a soft hum of agreement to his critique.

"Exactly!" he exclaimed, delighted by your silent validation. "Now, I do think their fruit tarts are rather divine, but the éclairs? A touch overrated, if you ask me."

You lifted a hand, tilting it back and forth as if to say, 'They're alright'.

"Ah, precisely!" Aziraphale said, grinning broadly. "Not terrible, of course, but out of everything they have to offer they certainly wouldn't have been my first choice for an award."

"Love a good fruit tart," you agreed raspily.

He nodded solemnly, then gestured toward your bowl. "How's your soup? Quite to your liking?"

"Mmhm!" You nodded happily, prepared to give your thanks again when suddenly-

"Well, looky here~"

You'd been the only one startled in that moment, while Aziraphale was already prepared with a gentle scolding.

"Crowley, I'm most certain I had asked you to start using the door."

"Did you? Must have forgotten. Used it last night though, didn't I?" The demon shrugged with casual indifference, stopping a few yards away from your table, his hands in his pockets as he scrutinized your little lunch date. "Hope I'm not interrupting, Aziraphale. I guess you finally decided to open that bed and breakfast after all?"

"We're having lunch actually. You'll do well to note the time of day. " Aziraphale corrected and you had to bite your lip to stop a laugh.

"Anyway," Crowley continued, shaking his head in your direction, "I was in the neighborhood again, thought I might stop by to check on our little patient."

It was then you noticed him looking you up and down and you were forced to swallow your pride then and there.

You were still in the nightgown, now donning a pair of soft, knee-high stockings Aziraphale had given you this morning to come downstairs in.

They happened to match terribly well, and you were also terribly comfy. But you also knew that Crowley knew that Aziraphale was the only person capable of wearing you down and getting you into such soft attire. And the demon was surely eating up the fact that you'd actually let him.

This morning however, you'd decided to own it. And when Crowley's smirk widened at the sight of you bundled up and eating lunch in bedclothes in the middle of the day, you looked right at him and took a proud bite of your grilled cheese as if to say, 'Yeah? What about it?' Which, of course, only made him snicker.

"Surprised to see you up and about. Thought the angel'd have you locked down in bed all day."
Crowley drawled, his voice dripping with amusement.

You rolled your eyes and were about to cut in with how silly that was, when Aziraphale beat you to it with a rather different response.

"Oh, absolutely," Aziraphale interjected, his tone kind but firm. "She'll be back upstairs safe and sound right after lunch. Rest is the best medicine, after all." You turned to the angel in mild surprise, but he continued. "Quite considerate of you to be worried for her, though, Crowley." Aziraphale mused, before nodding to you graciously. "As you can see , I've everything under control, and with a bit of time we're sure to see her safely on the mend!" The angel announced proudly and Crowley's eyes shifted to you.

Deciding to brush your apparent early bed-time under the rug, you just laughed and rolled your eyes, "Yes, thank you, Aziraphale.

Crowley let out a little hum and Aziraphale perked up with a thought, gesturing toward the empty chair at your table. "Do join us, Crowley. There's plenty of soup left, and I'd be happy to fetch you a bowl."

"Soup, eh?" Crowley slid into the chair with an air of exaggerated indifference, his long legs stretching out beneath the table. "Suppose I could be convinced."

"Oh, it's quite good," Aziraphale seemed to look at you for reassurance and you quickly nodded, making a point to clean the remaining soup from the inside of your bowl with your last bit of sandwich before popping it in your mouth.

"S'awsome!" You mumbled though your mouthful.

The angel grinned proudly once again, "Oh, yes~ I've had plenty of time to learn to cook as of late with— well, you know!" He seemed to rush past the last part of his sentence with a dismissive wave to Crowley, but you didn't give it much thought. "I'll fetch you some now!" Aziraphale rose immediately, bustling off to the kitchen with a speed that suggested he was thrilled to have another guest to feed.

Crowley waited until Aziraphale was well out of earshot, his gaze trailing lazily after the angel as he disappeared into the kitchen. Then, with a sharp tilt of his head in your direction, he cocked a brow when he noticed the way you'd also been staring in the direction Aziraphale had disappeared with a barely visible frown.

"Something on your mind, love? Not enjoying the royal treatment?"

"Huh?" You turned to him in questioning surprise before being cut off with a cough. "Oh, no no, nothing like that." You assured him. "Aziraphale has been really sweet,"

"But~" Crowley, prompted leaning forward as he sensed the unsaid addition to your words.

You laughed half-heartedly, distractedly taking a slice of the lemon cake for yourself. "He's been perfectly sweet, but–"

Before you could finish, Aziraphale reappeared, carrying a fresh bowl of soup and a smaller plate with an extra grilled cheese. "Here we are!" he announced cheerfully, setting the food down in front of Crowley with a waiter's precision. "Freshly prepared, just for you."

Crowley regarded the food with a critical eye, then gave a slow nod of approval.

"Isn't it always lovely to have company for a meal? The more the merrier, I say!", Aziraphale beamed as he took his seat again, slicing himself a small piece of the cake as well.

When lunchtime eventually came to an end, Aziraphale began picking up empty plates and clearing the table. The angel's enthusiasm for hosting left little room for anyone else to pitch in, and when you sat up with your bowl and the intention to follow him with it to the sink, it was instead taken from you with the gentle order to stay seated.

"No no, you're still recovering, my dear, and I won't have you overexerting yourself." He stated, stacking the bowls, plates and silverware together with ease to take them all to the sink in a single trip.

Crowley let out a low chuckle, swirling the last bit of soup in his bowl before downing it like a shot and handing it to Aziraphale as he bustled off. "If the angel wants to do it himself, let him do it himself, I say."

Aziraphale disappeared into the kitchen with his arms full of dishes but seemed to reappear in the same breath, drying his hands on a tea towel and smiling warmly at you and Crowley.

"Well, my dear, I believe that's quite enough excitement for the time being. Time to get you back upstairs."

"Awww, already?"

Crowley snickered, reclining lazily in his chair and resting one ankle on his opposite knee. "Better just let him tuck you in again and save yourself the effort."

Aziraphale gave Crowley a reproachful glance before turning his gentle but firm attention back to you. "I must insist. Rest is paramount. A little lunch and pleasant conversation are all well and good, but you've only just started your recovery. We mustn't overdo it."

You blinked at him, "Overdo it? Really?" You deadpanned and then grinned as Aziraphale practically swept you up from behind with a huff, coaxing you out of your chair and toward the staircase. "Okay okay, I'm going!" You laughed

"Good girl, now up you go!" He urged you up kindly when you reached the base of the stairs. "I've some soup left on the stove to put away but I'll be up in just a moment to see you settled."

You nodded humorously. Truth be told, being sick did have a special way of sapping your strength, so going back to bed, even at 2pm in the afternoon, wouldn't be the worst thing in the world right now.

Aziraphale waited by the bottom of the stairs until you'd ascended all the way, giving a satisfied nod once you'd disappeared from sight before hurrying to finish his clean up.

He passed Crowley on the way, slowing down as the demon leaned back to give him a toothy grin.

"Don't, Crowley, I know that look. You've been smiling like that since you arrived, " Aziraphale scolded as he pushed in the chairs at the table. His tone was clipped but familiar, the kind of reprimand he reserved for the kind of attitude he was entirely too used to. "If you've nothing of value to contribute, kindly keep your cynical way of thinking to yourself."

"Oh, sure, sure," Crowley nodded and leaned back, balancing precariously on the back legs of his chair. "Wouldn't dream of interfering. Just thought you might be enjoying this a bit too much, is all." The demon drawled teasingly.

Aziraphale froze mid-step, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he turned his back to the other man and continued to the kitchen. "I'm afraid I've not the faintest idea as to what you're referring to," he replied haughtily, but Crowley stood with a stretch to follow.

"Oh, come on now. Don't play coy. I know you, Angel. You've got that little twinkle in your eye, that spring in your step. Positively glowing with purpose this afternoon, aren't we?"

Aziraphale sniffed offendedly as he removed a still steaming pot from the stove, but feigned indifference at the demon's words. "There's nothing wrong with taking care of those we care about, Crowley. If you ever tried it yourself you might also find it quite... rewarding."

"Mmhmm, course," Crowley nodded with mock agreement, leaning against the kitchen doorway "Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn't it? Having someone to look after. Something to do~"

The angel rolled his eyes but didn't grace the demon's teasing with further response, just pulling a clean ladle from a drawer and finding a small container in one of his cupboards.

"Don't get me wrong, though, Angel. I think it's sweet. Really. You've cooked up quite the roundabout way to take pleasure in another's suffering. Bit cheeky, don't you think~?"

That was it. Aziraphale turned sharply to the demon, ladle still in hand and his expression halfway between scandalized and defensive as his glare cut through the kitchen. "Crowley! That is a terrible thing to say," he scolded indignantly, his ears burning crimson. "Her being unwell is hardly something to find satisfaction in and my intentions are only to see her back to proper form as soon as possible."

Before Crowley could respond, Aziraphale gently threw down his ladle and closed the distance between them, aggressively shooing him out the door. "Out. Go on, shoo. If you've come here just to needle me you can show yourself out. Some of us have responsibilities to attend to. Ones you've clearly no hope in understanding."

Crowley held up his hands in mock surrender, still grinning as he was backed toward the doorway

"Teasing! You know I'm only teasing! We're both bored as can be after all."

Aziraphale huffed and stepped away, rolling his eyes again with an exasperated sigh, "Really, what's gotten into you lately? Keep your wild assumptions to yourself, and if you're so bored and must stick around, then make yourself useful. Go... I don't know, fetch her something she likes? Bring her spirits up a bit?"

Crowley chuckled softly, sauntering back to his chair with the smug satisfaction of someone who felt that they'd proved their point. "Oh, I'll stick around, Angel. But useful? That's asking a bit much, don't you think?"

The angel shook his head to himself and returned to the kitchen, finally giving the leftover soup a pensive stir before beginning to ladle it into a container.

Once everything had been tidied up and properly stored away, he joined you upstairs.

After climbing the steps and making his way to the guest room, he paused at the door.

His hand hovered above the knob as Crowley's teasing echoed faintly in his mind. The nerve of some demons, really, he thought, his lips pressing into a thin line before he shook himself free of his sour mood and replaced his frown with a small smile as he gently opened the door to step inside.

The room was just as neatly arranged as he'd left it earlier that morning, with the bed still perfectly made. But there you were, perched on the edge, your knees slightly drawn up and the blanket he'd insisted you carry with you draped loosely over your shoulders. Your focus was distant, your eyes fixed lazily on the rug, but the sound of the door caught your attention, and your expression shifted into a warm smile as you looked up at him.

"My dear, you should be lying down," Aziraphale remarked immediately as he crossed the room with soft but purposeful steps.

You laughed softly, your expression humorous but not defiant. "I'm sorry," you apologized, your voice light and tired. "You made it up so nice. It didn't feel right to mess it up." You explained glancing down at neatly arranged pillows and perfectly smooth quilt.

Aziraphale let out a little huff and shook his head as the smallest bit of irritation leftover from his interaction with Crowley managed to slip through. "Poppycock," he declared firmly, earning a quiet giggle from you as his hands moved to gently lift the blanket from your shoulders and fold it over his arm. "You mustn't feel shy about getting comfortable. This is your space for now, and you're to make full use of it."

He gestured for you to sit up so he could undo his careful work and with quick, precise
movements, he flung the knit blanket over the top, folded the quilt down, and arranged everything just so. When he was seemingly satisfied, he stepped back and gestured to the now-inviting bed with an encouraging but no-nonsense smile. "There we are, now, in you go!"

You giggled again and complied, sliding into bed. You didn't have so much as a chance to pull the blankets up yourself before he got to work doing it for you. "Thanks, Azi." You mumbled sweetly through a cough as your head fell slowly into the pillow.

Laying down almost immediately began to ease the weak ache in your head and neck.

"Think nothing of it, my dear, think nothing of it." He insisted, fussing with the edges of the blankets until they were perfectly aligned. Then, his hand moved to your forehead, the cool touch startling but comforting as he checked your temperature.

After a moment he frowned faintly, adjusting the pressure of his hand a few times as if trying to double-check his findings. "Still a bit feverish," he murmured, his brows knitting with concern.

Your lips parted to apologize instinctively, but before you could speak, he continued. "But that's to be expected. Fevers don't disappear in a matter of hours, after all. You'll just need a bit more time in bed."

His tone lightened halfway through as if sensing your guilt and working to nip it in the bud. He stepped back, clasping his hands together. "No need to fret. I'll fetch you some fever reducers and an ice pack. They'll be sure to help." His smile brightened. "I'll be back posthaste!"

And back posthaste he was, pouring you a glass of cold water and handing you two little, blue oblong pills to take. Sitting up a bit to do so, you graciously accepted, finishing off the rest of the glass afterwards as well and earning a bit of praise from the angel as he eased you back down.

"Very good, you'll need plenty of fluids. Staying hydrated is an essential part to any recovery. And most certainly to breaking a fever " He instructed idly, placing the ice pack securely on your forehead

You nodded slowly and with half lidded eyes, the pack slipping slightly with the weary movement.

Lying down only emphasized how heavy a fever could make your entire body feel. The soothing coolness of the ice pack, paired with the comforting weight and warmth of the blankets anchoring you to the mattress made the idea of rest impossible to argue with; if not entirely welcome.

Aziraphale fussed over you for a few more moments, ensuring the ice pack was perfectly positioned and the blankets were tucked just so. "There. All settled for a good nap. I'll be in to check on you shortly and will be up to wake you when dinner is ready, but I'd like you to get as much rest as you can until then."

You made a faint, drowsy sound of acknowledgment and the angel smiled down at you.

He lingered for a moment longer, expression fond and protective as he watched your eyes fall shut and your breathing grow slow and steady; a sure sign you had fully surrendered to rest. Only then did he bend down slightly, murmuring something so softly that the words were completely lost to you in your already half-asleep haze.

And then, with a quiet exhale, he straightened and stepped away, careful not to disturb the soft stillness in the air as he exited the room with a gentle click of the door; already busying himself by recounting in his mind the small list of things he'd need for dinner.

Chapter Text

For a midday nap, you'd managed to fall into a sleep so deep that when you finally began to wake up later that evening, it felt like you were slowly resurfacing from the depths of a long dream you couldn't quite remember.

The weight of the blankets and the ice pack on your forehead were quick to remind you where you were, but the congestion in your chest was an unwelcome companion and you coughed softly into the crook of your arm before inhaling slowly. The pressure was heavier than earlier, accompanied by a faint crackling sensation that made every breath a little more labored. You winced slightly, trying to clear your throat with a few more weak coughs before going limp again on the mattress with a little groan.

Despite the discomfort, it was impossible to ignore the sheer coziness of your surroundings as the grounding weight of the blankets made getting up feel not only unappealing, but completely unnecessary.

With your cheek squished to the pillow, you stared across the room at the window for a moment, letting your eyes adjust and your thoughts collect. It was a bit easier to really enjoy the safe, still feeling that Aziraphale's bookshop provided when you were alone. Or more specifically, it was a bit easier to enjoy when you didn't feel like you were actively inconveniencing him.

It was rare to feel so thoroughly cared for, and even rarer to let yourself accept it without a fight. But here you were, tucked into an impossibly cozy bed with no real obligations weighing you down, so you let yourself really relax for a moment with a deep sigh.

"Finally awake then, are we?

You startled immediately, your head whipping around and your eyes widening as they landed on Crowley, who was seated in the chair beside the nightstand, his legs crossed and his elbows resting on the armrests as he flipped through the pages of a book with mild disinterest. "Good nap?" he asked without looking up.

Your eyes narrowed and you flipped yourself back around without responding, burrowing further into the blankets as though you could simply will him away.

You heard him snicker, the sound low and amused, and waited for a beat of silence before flipping back over again to confront him.

The book was now resting on his lap, and he had propped his chin in his hand, smiling expectantly as if he'd been waiting for you to turn back around. His grin widened when you met his eyes and amusement flashed behind his glasses.

"How long have you been sitting there?"

Crowley shrugged, tilting his head to the side as if your question was of no real importance. "Long enough," he replied, the faintest smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. He tapped the book on his lap absentmindedly as though it had been the only thing keeping him entertained. "Angel asked me to keep an eye on you while he popped out for a bit," he explained, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. "Didn't want to leave you on your own, seeing as you're such a delicate flower at the moment."

You sniffled and laughed at that, shifting under the blankets to prop yourself up on one elbow, but the effort sent another small cough rattling through your chest.

His brows knitted together and he leaned a bit closer. "Careful there, love. No need to make yourself worse trying to look dignified. Not that you're succeeding much."

You waved him off and successfully cleared the worst of your fit with a few pounds to your chest. "And you agreed cause you have nothing better to do?"

"Why not?" Crowley said casually, leaning back in the chair and crossing one leg over the other again. "Figured it'd be a laugh. Besides, the angel was getting himself in a right state over leaving the shop with you here. So technically I volunteered to babysit. Thought it might give him some peace of mind."

"You volunteered?" You frowned, the guilt beginning to creep in again. "It's... just a cold, so you really wouldn't have had to stick around."

"Eh, I'm fine right here, thanks," He began again smoothly, intertwining his fingers behind his head. "Can't disappoint the angel. He'd be positively heartbroken if I let something happen to you." The demon seemed completely at ease where he was, as if lounging in the angel's space and affectionatly nettling those around him was his favorite pastime.

You paused for a bit, sitting up the rest of the way to stare down at your blankets with a kind of forlorn expression.

Crowley noticed immediately, pulling his glasses down his nose to peer over them at you in a motion so exaggerated it was clearly meant to get your attention.

"There's that look again." He mused and you rolled your eyes, fighting off a small smile. "Feeling stir-crazy already?"

You worked through your thoughts for a moment before deciding to be honest. "Nah, Not really. It's not that. It's just... a little hard not to feel bad about it all, y'know. All the effort he's putting in for me. I'm mean, he's so–"

"Oh, stop that," Crowley interrupted with a snort, his tone surprisingly sharp. "You? Feel bad? That's rich," he said, beginning to feign interest in the book on his lap again as he spoke. "What for? He's obviously in his element."

You shot him a halfhearted side-eye, but it was hard to put any energy behind it. "I'm serious. He's been stressing over every little thing. You know how he is. He worries so much."

He dropped the book on the nightstand with a thud and leaned towards you again to fiddle with the little bell Aziraphale had left there. His smirk softened into something closer to knowing amusement. "Oh, I know how he is. Better than you apparently."

You gave the demon a strange look, challenging him to elaborate.

"You see," Crowley seemed to hesitate coolly, leaning away again and nodding his head side to side as if deciding how to continue. "Ever since things went a bit... pear-shaped with the whole 'end of the world' business, and heaven cut him loose, he's been going through a bit of a– Oh, what's that thing humans go through when they start asking themselves too many questions? Midlife crisis?

You cocked a brow. "A... midlife crisis?"

Crowley nodded and relaxed his posture again. "Been pacing these shelves for months like some restless old librarian since the last time you left for the States. Reading until sunset, baking more cakes than he can possibly eat himself, dusting every hour on the hour. Even has the shop open almost five days a week now."

You gasped. "He's been that bored?"

The demon barked another laugh, this one softer, almost fond. "Bored? Love, I've been bored. The angel's desperate. Thrives on all that 'do-gooding'. Heaven may have been a bureaucratic nightmare, but it kept him busy. Gave him rules to follow, papers to shuffle, humans to point in the right direction. You know, his sort of thing." He stretched, waving a hand in the air as though trying to brush off the seriousness of what he was saying. "Without all that direction he's had to bounce around London like a moth in a glass jar; looking for people to help, things to do. Your showing up sopping wet with your little 'cold'?" He gestured at you, "It's practically a godsend. Well... not literally," he corrected, pulling a face at the idea.

You gave Crowley another strange look, narrowing your eyes at him in thought as you mulled over the point he was clearly trying to make.

"No offense, of course." He added relatively insincerely. "But the angel lives for this sort of thing. If anything, you're doing him a favor. Gives him something to focus on besides this dusty old bookshop." Crowley tilted his head, observing you carefully. "So maybe stop worrying about it so much, yeah? Let the angel have his fun. He's not going to stop, anyway. You'd have to kick up quite the fuss to even slow him down at this rate."

"You really think so?"

"I know so." The demon promised. "Just let him get it all out of his system, and when its time for you to go home he'll be back to fretting over his first editions instead."

"That... actually makes me feel a lot better."

"Uh-uh!" He tutted quickly, raising a finger. "I'm a demon. I don't make people feel better. Do us both a favor and save your thanks for the angel."

"Of course," you giggled, "how could I forget?"

Your laughter seemed to finally soften the air in the room again, and the demon slouched low into his chair.

After a few minutes, you found yourself relaxing again as well, while the tapping of the seemingly unending raindrops against the window continued to fill the comfortable silence. It was a little easier to breathe now. Maybe not physically, but mentally at least. Like Crowley's insight had given you further permission to keep trying to 'enjoy this' as Aziraphale had requested. Even if you did end up confined to the bookshop for the rest of the week.

"..."

"And what's that look for now?"

"I really wanted to climb the Tower Bridge again..."

"Ha! Good luck with that. You'll be lucky if he let's you out of bed in time to catch your flight."

As for your embarrassment though? You weren't sure you'd ever be able look the angel in the eye when he insisted on tucking you in.

The faint sound of the shop door opening downstairs was your first hint that Aziraphale had returned, followed a bit of rustling and some slightly hurried, purposeful steps, until the door to the guest room creaked opened and the angel stepped inside, speaking in a hushed voice.

"Crowley, I've just got back and I'm going to start– " His expression was one of cheerful purpose, until his eyes landed on you, now sitting up against the pillows while Crowley slouched comfortably in the chair beside you.

"Crowley," Aziraphale began again, his tone changing to carry an edge of reprimand. "I specifically instructed you not to wake her until dinner!" But his attention then turned back to you warmly. "How are you feeling, dear?"

Crowley sat up a little straighter, as if wounded by the accusation. "Woke her up? Me? Don't think so, Angel. She woke up all on her own, didn't you, love?" He glanced at you, his grin daring you to contradict him.

You laughed, coughing lightly into your arm before nodding. "He's right. I woke up a few minutes ago. He's just been keeping me company." You smiled at the demon, who seemed to huff his own laugh at the idea.

"Hmm," Aziraphale hummed skeptically, but his smile was quick to return. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. Now, I've just been to the market, and I thought I'd make something special for dinner. If you're feeling peckish I'll bring you a tray once it's ready!"

"Actually, I'd like to come downstairs to eat again if that's okay?" You offered with a hopeful smile.

Aziraphale's brow furrowed slightly, his concern evident, but he didn't immediately object. "Are you sure, my dear? You've only just woken up, and you're still not at your best. Let's have a look at your temperature again."

Before the angel could reach your bedside, Crowley interjected smoothly, leaning further back in his chair as if to really sell his apparent disinterest. "Fever's still up."

You shot him a skeptical look, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. "How would you know?"

The demon shrugged but the corners of his mouth did twitch into an almost imperceptible smirk.

"Well, then I'm afraid it's out of the question." Aziraphale decided apologetically, taking the demon's word without a second thought, as though the news was exactly what he'd expected. "You'll keep resting here, and I'll set up a tray with everything you need. You'll be perfectly comfortable while you eat, just like this morning."

"Aww, really? C'mon, please?" you whined, exaggerating the tone as you tilted your head and looked up at him with your best pleading expression. An action that felt so natural in the moment, but was so unlike you that you actually took a split-second to pause afterwards; once again forced to confront the rather disarming sense of safety you felt here.

Aziraphale didn't seem to notice your brief moment of reflection, though, and continued with a solmen nod. "You'll have to forgive me, but you need rest, and I'll not have you risking a setback so early in recovery just for the sake of joining us at the table."

You sighed theatrically, leaning back into the pillows with a groan. "Fiiiiine," you grumbled, though the lightheartedness in your tone made it clear you weren't really upset. You also caught the faintest hint of relief flicker across Aziraphale's face before he straightened up and nodded, clearly pleased with your compliance.

"Good, good," The angel said warmly, clasping his hands together as though sealing the decision. "You've made the right choice, my dear. I'll have everything ready shortly."

He turned to leave, but stopped to look at Crowley, who had settled even further into the chair, one leg propped over the armrest now. "I do enjoy cooking for company, so, Crowley, would it be presumptuous of me to assume you'll be staying for dinner, also?"

Crowley tilted his head back, as if pondering the weight of such a decision before nodding slowly. "I suppose I... haven't got anywhere else to be~"

Aziraphale beamed. "Wonderful! Now, do please continue to keep her company and I'll prepare accordingly. We're having–" he paused, making an enthusiastic little jazz-hand motion with the announcement, "shepherd's pie~!"

The angel left the room with a spring in his step, humming a soft tune under his breath as he made his way out the door and down the stairs merrily.

You and Crowley watched him off for a moment, the demon muttering something about the so-called shepherd's pie under his breath with a little huff.

You were about to ask if it was any good when he suddenly snapped his fingers, his expression lighting up as if struck by a sudden realization.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, straightening in his chair. "Almost forgot. I brought you something."

"Huh?" You questioned but he'd already pushed himself to his feet and was heading to the door.

"Brought you something!" he repeated, glancing over his shoulder with a grin but not stopping to explain furthers as he strode out of the room with a purpose.

"Uh-... okay then?"

You waited alone for a while, checking your phone, making popping sounds with your mouth and rubbing your socked feet together absentmindedly under the covers until you heard a series of muffled thuds, followed by Crowley's unmistakable voice cursing from downstairs.

"Crowley! What are you– Where did you get that???"

"Don't mind me, Angel. You told me to bring her something. I brought her something!"

Whatever he was carrying up the stairs sounded heavy. You sat up a little straighter, your curiosity mounting with each loud thump as he struggled through the bookshop with whatever it was.

Finally, Crowley appeared in the doorway, lugging a relatively modern looking flat-screen TV under one arm and the handful of tangled cords that trailed from it in the other.

"Ta-da!" he announced, holding it in front of him like some kind of trophy.

Your eyes widened. "That's a...."

"A telly," he interrupted, setting it down carefully on a nearby dresser. You had to slap a hand over your mouth to stifle the laughter threatening to burst out. His choice of words alone was nearly enough to do you in, but the sight of the demon, looking so proud of himself didn't help. He turned back around, oblivious to your struggle. "Thought you might get a bit bored lying around all day with nothing to do. Angel's lovely and all, but I can't imagine his collection of 18th-century cookbooks makes for riveting entertainment."

You did your best to shake off the initial humor of hearing the word "telly" leave his mouth, but were still a caught off guard. "You brought me a TV?"

"Don't sound so surprised," Crowley said, frowning dramatically as he began trying to untangle the cords. "I can be thoughtful when I feel like it. Besides, you are sick. Even demons have standards about leaving someone to suffer in silence. Or– well, not really. But I do."

You couldn't help but laugh again, though it quickly turned into another coughing fit that left you clutching your chest. Crowley shot you a look but didn't comment, continuing to work on plugging the cords into the back of the TV.

"Where did you even get this?" you asked, watching as he crouched down to fiddle with the wall outlet after seemingly deciding that half the cords he'd brought along with it were of no use.

Crowley glanced up from his work, his tone as casual as ever. "It's yours technically," he admitted.

"Mine? How is that-" The question died on your lips as your eyes shifted to the TV. Recognition dawned, and your face stiffened. "Wait... Did you take that from my hotel room???"

Crowley smirked, the sly tilt of his head already confirming your suspicion. "I might've~"

"Crowley!" You exclaimed, but the laughter in your voice at how undeniably hilarious that actually was completely undercut your attempt at reprimanding him. "That's stealing!"

"We're borrowing it," he corrected, plugging the last cord into place. "I'll put it back. Eventually. They won't miss it for a few days, and it wasn't exactly getting much use over there, now was it?"

"That's... definitely still stealing," you muttered, "But I guess I appreciate the thought?"

"Good," he said, standing up and brushing off his hands. "Because I'm not carrying it back down those stairs until you're done with it."

You slumped back against your pillows, still smiling, but a thought crossed your mind, and you faltered slightly. "Still, Aziraphale's shop doesn't even have Wi-Fi. So unless you've brought something to-"

With a snap of his fingers, the screen flickered to life, displaying the home screen and myriad of streaming services available. Crowley stepped back, admiring his handiwork with a grin before turning to you.

"I stand corrected." You caught the remote he tossed your way as he strolled back to his chair, giving him a sidelong glance before shrugging it off and starting to scroll through your options.

But after a few moments, you noticed he'd still hadn't sat back down.

With an exaggerated sigh, he finally moved, rounding the bed at a leisurely pace. He drug his hand lazily over the baseboard at the foot as he made his way to the other side, as if savoring his own theatrics

Then, before you could so much as guess what he was up to, he threw himself down beside you, landing with a bounce that sent the blankets rippling.

"Alright, scoot over. Make some room."

"Pfff, what are you doing?" You let out a startled giggle, shifting over to give him some room.

"Getting comfortable," he replied, completely unbothered as he elbowed himself into your space.

Sitting atop the covers to your right, he stretched his long legs out and leaned back against the headboard with an air of complete nonchalance, making himself at home as though he'd been invited.

You eyed him with amusement, but then your gaze dropped to his shoes; still very much on his feet, and now very much on the bed.

Feigning a dramatic gasp, you pointed at them in mock horror. "No shoes on the bed! Aziraphale doesn't like shoes on the bed. Get your shoes off the bed!" You grinned and rattled off in an intentionally obnoxious fashion.

"Angel's not here, is he?" Crowley replied as he leaned further back, utterly unapologetic.

"Off!" you insisted, pushing at his legs with your own from under the blankets for emphasis. "Don't make me ring the bell."

"Thought you were supposed to be taking it easy?" Crowley's eyes narrowed, but his smirk betrayed him as he retaliated. One hand shot out, his long fingers tangling in your already messy hair to ruffle it, while his other pushed down at your shoulder, shoving you down and under the covers in one swift motion with the kind of strength no normal person would have been able to manage. "There, that's more like it!".

You let out a surprised squeak as it happened, gripping the edge of the quilt to pop your head back out with a startled gasp and see him smirking down at you. Huffing in mild annoyance, you scooted back up and pointedly gave him the cold shoulder. At least until the remote landed in your lap again.

"Go on," he nodded to the TV, "put something on, then.

Your smile broke through and you gladly reclaimed it, nestling into a more comfortable position under the blankets before making your decision.

~

After some time, and to your surprise, Crowley eventually slid under the blankets without ceremony; settling in beside you as though it was the most natural thing in the world. You decided not to bring it up, but got your fair share of glances in, enamored by the sight of the usually sharp-dressed demon lounging under a patchwork quilt.

He stretched out lazily, resting one arm over the headboard while the other gestured occasionally at the screen, punctuating his comments about your choice of show.

"What did you say this was called again?"

"Blue Exorcist! It's an anime." You explained, accentuating the word with the assumtion that he was unfamiliar with the concept. "I thought you might like it. Or maybe you'll hate it. We'll see."

"And you... watch a lot of cartoons, do you?

Your mouth gapped slightly in mock offense at the ribbing tone of the question, but before you could jump to defend your decision, Aziraphale reappeared at the door.

"It's ready!" He announced, bustling in with the small tray table from this morning. He paused only briefly to give Crowley a look but seemed to shrug the sight of him under the covers off with a little hum before crossing the room to your bedside. "Crowley, be a dear and do help bring everything up, won't you?"

The demon had already moved to stand up, popping his back with a lazy nod before heading downstairs. "Yeah, yeah, I'm on it."

Aziraphale nodded his thanks and you sat up a bit straighter as he settled the tray table over your lap. There wasn't anything on it at the moment besides a plate, cloth napkin and a set of silverware that he took a moment to adjust neatly before heading back out. "There we are~ Be back in just a moment."

Just another few moments passed before he was back, pushing the door open with his shoulder this time as he carried along a small folding table.

"Oh, is that for–" you started in mild surprise and he answered before the question was all the way out.

"Of course it is!" Aziraphale said brightly, unfolding the small table in front of the chair by the nightstand, "I couldn't very well let you eat all alone, could I? And since you can't come to the table, we'll simply bring the table to you!"

Your chest practically swelled at the thoughtfulness of that, and before you could muster a response, Aziraphale was already setting the table with utensils and napkins, humming cheerfully to himself as he worked.

"Surprise~" Crowley re-entered next with a bottle of wine in one hand and the stems of three glasses weaved between the fingers of his other, as well as a six-pack of something tucked under his arm.

"Crowley, you were supposed to bring the– oh, nevermind." Aziraphale rolled his eyes and waved the demon off, heading back downstairs himself again.

Crowley set the bottle of wine and two of glasses on the little table Aziraphale had arranged before turning to set the last one on your tray table.

You shot the glass and his bottle of wine cagey look but it was interrupted when he plopped the six-pack of cans on the mattress beside you.

"Ta-da! ....again." he announced, "Those are for you."

Blinking, you picked up the pack of cans and your expression shifted immediately to delight. "You brought me ginger ale?"

Crowley nodded, looking rather pleased with himself but playing it off as he began opening the bottle at their table. "Figured you'd want something besides wine, and you lot drink this stuff when you're sick, right?"

You snorted as you pulled a can free from the plastic rings that held them together. "Technically that's for stomachaches. But I'm not complaining." There was nothing like soda to help wash out the yucky feeling being sick left in your mouth, and they seemed to be nice and cold too.

The demon's face barely flickered with interest at your correction. "Close enough."

You flipped the can around in your hand fondly for a moment before a shit-eating and satisfied smile replaced your delighted one and you looked up at Crowley.

"Ohhh no. You wipe that smile off your face."

"You're so good to me~"

"Am not." He shot back flatly. "That fever's scrambled your brain if you've started thinking nonsense like that."

He finally popped the cork, pouring himself a generous glass of wine while you cracked open your can in solidarity. With an exaggerated sense of ceremony, you emptied the ginger ale into the glass he'd given you, lifting it his way with mock refinement.

Crowley still looked unimpressed by your comment, but his features softened just a bit, and he raised his glass to yours. "Right, cheers then," he said with a half-smile before it shifted into an unrepentant grin. "To your continued convalescence~"

You squinted offendedly at the comment but Aziraphale re-entered the room just as you were prepared to bite back.

With oven-mitted hands and a triumphant air, he carried in a large, steaming baking dish with him.

"Here we are!" the angel declared, setting the dish carefully in the center of table he'd set up for himself and Crowley. "Fresh out of the oven, hearty and piping hot! Just the kind of thing for a body on the mend."

"It smells great!" You applauded and Crowley actually nodded in agreement, swirling his glass before taking a sip.

"That it does! Did you... make it from scratch, Angel? All by yourself?" The question was playfully interrogating. "A pretty 'miraculous' effort if you ask me."

Aziraphale scoffed, removing his mitts and pulling up another armchair from the corner of the room to sit across from him. "I'll have you know that this was made with entirely human effort." But then he paused and added sheepishly, "Though I may have, ah, adjusted the taste just a smidge. I.... added a bit too much rosemary at first."

Crowley pursed his lips to stop a grin before hidng it behind another sip of wine.

"Well, let us, 'dig in', as they say!" The angel encouraged warmly, taking your plate first.

"Let's freaking goooooo." You cheered in a low voice as he handed a hearty plateful back to you. Then, eagerly, and without thinking, you immediately shoveled in a bite.

Your eyes widened and you clamped a hand over your mouth with a wince. "Ah–bad idea! Hot, hot!"

Aziraphale, despite his breif concern at your initial yelp, couldn't help but chuckle as you waved a hand in front of your mouth. "Oh, my dear, you must be careful! I did warn that it just came out of the oven."

"Mmmm, noted..." You swallowed hard and nodded, squeezing one eye shut as the residual pain faded. "It's really good though!" You added enthusiastically.

Aziraphale beamed at the compliment, serving Crowley and himself next.

After that, conversation became easy and the atmosphere in the room unshakably comfortable. Aziraphale made sure you had seconds and Crowley stole one of your ginger ales, only to toss it after an unimpressed first sip, and for a little while, everything felt perfectly simple.

You'd missed this

A lot.

~

A little while later, after dinner had been cleared away, you watched from your place in bed as Aziraphale returned, carrying something draped over his arms with clear excitement.

"Now," he began, with the air of someone about to present a precious gift, "since you'll be staying another night, I went digging and found you a fresh gown. Thought you might appreciate something clean to change into."

You groaned immediately, sinking lower under the blankets, "Oh no."

Aziraphale gave you a patient look, as if you were being terribly difficult for no reason. Then, with great care, he unfolded the garment, revealing yet another soft, vintage-style nightgown.

You peeked out from under the covers, skeptically. This one was a light cream color with short sleeves. Definitely a bit more practical than the one you were wearing now but was equally as old-timey looking.

Crowley let out a low whistle, "Ohhh, that's a beauty," he said, pushing himself up from his chair. "Come on, love. Let the angel dress you up, he's clearly been dying to." He gestured at the nightgown with a smirk. "Besides, could be worse. Could've been something with more frills. Or-" he gasped in theatrical delight, snapping his fingers as though struck with sudden inspiration, "maybe a nice flower motif?"

Aziraphale perked up immediately, his eyes lighting with genuine enthusiasm. "Oh, that's a marvelous idea, Crowley! I do believe have one with a lovely bellflower pattern somewhere-"

"No!" You cut him off immediately, sitting up and holding out a hand as if to physically block any further brainstorming. "This one's fine. This is great. I love it, actually."

You jumped to your feet, grabbing the nightgown from Aziraphale's hands and using it to physically herd them both toward the door.

Crowley barely stumbled from your shove at first, but allowed himself to be herded anyway, and Aziraphale followed with pleased satisfaction. "Of course, dear. Take your time."

You rolled your eyes, giving him one last push before promptly shutting the door in both their faces.

From the other side, Aziraphale called gently, "We'll be just outside!"

"Don't remind me." You muttered in an entirely humored way and smacked your palm against the door.

With it shut and a moment of peace granted, you changed.

The question of where your original clothes had ended up did cross your mind, but you decided it didn't matter much considering that Aziraphale obviously didn't plan on you spending much time out of bed while here. So you made peace with the fact that wearing anything remotely normal would probably be out of the question until you were packed and leaving for the airport.

"Okay," You announced with a sigh, "I'm done."

As he re-entered, Aziraphale had to pause for just a moment, his hands clasping together in delighted approval. "Oh, my dear, once again you look absolutely darling. Stylish and practical! They're quite the fit for you, it seems."

Crowley stepped back in behind him. "What do you think, love?" He decided to prod, appraising you with an exaggeratedly critical eye. "Feelin' stylish?"

You hopped back onto the edge of the bed and reached for another ginger ale, cracking it open with a sharp pop. "I feel like a Victorian child with consumption."

Crowley barked out a laugh, while Aziraphale huffed, though he didn't seem particularly offended. "Now now, no need to be dramatic."

Crowley, meanwhile, had started poking around the room with a look of exaggerated curiosity. "Now where," he murmured to himself, opening a drawer and peering inside, "do you keep the matching bonnets?"

The demon was lucky that Aziraphale had already cleared away your tray and utensils, because you gripped the first thing in your vicinity, a pillow, and chucked it at him.

He dodged easily, laughing again as he lifted his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright," He leaned against the dresser, and motioned to you lazily, "but I do think it would really tie the whole thing together."

Aziraphale shook his head, nodding to you as he gave Crowley a mildly reproachful look. "Hush, Crowley, you'll have her thinking she looks anything less than absolutely lovely."

Crowley's grin turned up in a way you knew meant he was about to counter with something, but before you could launch another pillow at him, Aziraphale stepped forward with a gentle but firm clap of his hands.

"Well, I do believe it's been quite a long day for you, my dear. Perhaps it's time we wind things down for the evening?"

You dropped the pillow and flopped backward onto the mattress with an offended pout. "But I just woke up a few hours ago... It's not even late yet!"

Aziraphale tilted his head slightly as he observed you, his smile softening into something more thoughtful, but the amusement in his gaze didn't mask the careful scrutiny beneath it. His eyes flickered over you, taking note of the way you were nursing your ginger ale a bit more sluggishly now, the way your posture had started to slacken, and the slight heaviness in your gaze, even as your brows knitted together at the demon's comments.

"It's nearly nine," he began and approached the bedside, coaxing you up so he could pull back the covers you'd only just sprawled yourself over. "and if you'd like to have any hope of shaking this illness before you return home, you'll be needing plenty of rest," he instructed, reaching over to pluck the half-empty can from your hand and set it aside gently. "Now, under the covers with you. You've had quite the day after all."

Crowley cackled at that. "Poor thing," he crooned. "Really put you through the wringer, didnt he?" Aziraphale gave him a pointed look. "I mean, you've eaten quite a bit," he began, holding up a finger as if listing each point. "Had a rather extensive nap, then proceeded to eat again." He turned to you now, his lips twitching with fond amusement. "And now, after all that hard work, you must be exhausted."

You giggled and Aziraphale pursed his lips, giving you both a mildly reproachful look, but there was no real bite behind it. "I reiterate! Rest is important," he said pointedly, though you could tell he was holding back a chuckle of his own. "And if you truly must frame it that way, then yes, she's has had a most productive day of recovery."

The angel grinned a bit too knowingly and leaned towards you before nodding to the demon. "An early night will do you far more good than staying up just to indulge Mr. Crowley's need for attention."

Crowley scoffed in mock offense at the title, no doubt used with the intention to playfully dismiss him. "Well, if she's worked so hard, maybe you could let her stay up past her bedtime, yeah? As a little treat?"

Aziraphale let out a good-natured huff, shaking his head as he smoothed the blanket down over you with practiced ease. "A treat, you say?" he mused, side-eyeing the demon before smiling down at you at the idea. "I'm afraid that will have to wait until tomorrow. Perhaps I'll bring you something sweet with breakfast?"

"I don't need a 'treat'." You mumbled offendedly at the near condescending notion.

Aziraphale chuckled warmly at your grumbling, continuing to tuck the blankets around you with the utmost care. "Of course," he placated, his tone light and reassuring. "But a little something to lift your spirits wouldn't hurt, would it?"

"My spirits are perfectly fine." You insisted with a nod.

The angel hummed, clearly unconvinced but too polite to argue further. "If you say so, dear," he relented, though the glint in his eye suggested he already had something in mind. "Now, Crowley, you've been lovely, but I'm going to dim the lights. Please either make your way downstairs or do try your best not to keep her awake if you decide to lurk about."

Crowley stretched his arms over his head with a slow, lazy sigh, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off the weight of the evening. "Yeah, yeah, I know when I'm being kicked out," he drawled, pushing off the dresser. "Angel's got his bedtime orders all set, best get some beauty sleep, love."

"Night, Crowley." You called as he waltzed out the door, raising a hand to quietly return the sentiment without looking back.

Aziraphale waited a beat, listening to Crowley's footsteps retreating down the stairs before shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. "Honestly," he sighed fondly before leaning back over you, tucking the blankets just a little neater over your shoulders.

"I think you hurt his feelings." You joked.

Aziraphale let out a small, knowing hum, smoothing out a wrinkle in the quilt. "Oh, I doubt it. Even if he leaves in a huff I'm sure he'll be back before noon tomorrow." he replied with utter certainty.

You tilted your head. "How do you know?"

The angel simply smiled, something affectionate lingering in the corners of his expression. "Please, he's been at the shop most every day these last few months. The poor boy must be terribly bored as of late with‐ well–" He seemed to trail off, waving a little hand in lue of continuing.

You bit your lip at that, forcing away an all too knowing smile with an agreeing, "Mmmhmm."

Aziraphale's expression softened, his gaze far away for just a moment before he shook himself from his thoughts. "But that's neither here nor there. What matters now is that you get another good night's rest." He patted where your hand would be over the blanket. "Get some sleep now, and as always, ring for me if you need anything at all."

"Okee," You nodded, nestling deeper into the blankets with a hint of bashfulness before glancing up at him again. "Thank you, Aziraphale. For... y'know, everything today. For making me food, and... just-" You exhaled softly, searching for the right words.

At that, he laughed. A sweet, fond, affectionate laugh. The kind that made it clear your gratitude, while appreciated, was entirely and endearingly unnecessary in his eyes.

"Oh, my dear," he said, his tone dripping with quiet fondness. "Think nothing of it. Truly. It's been my absolute pleasure." Then, with a smile that was both somewhat smug and entirely genuine, he added, "And I must say, I rather look forward to doing it all again tomorrow."

Chapter Text

You groaned softly, shifting under the covers in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, but it didn't help much. It didn't seem like the extra fever reducers Aziraphale had given you before bed last night had much of a lasting effect, because your head was swimming.

Stirring a bit more, you realized your throat was thick with something and coughed to clear it, bringing the unpleasant dryness in your mouth to your attention.

Of all the uncomfortable sensations fighting to take the spotlight in your head right now, that was at least one you could remedy yourself.

So you sat up, immediately tipping your head down and waiting for the faint dizzy spell to pass. It took longer than you would have liked, but eventually, the swirling sensation settled into a more manageable, albeit still unpleasant, dull throbbing.

Luckily, the glass on your nightstand sat already temptingly filled to the brim, and you reached for it gratefully. You let the first sip sit in your mouth for a moment, washing away the results of a night slept unable to breathe through your nose, before greedily downing the rest.

As if on cue with your wakefulness, there was a light knock at the door

"Good morning!" Aziraphale called, his voice bright with the cheer of someone who had likely been up for hours already. "Are you awake, my dear?"

Still hunched over slightly, you turned your head toward the door to respond. "Yeah–"

Or, at least, you tried.

There was a sound, technically, but it was so faint it may as well have been a choked whisper. Your voice had all but disappeared overnight, leaving you with little more than a breathy rasp and a tightening ache in your throat.

Your brows furrowed in mild alarm and you cleared your throat, trying again, "Aziraphale?" But it wasn't nearly loud enough.

The angel seemed to be waiting patiently for a response this morning, so with a moment of thought, and just a bit self-consciously, you reached out and gently rang the little bell on the nightstand, hoping he took that as a signal to enter.

And he did, opening the door to pop his head inside rather urgently with a concerned tilt, a motion uncannily like that of a confused bird.

He beamed the moment he saw you sitting up.

"Ah~ Good morning, my dear!" he greeted, and similarly to yesterday, stepped back out for a moment before entering the rest of the way with a fully stocked little tray table.

You opened your mouth to greet him in return, but the faint resistance your throat gave at just that stopped you from trying.

His eager smile faltered as he set the tray aside, his sharp gaze catching the wariness in your expression.

Then, with an indulgent little huff, he turned his attention to preparing your morning tea. "Oh? Are we looking at another silent morning?" He teased, giving you a playful side-eye, seemingly happy to play along with what he thought was a bit you'd decided to revive in reference to yesterday.

But you quickly shook your head and motioned to clarify, placing a hand lightly against your throat before rasping out the best "I can't..." you could manage.

You barely made it through the two syllables before cringing at the weakness of your own voice.

The change in Aziraphale was immediate. His amused expression gave way to concern, and the tea was momentarily forgotten in favor of stepping urgently to your bedside

"Oh my. You've lost your voice, haven't you?"

You nodded rather miserably.

"And judging by that melancholy expression, I'd wager you're having a rather rough go of it this morning."

Another weak nod.

"Oh, you poor dear," he murmured, voice thick with sympathy. His brows knitted together as he reached out, brushing the backs of his fingers against your forehead before pressing his palm to it entirely. "Why... you're still positively burning up. You must feel dreadful."

Normally, you might have attempted to deflect a little, downplay the severity of it for both your sakes, but Crowley's words from yesterday were still fresh on your mind, and the truth was, you did feel awful. Utterly drained, head pounding, throat tight, and body aching all over. And despite your literal fever, by some odd irony of the human body, cold.

And Aziraphale, despite the comforting coolness of his hands, well... Aziraphale was warm. In more ways than a number on a thermometer could capture.

If you had any reservations about his fussing before, they were almost entirely gone now. You'd take Crowley's advice and let Aziraphale take the wheel. Because quite frankly, you just didn't have the fight in you this morning.

You made a soft, wheezy groan at his assessment and let your head tilt into his touch in exhausted surrender.

And the moment you didn't deflect? The moment you simply sighed, let him fuss, and didn't push back?

Something shifted.

A glint of near-righteous determination flashed in Aziraphale's eyes, and then, almost immediately, his expression melted into something unbearably pitying

"I knew it," he crooned, and his voice was so thick with warmth it made your chest tighten for a whole different reason. "You are feeling worse today, aren't you? Oh, bless your heart." His hand trailed down from your forehead to your cheek as if to double-check his findings.

You barely had time to feel self-conscious about it before he let out another sigh and smoothed his free hand over your hair with all the protectiveness of an actual mother hen. Nearly cradling your head as if he could will your discomfort away with sheer willpower.

Your eyes went wide.

That alone was enough to make your face burn hotter than the fever already had, but you forced yourself to breathe and let it happen. Crowley had been right, after all. Aziraphale did thrive on this sort of thing. So you shut your eyes for a moment and willed yourself to just... let yourself be taken care of you.

"How did you sleep last night?" he asked, his voice dripping with sympathy. "You must be absolutely exhausted. And your voice-oh, your voice!" He tsked, shaking his head as if the very idea was personally offensive to him. "Completely gone, is it? How dreadful."

Your lips parted slightly, about to whisper, "Not completely," to the best of your ability, but he quickly shushed you.

"Ah-ah! You mustn't strain it even a bit more than necessary. You needn't worry about a single thing today. I'll take care of everything. You just rest."

Without wasting another moment, he slipped fully into caretaker mode.

He propped some pillows behind your back to help you more easily sit up and adjust the edges of the quilt over your lap with care. "Do lay back a bit, no need to sit so at attention. You must take it easy now more than ever."

You hummed faintly in appreciation, leaning back in mild relief, and Aziraphale positively glowed at your compliance.

Internally, though, he also took your rather docile attitude this morning as further proof of your declining state and set to work preparing your morning tea again a bit more hurriedly.

After finishing, he set the cup on the tray table before bringing the whole thing over to you.

Almost immediately, you gave the whole thing a weary look, your stomach twisting slightly at the thought of food. Your throat felt small, your head ached on and off, and your body was sluggish enough that the idea of putting down anything substantial seemed like too much effort. But even after only a day, he seemed so comfortable with this breakfast-in-bed routine that you weren't sure you had the heart to refuse him.

However, Aziraphale caught your hesitation immediately.

His expression softened, and instead of instructing you to eat, he took a step back after placing it over your lap and considered for a moment. "Hmm," he hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Not quite up for a full meal, are we?"

Your eyes shot up to him, worried the expression on your face had made you seem ungrateful, but the look he was giving you back seemed entirely understanding, so you shook your head slightly, your shoulders sagging in apology.

"Quite understandable," he murmured, his tone gentle and thoughtful. Then, with a decisive nod, he lifted a hand over the cloche and gave a subtle flick of his fingers.

There was a brief, soft shimmer of a sound, and when he removed the cloche, you could only assume that the contents underneath had no doubt been changed from whatever he had originally prepared.

"There," Aziraphale said with a satisfied nod, setting the cloche aside. "I hope porridge is quite alright? Sweetened with a bit of honey and with some berries on the side. Something gentle on the stomach, but still nourishing."

Dammit that was sweet of him.

Your eyes widened slightly in gratitude and you gave him a wide, appreciative smile. Even without words, you hoped your expression radiated the genuine thanks you felt in that moment.

Aziraphale beamed at your silent gratitude, clearly pleased with himself. "I figured you'd prefer something nice and simple~" He nodded toward the bowl, "We can't have you skipping breakfast entirely, after all."

Some time passed and Aziraphale was refilling your tea when the sound of a door slamming from downstairs had you both straighten in mild surprise.

"Angel! You up yet?"

Aziraphale barely paused, giving your tea a gentle stir before handing it back to you. "Up and occupied, dear boy!" he called back before leaning in with a knowing smile. "Well, well, look who's here early," he mused to you, and you stifled a laugh around a spoonful of porridge. "I'll be down in a moment!" He called towards the door again and got ready to excuse himself.

But to both your surprise, the door to the guest room flung open with the same kind of careless bang you'd heard from downstairs

"Good morning~!" Crowley drawled, arms spreading wide as if he were some grand guest of honor arriving instead of an uninvited demon barging into a sick room.

Aziraphale, to his credit, barely flinched, though his brows immediately knitted together in reprimand. "Crowley!" he scolded, turning toward him with exasperated authority. "Really, must you enter a lady's room so abruptly? It's highly improper to simply barge in without so much as a knock!"

Crowley, already halfway to your bedside, waved a dismissive hand without looking at him. "Oh, please. Hardly like I walked in on anything scandalous."

You eyed him suspiciously, knowing full well that the beeline he'd seemed to have made from downstairs to your bedside was anything but casual.

"Breakfast in bed again? Not bad, not bad," he mused, examining the contents of your tray critically. "Aren't you lucky. What's this then? Porridge?"

Before you could react, he reached out and poked at your spoon before giving the edge of your bowl a little shake just to be annoying.

You narrowed your eyes and snatched it up, gripping your bowl protectively and dragging it closer to your chest to shield it from him

Then, with zero hesitation, he turned and flicked one of the raspberries from your fruit bowl onto your tray.

You gasped softly, immediately grabbing that as well and cradling it next to your porridge with the same level of defensive urgency.

"Ooh! Angel, that's resource guarding, that is. Might be a new symptom~"

Aziraphale, meanwhile, huffed offendedly on your behalf and reached out to physically shoo Crowley away from your bedside with a series of light, insistent pats to his shoulder. "Honestly, Crowley! Must you always antagonize?" he scolded, wedging himself in-between you and the demon. "She has quite enough to deal with this morning without you goading her."

Crowley rocked back on his heels and shoved his hands into his pockets, tilting his head around the angel to size you up. "Ah yes, she seems positively overwhelmed. Doesn't she?"

The angel merely huffed again and shook his head, folding his arms and addressing Crowley's comment with a more serious expression. "Well since you clearly haven't the sense to ask, I shall inform you outright. Our dear girl has lost her voice."

You pulled the spoon slowly from your mouth, something tightening slightly in your gut at the familiar way he'd just referred to you.

"You mean she can't talk?" Crowley's voice was both incredulous and slightly amused, leaning around Aziraphale again to raise a questioning brow at you. "You were plenty chatty yesterday."

"Well, yes, Crowley, that's rather how these things work," Aziraphale replied patiently. "One day it's mild, the next it's worse. It's quite common with colds."

There was a pause.

Then, in a voice dripping with mock sympathy, Crowley drawled, "Oh, you poor thing."

"Precisely." Aziraphale nodded, not seeming to have noticed the demon's tone. "Which means things will have to be quite different today!"

You'd locked eyes with Crowley through his glasses, your lips pressed into a thin, unamused line, but smiled rather smugly when the demon's almost eager grin was interrupted by Aziraphale ushering him away from you further.

The angel rested his hands on his hips in a display of unwavering authority. "I'll have none of your usual jeering today." he said primly, lifting his chin. "She's in a particularly delicate stage of recovery now, and as such, her condition must be treated with the utmost reverence and carefulness."

"Reverence?" Crowley repeated flatly, glancing back at you as if to confirm he'd heard correctly.

You, of course, nodded solemnly behind Aziraphale's back, your eyes wide with mock seriousness as you picked up the berry he'd flicked earlier and tossed it into your mouth.

"Yes, Crowley." Aziraphale reiterated, entirely missing the silent exchange. "She's quite unwell, and we shan't be making a spectacle of her misfortune. No teasing, no jeering, no antagonizing of any kind." He emphasized the last part, pointing a finger at the demon in warning.

"Because you're worried my 'antagonizing' might put her on a proper set back, are you?"

"Yes," Aziraphale answered matter-of-factly, continuing in a tone of great importance as he went on, straightening his already impossibly straight posture, "I shall be ensuring a calm, quiet, and nurturing atmosphere for her today."

Crowley's incredulous gaze slid back to you, as if searching for some kind of reality check.

But you? Oh, you were having fun with this now.

Since Aziraphale's back was turned to you completely, you locked eyes with the demon again and did a cocky little shoulder shimmy.

Crowley sucked in a sharp breath, visibly fighting back laughter as he pressed a fist to his mouth. He turned on his heel, pretending to glance at one of the bookshelves as if studying it very closely in an effort to avoid completely cracking up.

"Something wrong?" Aziraphale asked with a scrutinizing look.

"Nnnnghh. Headache," the demon muttered, shaking his head as he pulled himself back together. "Terrible one, actually. Must be all the reverence in the air."

The angel's eyes narrowed, but he brushed whatever Crowley was up to under the rug and turned his attention back to you.

When he saw you'd finished your breakfast, he made a pleased sound and promptly busied himself clearing away your tray.

"Very good, my dear, now let's get you settled properly once again," he fussed, removing a few of the pillows you'd been leaning into and coaxing you back down so you weren't quite lying down but were certainly reclining a bit more comfortably. "Now then," he said, hands clasped together. "What can I do right now to make you feel even the tiniest bit better? Are you too warm? Too cold?"

You thought for a moment, and then nodded with a pitiful look.

Aziraphale gasped. "Both?"

You nodded again.

"Well that simply won't do. We'll get you an extra blanket and I'll freshen up your ice-pack. How does that sound? Anything else?"

You looked around for a moment before locating your now empty teacup sitting on the nightstand and lifting it slowly.

Aziraphale's eyes lit up with understanding. "Ah, more tea! Of course, my dear." He took the cup from your hands with careful precision. "Another blend of honey and chamomile? I'd like to keep it soothing for that throat of yours. Or would you prefer peppermint? Something to open the sinuses? I've plenty of choices."

You gave a tiny appreciative nod, motioning towards him in a way you hoped conveyed, dealer's choice.

He seemed to understand perfectly and nodded back. "Very good. I'll be back in but a moment," he resolved, swiftly turning toward the door. "Oh! And, Crowley–"

Crowley, who had been watching this entire ordeal unfold with immense amusement, slowly slid his sunglasses down his nose. "Angel."

"Be a dear and fetch her that blanket, won't you? I'm going to refill her ice-pack and see if I can find a thermometer. Get a proper idea of what we're dealing with before moving forward." Aziraphale asked distractedly. "Oh– and check if we have any of those lovely little lemon lozenges left while you're at it!"

Crowley blinked at him. Then at you.

You shrugged

Then at Aziraphale again, but the angel had already hurried away.

When he was sure you were alone, he let out a low whistle, shaking his head in amusement. "You're really letting him get away with all this?"

You gave Crowley an incredulous look, and with Aziraphale out of earshot, tried your hand at responding. "Was... your idea," you rasped, or at least, attempted to. The words barely scraped out, hoarse and strained.

Crowley visibly cringed at the sound of your voice, his smirk faltering for half a second before returning with full force. "Oof. That is rough, love." He dragged the word out before tilting his head back and forth in quiet admission at what you'd said, "And, yeah, I suppose it was."

You rolled your eyes, swallowing against the tightness in your throat as you attempted to elaborate.

The demon exhaled sharply through his nose, raising a hand to cut you off. "Alright, alright, cut that out. Its bloody painful to listen to."

You scowled. Bloody painful trying to speak with too, you thought.

"Oh, don't give me that look." He gestured vaguely at you, his gaze sweeping over your sickbed, "Angel'll have my head if I let you talk yourself into a real setback."

You opened your mouth to protest, but he raised both brows, daring you to continue.

You shut it again.

Crowley smirked. "See? She can be taught. Let's do as the angel says, yeah?"

You cocked a brow, giving him a pointed look that very clearly said, Oh, so you care? Before you flopped back against your pillows with a weary sigh, deciding to surrender. You didn't feel like trying to talk anyway.

"And in the meantime, you and I can take bets on how long it'll be before he takes to spoon-feeding you~"

You snickered as best you could, and the demon seemed satisfied. "See? You're already on the road to recovery!" He teased before moving to retrieve something from the closet. With an exaggerated effort, he groaned and pulled another knit blanket down from a shelf inside. "Right, let's get this over with. You heard the angel, one blanket, coming up."

He shook it out with a lazy flick of his wrists before tossing it over your legs in a deliberately haphazard fashion.

"There. Extra blanket, per royal decree," he said with a mock bow, before stuffing his hands back into his pockets and tilting his head at you. "That do, Your Highness?"

You wiggled your feet beneath the added weight for a moment and gave him a slow, approving nod. Then you motioned towards your throat in an showy manner to goad him. And my "lozenges"?

"Nope! That was it. My good deed for the day." With a slightly more genuine air, he sighed and plopped down into the chair beside your bed, crossing one leg over the other. "You'll have to wait for the angel."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a warmth behind the motion. Yeah, I figured as much.

~

Some time passed and by the time the afternoon had rolled around, you'd spent the entirety of the day so far in bed.

It took him a while, but Aziraphale was able to locate a thermometer for you. Trudging into your room after your second round of tea with something that resembled an old-timey doctor's bag.

You watched with a mild curiosity as he dug through it and carefully pulled out an equally old-fashioned thermometer. It was one of those little glass-and-mercury contraptions, the kind that had to be placed under the tongue and held there for what always felt like an eternity.

"Here we are~" Aziraphale seemed to beam at the little device as he approached your bedside, "Let's get a proper reading, shall we?"

You gave the thermometer a skeptical look, worried because you felt that you already knew the outcome wasn't going to be great. It had been hours and your head seemed to go back to swimming the moment any fever reducers you'd been given began to wear off.

Still, you sighed softly and let the angel slip the glass thermometer beneath your tongue, obediently pressing your lips around it as he instructed.

"Good girl," he praised, "I do love an easy patient."

You half rolled your eyes, half glanced away bashfully and the angel's expression lit up with remembrance. "Oh! I did leave something on the stove, but I'll be right back. Do hold that for a moment!" He instructed and you nodded as he hurried back downstairs.

That had been a few minutes ago now, and you were currently busying yourself doodling away on a notepad Aziraphale had given you to communicate with, thermometer still jutting from the corner of your mouth as you fought not to fidget with it.

Crowley, who strangely enough hadn't left your room since his arrival again this morning, peered over the nightstand at you with bored curiosity.

"Whatcha got there?" he mused, noting the way you'd hunched slightly over the writing tablet, your pencil scratching away in focused little movements. His tone was casual, but there was an unmistakable glint of interest behind his glasses.

You shot him a suspicious look over the top of your notepad, clutching it closer to your chest in an exaggerated display of protectiveness and turning away from him. The thermometer nearly wobbled from your mouth in the process, and you had to press your lips back around it quickly to keep it in place.

The demon chuckled at your determination, resting his chin in his palm as he leaned an elbow on the bedside table, watching your dramatic evasiveness with clear amusement. "Alright. Keep your secrets."

But with a little hum, you added the final details and finally spun the pad around to present your masterpiece with a proud smile.

It was a snake. But not just any snake.

This one had sunglasses perched on its smug little face, drawn with heavy black lines and a large set of angry eyebrows.

Crowley blinked at the drawing. Then blinked at you. Then back at the drawing. He lowered his sunglasses and pretended to scrutinize it with great seriousness.

"That me?

You nodded enthusiasticly.

"Not bad."

You beamed smugly at the praise.

"My turn," he then said matter-of-factly and snatched the notepad from your hands. You narrowed your eyes offendedly but ultimately relented, shifting back against your pillows as you watched him twirl the pencil between his fingers, glancing between you and the page with a lazy sort of calculation.

Unfortunately, though, he was interrupted before having the chance to put pencil to paper as Aziraphale returned.

The angel re-entered in a hurry, bustling through the door with rolled up sleeves, likely from whatever he'd been doing in the kitchen.

"Terribly sorry for the delay! Lunch will need just a few more minutes." he explained, coming up at your bedside to finally check the thermometer's reading.

Before he could so much as reach for it, though, you swiftly snatched your drawing back from Crowley, flipping it around with an eager little flourish to show it off.

"Oh? Oh! Oh—this is lovely!" Aziraphale let out a pleased gasp, carefully taking the drawing from your hands and examining it with the utmost reverence. You didn't even have to explain who it was. "Why, I'd say it's positively frightening how well it captures his likeness!"

You grinned, extremely pleased with yourself as Aziraphale continued.

"I do believe this deserves a proper display. I'll hang it on the fridge~"

Hell yeah

You brought a fist down in silent celebration. Crowley just scoffed.

Aziraphale ignored him entirely, tucking the drawing away with a fond little smile before finally turning his attention back to you.

"Now, let's have that thermometer, dear."

You nodded softly and relinquished it, pulling it from your mouth and handing it to the angel. He examined it closely, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

Then, he frowned.

"Hmm..."

"Hmm?" You echoed his hum curiously.

"39.4." The angel said in a worryingly serious tone, turning his gaze back to you to press his palm firmly to your forehead again, double-checking the reading with his own senses.

You glanced to Crowley who mouthed, "102", for you and your eyes widened with a silent, "oh."

Aziraphale's frown deepened slightly as he examined you, his hand lingering against your forehead a little longer than necessary. You watched his expression carefully, feeling that familiar, creeping guilt starting to take hold in your chest and your own expression began to twist with concern.

Aziraphale noticed.

Before you could let the worry fully settle in, he exhaled softly and, with a shake of his head, his features smoothed back into something warm and reassuring.

"Now now," he tutted, withdrawing his hand. "No need to look so alarmed. Fevers do tend to be stubborn things. It's certainly not ideal, but it's nothing we can't manage."

You nodded slowly, but ironically your own wellbeing hadn't exactly been your concern.

He reached down, tucking the edge of the blanket a little more securely up your lap in a quiet gesture of comfort as he continued, his voice entirely optimistic. "This is nothing I haven't seen before. We'll just keep as we have been! Pleanty of rest and plenty of fluids. A little care, a little patience, and you'll be right as rain in no time at all."

Crowley snorted from his place beside the bed. "Right as rain? In this weather?" He gestured vaguely toward the window, where droplets of water still drizzled against the glass. "Not sure that's the best choice of words considering how she got here, Angel."

Aziraphale gave him a flat, sidelong look but let the comment slide, instead turning back to you with an encouraging smile. "Numbers aside, how would you say you're feeling? I know you had a rough go of it this morning, but perhaps those fever reducers helped with some of the discomfort?" His tone was coaxing and careful, like he was trying to gauge your answer before you even gave it. "Be honest with me now."

You hesitated.

He'd–Aziraphale–had already done so much for you. If you admitted that you were actually feeling worse, that the dull ache in your head had grown sharper and refused to fade out at all like he had on and off this morning, you'd only worry him more. It could even be argued, in your mind at least, that being completely honest in this moment would be borderline ungrateful of all the effort he'd put in so far.

Your eyes flickered to Crowley for a brief second, but the demon was watching the exchange in silence, his expression unreadable

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you reached for the notepad at your bedside and scribbled quickly, your pencil scratching against the paper as you carefully wrote.

Then you held it up for Aziraphale to see with an easy, nonchalant smile.

Mostly the same.

The angel's gaze flicked from your face to the words, then back again, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly.

For a moment, you were sure he was going to call you on it. You could see it in the way his lips parted ever so slightly, the way his brows twitched upward, the way he looked like he wanted to say something-

But then, just as quickly, the moment passed.

Aziraphale let out a quiet, knowing hum, his smile remaining soft but just a bit sad around the edges.

He took your hand in both of his, his thumbs smoothing gently over your knuckles. "Well," he murmured, his voice impossibly gentle, "I suppose 'mostly the same' is better than 'much worse,' hmm?"

You nodded quickly, a bit too quickly, and your fingers twitched slightly under his touch. You quickly withdrew your hand, busying yourself with adjusting your blanket in favor of retaining eye contact with the all too perceptive angel.

Aziraphale, either oblivious or simply choosing not to acknowledge your flustered reaction, stood and smoothed his vest. He nodded to himself, as if solidifying a plan in his head. " I do believe I still have some old fashioned tonic in the pantry. It tastes quite dreadful, I’m afraid, but it's a bit stronger than what you're taking now and should work wonders!"

Your lips parted slightly with alarm and you looked up at him in mild distress. Dreadful?

"Oh, terribly so," Aziraphale admitted with a wince, as if already anticipating your reaction to it. "But quite effective! And a spoonful of honey afterwards should chase it down nicely."

Crowley leaned forward, finally grinning after his unusual bout of silence. "Trying to teach her a bit of a lesson, are we, Angel?"

Aziraphale scoffed, scandalized. "Crowley!" He turned to you quickly, shaking his head in reassurance. "I assure you, my dear, I take absolutely no pleasure in this. I'd never dream of such a thing. I promise it's only in your best interest."

You gave him a doubtful look, but he grinned down at you with the same earnest determination as ever.

"You'll take just spoonful, I'll make sure you're comfortable, and before you know it, you'll be well on your way to feeling like your old self again."

You sighed, but the warmth behind his words and the way he'd so clearly been trying to cheer you up a moment ago made it difficult to argue.

So with an air of great reluctance, you nodded.

Aziraphale beamed proudly at your compliance.

"Good girl," he praised again, reaching out to brush your hair back in a quick, gentle motion before turning toward the door. "I'll fetch everything at once then. You can take it after you've eaten."

As soon as Aziraphale left the room again, Crowley's head jerked towards you.

"You liar." He laughed. "The angel can see right through you, y'know."

You shrugged, supposing that he probably could too if he felt like calling you out on it.

Lifting your notepad, you flipped to a clean page and wrote out a response.

Well, he didn't say anything.

Then you promptly ripped it out, crumbling it thoroughly and tossing it into the trashcan to hide any evidence

Crowley hummed thoughtfully, considering that for a moment before shrugging. "Yeah, well. Maybe he's picking his battles." His grin turned slightly smug. "Or maybe he's saving his energy for getting you to choke down whatever horrific old-fashioned potion he's about to dig up."

You groaned dramatically, letting your head loll back against your pillows.

Crowley barked out a laugh. "That's what you're worried about? After everything else?"

Before you could write another response, Aziraphale returned, bustling back into the room with tray in hand. The aroma that followed had your hopes up immediately.

"Here we are~!" he announced, his voice bright with enthusiasm as he set the tray down over your lap. "Chicken noodle soup. A classic, and for good reason!" He smiled proudly as he removed the lid from the bowl, revealing the golden broth underneath.

You gave it a little stir then reached for your notepad, scribbling out a message with the utmost urgency before flipping it to show him.

I freaking love egg noodles

"Well, then I'm quite glad I made the right choice! Please enjoy~"

"Go on, love," he smirked, gesturing lazily to the bowl. "Might as well enjoy your last meal before the angel finishes you off."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Crowley," he chided, but his exasperation was softened by the amusement in his tone. "It's hardly that dramatic."

You gave him a silent, debatable sort of look, but picked up your spoon back up regardless. More than happy to dig in.

After that, Crowley excused himself to fetch what you asummed was something alcoholic, not particularly interested in lunch himself.

And Aziraphale had taken to busying himself with small tasks around the room. Straightening the already neat stack of books on the dresser, smoothing out a wrinkle in the quilt at the foot of your bed, adjusting the little tray of fever reducers and honey he'd set on the nightstand. His movements were precise but distracted, like he was keeping himself occupied rather than doing any of these things with any real goal in mind.

You paused mid-bite, chewing thoughtfully before setting your spoon down to grab your notepad again.

Did you eat already?

Aziraphale, who had just been brushing invisible dust off the nightstand, turned to you with a brief flicker of surprise before offering a quick, reassuring smile. "Hm? Oh, no, my dear, I'm not feeling particularly peckish this evening," he said smoothly, waving a hand as if to brush off any concern.

You frowned slightly, tapping the notepad with your pencil in thought. He hadn't even insisted he'd eaten already. You didn't prod him this morning when he didn't join you, assuming he'd done much of the same as yesterday morning and had breakfast long before you'd woken up. But now he just wasn't hungry?

It couldn't exactly be a lie. He didn't actually need food the way humans did. In fact, he'd confirmed once or twice that he didn't actually get hungry at all. But that had never stopped him before. If anything, he was always the first to indulge, whether necessary or not.

Your pencil hovered over the paper again, debating whether to press further.

Aziraphale caught your thoughtful look and chuckled, shaking his head. "I am touched you always have the good heart to ask, though, and I'll be indulging a bit later tonight, mind you," he assured you, his voice carrying the same lighthearted tone. "But for now, my priority is ensuring you eat properly. Truth be told, it's rather just as satisfying."

That was a convincing enough answer.

A plausible one.

You hesitated for a few more seconds before ultimately deciding not to push it, writing out one final message in neat, deliberate letters.

Well, you're missing out.

Aziraphale let out another small, warm laugh, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder before returning to busying himself. "I'm sure I am. And I'll take that as quite the compliment~"

Lunch passed in peaceful quiet after that, the warmth of the soup settling comfortably in your stomach despite your overall lack of appetite.

You ate at a leisurely pace, well aware that the moment you finished, you'd be forced to face the less appealing part of your recovery regimen. And sure enough, as soon as you set your spoon down for the last time, Aziraphale turned to you from where he had been tidying up the closet.

"All done?"

You nodded reluctantly.

"Then I'm afraid it's time for the unpleasant bit," he announced. "Best to get it over with quickly, don't you think?"

You swallowed hard, already regretting your earlier agreement.

Aziraphale left the room before re-entering a moment later with a small, amber, glass bottle in one hand and a silver spoon in the other. As he approached your bedside, he turned it delicately in his hands before twisting the cap off with a soft pop. The moment the seal was broken, he held it under his nose and gave a satisfied nod, as if confirming its authenticity.

"Just as I remember," he mused.

That statement did not bode well.

Seeing your clear reluctance, his expression softened. "I promise, my dear, you'll only need one spoonful. And I'll have some honey ready for you straight after, alright?"

You sighed dramatically but nodded, signaling your inevitable surrender.

Aziraphale, looking rather pleased, poured out a precise dose of the dark liquid onto the large spoon and held it out with the sort of gravity one might reserve for something entirely volatile.

It looked uncomfortably reminiscent of childhood cough syrupy, the kind that had haunted your taste buds for years, and with the added bonus of probably being older than you were.

Bracing yourself, you grabbed the spoon and quickly tossed it back, screwing your eyes shut and hoping that your blocked sinuses would dull whatever nightmare flavor awaited you.

For a brief moment, you were prepared for the worst.

And then, surprisingly, a small, pleased hum slipped from your lips.

It tasted... good?

Not just tolerable, but actually pleasant, sweet, with a mild tartness. No bitterness, no burning, not even a little medicinal kick. Even the supposed syrupy consistency seemed to have thinned out the second it hit your mouth, with a flavor uncannily like that of a grape snow cone, of all things.

You opened your eyes, brows furrowing slightly as you smacked your tongue, half expecting a delayed bitterness to creep in. But no. Just grape.

You even put the spoon back in your mouth, cleaning it off as you slowly turned your gaze toward Aziraphale, and the moment you did, you caught it. The self-satisfied little smile curling at the edges of his lips.

Your eyes narrowed.

The angel, of course, ever the picture of innocence, acted as though nothing were amiss, and with obviously staged urgency, he turned to prepare a spoonful of honey. He scooped a golden spoonful from a little jar on the nightstand, rushing to help chase away the nonexistent bitterness of the tonic. "Right then! A spoonful of honey, as promised," he declared, far too cheerfully. "Quickly now!" He urged, handing it off to you.

You accepted the honey, but didn't immediately eat it. Instead, you squinted at him, watching the way his face remained so perfectly business-as-usual that it could only be intentional.

Your eyes narrowed further, before finally popping the honey into your mouth. You let it sit on your tongue, slowly melting as your gaze stayed fixed on Aziraphale suspiciously.

Then you exhaled through your nose, fighting back a reluctant but impossible to stop smile. You turned away to hide it, sticking your nose up with all the petty betrayal of someone who had been thoroughly outmaneuvered.

Because somehow, that tiny, ridiculous gesture meant everything.

"See?" Aziraphale, utterly shameless, patted your shoulder with an all too knowing grin and rose to continue tidying as if nothing had transpired at all. "All over now. You did very well~" he praised, and you turned back, winking an eye open just enough to catch the fond look he let linger on you.

That wasn't the face of a man—or angel–who had ever planned on subjecting you to something dreadful.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale had always enjoyed the quiet hours of the night. When the shop was still and the city outside hummed softly with the occasional passing car or distant footsteps.

Last night had been no different.

Despite your initial complaints about yet another early bedtime, once he had seen you properly settled, snug as could be while the television murmured softly in the background, he let out the first breath of relief he'd been able to manage all day.

You were safe, warm and seemingly content enough that he wouldn't need to worry about you attempting to sneak out of bed the moment he stepped downstairs. And knowing that meant he could spend the rest of the night tending to his own little tasks without worry.

And goodness, he had been productive!

He dusted his bookshelves, all of them, though, in his opinion, the dust never seemed to accumulate quite as much as it should. He rearranged the window display before ultimately deciding he preferred it as it was and changed it back. And he sorted some of his older records, taking a moment to flip through them nostalgically before pulling out a few he hadn't played in a while to set aside for later listening.

It had been a lovely night, truly.

But as the morning crept in, and the gray light of the still cloudly skies began to shine through the storefront, he found himself glancing at the clock more and more frequently.

Five o'clock. Then six. Then seven.

By eight-thirty, his fingers were twitching almost impatiently, his excitement bubbling just beneath the surface.

Finally, when the clock struck nine, he gasped softly, eyes lighting up as he clasped his hands together.

"Goodness me, is it that time already?" he mused to himself, though he hardly needed an answer. He knew exactly what time it was.

It was time for breakfast!

A delighted sort of energy overtook him as he bustled toward the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves with practiced enthusiasm. He had a routine now, after all. A lovely little morning routine that had taken shape over these past few days.

Yesterday, he'd prepared you something fairly traditional, eggs, toast, some sausage. But with the way your appetite began to wane, he was more than happy to accommodate accordingly and provide you with something lighter.

And today, he would be working in reverse.

You'd need something gentle again, something easy on the stomach. Something soft and simple, like the porridge he'd conjured for you rather last minute.

Oatmeal would do nicely. With brown sugar and cinnamon perhaps?

And, if you happened to wake up feeling better? Then something special was in order.

Something warm and decadent and comforting.
Aziraphale smiled to himself, already envisioning the scene.

If you sat up with a bit more energy, if you greeted him with something closer to your usual spark, if your fever had mercifully broken over night? Then with a quick flick of his wrist, another subtle miracle, that humble oatmeal would transform into something far more indulgent.

French toast, perhaps? He hummed, rather pleased at the thought. Thick, golden slices of bread, soaked in just the right mixture, fried and dusted with powdered sugar. Another side of fresh fruit, a small pot of warm syrup, a touch of whipped cream. Why, you'd be utterly aghast with your usual charming brand of bashful gratitude

With this plan in mind, he set to work, humming happily to himself as he moved through the kitchen with ease, beginning to prepare your breakfast with the kind of practiced care that only someone who truly enjoyed the process could manage.

The angel continued to smile absently, his grip on the stirring spoon loosening just a bit as his thoughts drifted.

The past two days had been so delightful, hadn't they?

You had always settled into the shop so naturally, and then there was Crowley, of course. Now, that had been a bit of a surprise.

The demon had spent more time in the guest room over the past two days than Aziraphale had thought the demon's restless need to dismiss others would have allowed.

It had started as mild amusement. Crowley, the ever-irritable, self-proclaimed disinterested party, lounging at your bedside as if he had nowhere better to be. But as time went on, it had become clear that Crowley was, in his own roundabout way, proving to be quite useful.

Not in any direct caretaking manner, heavens no, the demon was far too proud to be seen actually helping, but in his own way, he'd been invaluable.

Keeping you company, keeping you entertained.
Distracting you, when necessary, from the discomfort of being unwell.

He'd even brought you that ridiculous television. A blatant theft that Aziraphale had not yet decided how to address, but had undeniably helped keep you content.

And Aziraphale certainly hadn't missed the way Crowley had been, however casually, keeping a careful eye on you throughout the day, glancing your way every time you so much as sniffled.

Between the two of them you were sure to stay well taken care of and that knowledge was extremely satisfying.

But not in the way Crowley had so infuriatingly suggested the other day.

Aziraphale's lips pressed into a thin line at the memory, the demon's jab still echoing somewhere in the back of his mind.

"You've cooked up quite the roundabout way to take pleasure in another's suffering. Bit cheeky, don't you think~?"

He'd spoken in jest, of course. Needling in the way Crowley always did when he thought he was being particularly clever. But even if there had been no true malice behind it, the accusation had stuck in his mind like a stubborn thorn.

Ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous.

He was not enjoying your suffering. Perish the thought!

On the contrary, he wished dearly that you weren't unwell at all. That you were up and about, full of your usual energy, spouting your usual peculiarities and running about Soho, popping into his bookshop every few hours before popping right back out again.

But... well.

That didn't mean he couldn't take joy in the process of helping you back to that.

That was entirely different.

He straightened his posture slightly as he sprinkled cinnamon attentively into the pot,
shaking off the remnants of Crowley's teasing and focusing instead on the simple, gratifying task at hand.

He wasn't enjoying your suffering.

He was enjoying the opportunity to alleviate it.

Was it so wrong to find a very real sense of fulfillment in providing care to someone dear to you?

No, he told himself firmly. Not in the slightest.

If anything, perhaps, he had only been hoping all along for a bit more time like this with you, long before you'd shown up at his doorstep, cold and drenched from the rain.

You had arrived back in London just earlier that week, full of energy and eager plans, and though you had stopped by the shop on your first day, you had quickly disappeared again.

And, of course, he hadn't wanted to intrude upon your time here. Hadn't wanted to make you feel obligated to linger.

But that hadn't stopped him from hoping, in some small, selfish way, that you would have. That you would have spent more time at the shop, not just for a brief visit, but to stay awhile, filling the space with that bright human presence of yours. Much like you used to.

Perhaps it was inconsiderate of him to be the slightest bit grateful for this... turn of events. The fact remaining that this awful weather and your sudden illness had acted as the force that placed you squarely back under his roof, and he would be lying if he said he hadn't jumped to the role of your caretaker enthusiasticly.

That of course, didn't mean his concern was any less genuine, though, and his brows knitted together as he thought back to the thermometer's reading from yesterday.

39.4°.

102.9°.

Even with all his careful tending, your fever had yet to break, even a little.

That knowledge sat uneasily in his chest, a quiet, persistent weight that had made it rather easy to forgo his own meals after yesterday. He simply hadn't felt right about indulging in anything while you were still so unwell.

The usual satisfaction he derived from food had felt hollow in the face of his worry, and so, without much thought, he had simply busied himself with your care instead. That was far more rewarding anyways.

He knew how to handle you, knew the delicate balance of giving you space while gently maneuvering you in the direction you needed to go.

And now, as a result of his efforts, you were upstairs, resting soundly while your body worked to mend itself. Exactly where you ought to be.

That thought was so warm, so contenting, so utterly reassuring that he nearly didn't notice the way his fingers had begun to twitch again faintly with the telltale motion of a miracle.

He gasped, catching himself just in time, and quickly withdrawing his hands, clapping them together as if to shake off the accidental miracle before it could fully take hold.

The oatmeal shimmered suspiciously, as if it had nearly turned into something else entirely before abruptly remembering what it was supposed to be.

Aziraphale exhaled.

Oh dear.

He peered down into the pot, lifting the spoon carefully and giving it a slow, deliberate stir, just to be sure.

Still oatmeal. Crisis averted.

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head at himself.

Goodness, he thought, amused and just a little embarrassed. I do believe I got a bit carried away there.

He hadn't even meant to, but oh, his musing had nearly gotten the better of him. Because of course he had been thinking about french toast.

About the way you had beamed when you saw your breakfast the last two days. About how he could surprise you again, bring you something special, something that might make your morning just a little brighter.

But he'd have to wait and see how you were feeling first. Then all it would take was the right intention, and voilà, french toast after all.

You were well taken care of, the shop was in perfect order, he wagered Crowley would be here sometime around lunch, maybe two or three at the latest if he really wanted to pretend like he had better things to do, and he—Aziraphale—had everything well in hand.

Yes, this was exactly how things ought to be.

He finsihed up not long after that, and with the breakfast tray perfectly arranged, Aziraphale took a step back and admired his handiwork before carrying it all upstairs.

Reaching your door, he shifted the tray to one hand and gave a gentle knock. "Good morning, my dear," he called softly. "Are we awake yet?" He waited, his smile patient, listening for the familiar rustling of blankets, a sleepy hum of acknowledgment or the gentle ring of the bell if your voice was still amiss.

But there was only a long stretch of silence

He knocked again, a bit more firmly this time. "My dear?" he called once more. "It's morning~ I've brought you breakfast!"

Still nothing. You must have been sleeping quite soundly. And why shouldn't you be? You needed rest, after all. He had practically insisted upon it these past few days and he did so love when you had the good sense to listen.

With that reassurance firmly in place, he carefully nudged the door open, peering inside with quiet caution.

And there you were, nestled under the covers with your back to the door, curled slightly into your side, breathing slow and slightly hoarse as the television he had allowed you to keep on last night played quietly yet.

His gaze softened.

You must have been absolutely drained. Your fever had yet to break, after all, and your body was working tirelessly to recover, so it was only natural that you should sleep as long your body willed it.

Nodding to himself, he stepped inside fully, moving with expert quiet as he set the breakfast tray down on the dresser and placed a saucer overtop the still steaming oatmeal to keep it warm before busying himself with a few small tasks, starting with flicking the TV off, to ensure you had everything you needed once you woke up.

He plucked the decanter from the nightstand and refilled your glass, ensuring it was properly chilled with a tiny, barely perceptible miracle before placing it neatly back in its spot. Then, with another effortless flick of the wrist, he refilled the decanter itself, watching as the water shimmered back to the top.

Satisfied, he turned his attention to the small medicinal tray he had prepared last night. On it sat your fever reducers, a small candy dish repurposed to hold some lozenges, the little honey pot and spoon and the thermometer.

Everything was in perfecr order, but he did move to shake two of the fever reducers from the bottle, setting them readily to the side for right after breakfast. After that he took a small step back, to survey the bedside setup with an appraising eye.

Very good~

With everything ready, he allowed himself to settle into the bedside armchair, taking out the book he'd brought along to contentedly pass the time.

You could sleep as long as you needed, and when you began to stir naturally, he would be right here, ready to greet you with a warm smile, a hot breakfast, and a gentle, 'Good morning'.

~

While you didn't have much of a choice in the matter, waking up felt like a mistake. You resurfaced from sleep entirely reluctantly, floating in the hazy space right before consciousness as something twisted behind your eyes.

You inhaled sharply and squeezed your still closed eyes shut tighter, gripping at the blankets to ground yourself as the room spun.

A harsh pressure pulsed at your temples, and you groaned softly.

"Ah, there you are," a voice said softly. "Good morning, my dear." But you barely registed it.

A slow roll of nausea rose from your stomach to your throat and you winced with a shaky exhale.

Okay. Okay. Not great.

"Oh dear..."

A soft thump, the sound of a book being set aside, and then the quiet rustling of movement as a chair was shifted.

"Not quite ready to greet the morning, are we?" It was Aziraphale's voice, softer now and full of immediate concern but doing his best to remain lighthearted.

You swallowed thickly and after a few steady breaths, managed to crack your eyes open, squinting against the soft light of the lamp and attempting to lift your head.

As soon as you tried, the room lurched violently around you. Your vision swam, and a sharp, pulsing pain spiked through your skull.

Nope.

You gave up immediately, grounding your head desperately back onto your pillow and screwing your eyes shut again against the dizzying sensation.

You heard Aziraphale let out a short, worried hum, followed by the quiet rustling of fabric as he moved closer and sat himself at your side.

And then, a grounding pressure on your forehead stilled everything. Your jaw went tight and you breathed slowly as the contact provided far more comfort then you would have thought possible.

"Be still, dear. You've taken quite the turn for the woozy, haven't you?"

You cracked one eye open, just barely, peering up at him through your haze of discomfort. Your head stayed foggy, even as you came to a bit and felt obligated to respond with something. Your fingers twitching weakly at the instinct to reach for your notepad, but the thought of trying to form actual words, whether written or spoken, felt like an impossible effort.

Aziraphale caught the moment your lips parted with the strained intention to reply, and immediately, he shushed you.

"It's quite alright." The angel's expression softened further, his usual fondness tempered now by something deeper as he carefully withdrew his hand. He made a quiet, thoughtful sound as he studied you, then reached for the thermometer on the nightstand. "Let's just check your temperature, hmm?"

You allowed him to place it in your mouth, your eyes fluttering shut again once it was in place. You weren't sure how long you laid there, floating between awareness and something dangerously close to sleep, but eventually, you felt the thermometer be removed, pulling you back a bit.

Aziraphale sighed softly, but didn't speak the reading.

You tilted your head in what felt like slow motion, barley perceiving the way his gaze darted in deep contemplation from the thermometer to your face before he realized your eyes were open again. The thermometer was rather intentionally set off to the side, and his hand came down on your forehead again, this time soothing your hair back in a comforting motion.

"Everything's quite alright," He repeated. "As always, you needn't worry about anything but taking it easy." His expression lightened as he gave your head one last gentle stroke and smiled down at you hopefully. "I've brought you breakfast, something soft and warm, like yesterday. Does that sound nice?"

You expression twitched and you closed your eyes again, shrinking a bit under the covers with the faintest shake of your head you could manage.

"Ah, a bit hopeful of me, I suppose." The angel laughed rather half-heartedly, but the smile that followed was genuine. "That's quite alright, dear," he reassured you quickly. "We'll try again later, when you're feeling up to it. But you must have something in the meantime. How about a sip of water? Can you do that for me?"

That didn't seem like an insurmountable task, so you shifted weakly from beneath the covers in a sluggish attempt to reach for the glass on the nightstand.

Aziraphale immediately stepped in, helping you sit up just a little before raising the glass to your lips. You made an attempt to take it from him, but your hands only really rested against the outside out of reflex as he made all the effort to tip it back for you.

You took a few sips at first and then a few desperate gulps, letting out a shaky sigh of relief when finally satisfied.

"I'll have to ask you to do me one more favor and take these as well," he coaxed softly, pressing two pills gently into your palm before guiding your hand up to your mouth. You popped them in yourself and the glass was raised to your lips once more.

"Good girl," Aziraphale murmured approvingly as he set the glass aside and eased you back down. "You've put in more than enough effort for now. We'll have you try again in a little while." His voice was impossibly warm. "Until then, I do believe a bit more sleep would be best, don't you think?"

You hummed inaudibly in response, burrowing yourslef back under the covers without argument.

Aziraphale moved to help you better adjust them, but your fingers had curled into the quilt so tightly in the way you'd pulled them over yourself that he stopped, knowing it best not to try.

He stood quietly for a moment, fidgeting slightly with the urge to do more for you after setting the ice pack back on your head. But, no. Best not do anything that could disturb you. You were resting just as he'd been insisting you do, and there was no rush, no urgency that would do you better then just that.

~

The morning and accompanying afternoon remained quiet, save for the occasional hustle of blankets as you rolled over or shifted unconsciously.

Hours had passed since he first brought up your breakfast, but you had remained worryingly still, your fatigue keeping you almost desperately tethered to sleep.

And all the while, Aziraphale had remained at your side.

The book, which he had attempted to read earlier, laid forgotten on the nightstand beside him. He'd only flipped past the first few pages pages before every slight movement from you had him pausing and glancing over to make sure you weren't stirring in discomfort.

It wasn't as though you needed his constant presence, not in any medical sense. Humans often needed time more than anything when they were ill. Time, rest, and a bit of patience. And patience, as it stood with you, was one of his specialties.

He had originally planned to slip downstairs after a bit, keep himself busy in the shop, and check in periodically. But with each breathy shudder or uncomfortable scrunch your face made, even in sleep, he found it rather impossible to leave you by yourself.

Aziraphale wasn't sure how much time had passed when he finally heard it.

A soft creak from downstairs and, compared to what he was used to, the surprisingly soft shutting of a door.

His head snapped up, eyes widening slightly.

Crowley. Right on schedule it seemed.

The angel was out of his seat, moving quickly but quietly out of the room and to intercept him before he could barge in and make too much of a ruckus.

As anticipated, the demon was already making his way up the stairs, his usual swagger slightly tempered, while his expression, yet to notice the angel, remained unreadable behind his dark glasses.

Still, before he could take another step up the stairs, Aziraphale stepped down, raising a firm hand to stop him

"Ah-ah! Not another step," the angel whispered hurriedly, keeping his voice low but firm.

Crowley stopped mid-stride, one brow twitching upward "... What'd I do this time?"

Aziraphale's expression softened slightly and he lowered his hand. "She's still asleep," he explained quickly, continuing to keep his voice down, as if you'd somehow be able to hear them from up in the guest room. "I'd rather her not be disturbed."

"Still asleep?" The demon repeated, his voice lower now as well, but sharper around the edges. "At this hour?" He pulled a hand from his pocket, checking his watch and thumbing vaguely toward the nearest window. "Angel, it's one in the afternoon. Put her down for a nap early, have you?"

Aziraphale's remained impassive. "She was feeling quite unwell this morning," he admitted softly. "She seemed... terribly weak." His expression flickered with something uncertain. "Woke just briefly, only long enough to take her medicine, and has been sleeping ever since."

Crowley's brow raised more firmly.

"Nothing too concerning," The angel quickly shook his head, insisting such despite himself. "It's... not uncommon for fevers to be persistent. And the body can take quite a toll fighting off an illness like this. It's only natural for her to feel worse before she feels better."

"So... you gonna let me up, or are you gonna keep standing there playing gatekeeper?"

Aziraphale huffed, but before he could retort, he noticed the way that, with the question, Crowley's expression had shifted, just slightly.

Not enough for anyone unfamiliar with him to have noticed, but of course, Aziraphale was far from unfamiliar with him.

The demon's sharp edges softened, just a bit and his posture, while still insufferably lax, seemed more performative.

And, most telling of all, the way his eyes flickered toward the ceiling, upstairs, on their own more than once

Something warm settled in the angel's chest.

For all his dramatics, for all his scoffing and needling, Crowley had come to check on you, same as yesterday, and the day before.

And likely, he'd planned to stay.

"39.7°, when last I checked," Aziraphale stated quietly, watching as Crowley's lips twitched, the amusement draining from his features entirely. "So, I'd like her to stay resting as long as her body allows. You understand?"

There was a pause.

"I'll be quiet."

"I'd appreciate that."

Aziraphale stepped aside gratefully, allowing Crowley to pass.

The demon's approach was uncharacteristically quiet as he entered your room. He didn't stride in with his usual gait or stop to lean against the doorframe to gawk at you from afar. Instead, he moved toward your bedside with slow, measured steps, his usual air of casual detachment noticeably absent before stopping still when he reached you.

You were still bundled tightly under the blankets, curled on your side with one arm tucked beneath your pillow and your face half hidden.

Aziraphale watched him carefully and he could see it immediately. Feel it positively radiating from the scene in front of him. There was that rare little something in the demon's demeanor. In the slight tilt of his head as he observed you.

A quiet sort of concern.

And wasn't that just precious?

Aziraphale's heart swelled with an almost unbearable fondness. He had always known Crowley was far softer than he let on, and the little ways his concern for you peeked through made that all the more evident.

But before Aziraphale could really bask in the warmth of the moment or even consider making a gentle comment about Crowley's obvious soft spot for you—

The demon reached out and patted your cheek.

Not gently. Not with the light, careful touch one might expect when waking someone unwell.

Nope, it was a series of firm, insistent pats.

Smack.Smack.Smack.Smack.Smack.Smack.

"Alright, Sleeping Beauty," Crowley declared, tone completely deadpan. "Time to wake up."

Aziraphale gasped, utterly horrified.

"Crowley!" he hissed, stepping forward in alarm. "What on earth do you think you're—" But before he could finish his sentence, your hand shot out from beneath the blankets, moving purely on instinct.

With the force of someone far more awake than you actually were, you slapped Crowley's hand away with a sharp crack before groaning and hiding your head under the covers.

"There she is!" Crowley withdrew his hand with a dramatic shake, flexing his fingers like he had been gravely wounded but grinning with satisfaction.

Aziraphale sputtered at him, utterly scandalized. "What did I just tell you!?" he scolded, flapping his hands at the demon as if trying to shoo him away from your bedside. "You can't just- just-" he gestured wildly to your now hidden form.

Then there was another sound. A noise that immediately cut through his irritation and made him pause

A sound that made his heart lift, despite the context.

A groggy, half-muffled voice.

"...asshole."

It was more of a groan. A hoarse, croaky little complaint against the unjust way you'd been forced back to the waking world. But it was definitely your voice.

Aziraphale turned to you immediately, his reprimanding of Crowley forgotten in an instant. "Oh, my dear!" he breathed, his expression melting into something far softer as he moved closer, leaning over you. "You're awake! How are you feeling?"

You groaned again. A long, drawn out grumble, not bothering to uncover your head from where you'd found refuge under your blankets.

A few moments passed with Aziraphale fretting over how to proceed and Crowley grinning at his side before you finally poked your head out, blinking up at them with the most unimpressed, bleary stare you could manage in your current state.

Aziraphale breathed a deep sigh of relief, his brow furrowing slightly, but the concern in his expression was lessened by something almost pleased. You were annoyed, which meant you'd come to a bit more easily than you had this morning, which, if he set aside the miserable state you were still in for just a moment, was actually quite reassuring.

You clearly still felt awful, yes, but you were awake. You were responsive, and you were glowering at Crowley, which was a very good sign. And that was enough to ease the tightness in his chest, just a little.

"Gooooood morning~" Crowley crooned teasingly, leaning around the angel to grin down at you. "Sleep well?"

You rolled your eyes.

Yes, a very good sign indeed.

"Oh, my dear," Aziraphale cooed sympathetically. "I do apologize for that rather abrupt awakening. I explicitly asked Crowley to be gentle, and well-" he cast the demon a reproachful look

"Worked, didn't it?"

You let out a gravelly sigh, blinking up at both of them again with the same unimpressed stare.

"Regardless," Aziraphale huffed, sitting beside you, and with a far gentler touch than Crowley's had been, brused some hair out of your face. "How are you feeling?" He asked again.

You hesitated, your lips pressing into something that was supposed to be a thoughtful expression, but mostly just looked weary. You shrugged a little, eyes darting away as if not sure how to answer.

"Still feeling quite weak?" Aziraphale asked gently, though it wasn't a question he needed you to answer.

You hesitated again, then nodding faintly.

Crowley muttered something under his breath and crossed his arms, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the reality of you still being so unwell. Aziraphale, on the other hand, simply exhaled through his nose, his expression one of quiet resolve.

"Well," he said, his voice light but firm, "I did bring breakfast up for you earlier, but you were fast asleep when I arrived. It's still warm, if you think you can manage a few bites?"

At the mention of food, you furrowed your brow, turning your head to the side with a weak but pointed shake

Aziraphale frowned as he reached out, his fingers barely brushing the edge of your blanket in an unconscious attempt connect with you. "I know, I know," he murmured, his voice thick with understanding. "I imagine the thought of eating is quite unappealing right now. But I truly believe it'll do you only good to get a little something in your stomach."

You groaned softly, still unwilling, and buried your face into your pillow again.

"Come now," the angel coaxed, his voice laced with the same patience he had employed since the moment you'd fallen ill. "Just a few bites, for me? Hmm?" His tone dipped into something undeniably affectionate, something that made it incredibly difficult to resist even while you were half out of it with fever.

You exhaled heavily. That was unfair.

"...Fine," you rasped

"Oh, very good, my dear," he beamed, rushing to fetch the breakfast tray. "Just a moment, I'll bring it right over."

You shifted under the blankets, attempting to sit yourself up a little, but as soon as you lifted your head, another sharp wave of dizziness crashed over you. You swayed slightly, blinking hard, your breath hitching as the room tilted unsteadily around you once again.

Immediately, Aziraphale was at your side, his hands steadying you before you could overexert yourself. "Oh, careful, careful," he chided gently, already moving to prop some pillows behind you. "No need to rush. Here, let me help."

With his assistance, you managed to get yourself upright, though the movement left your limbs feeling impossibly heavy, and your head swam with each slight adjustment.

The tray was then settled carefully over your lap, and a saucer was removed to reveal a bowl of warm, cinnamon-dusted oatmeal, still perfectly steaming thanks to a bit of miraculous temperature preservation.

You stared at the spoon with deep reluctance, but you had already agreed, so you leaned forward and took your first bite. It was warm, lightly sweet and easy to swallow, but far from wanted.

"There we are," he encouraged, "See? Not so bad, is it?"

You gave him a weak nod and begrudgingly took another bite.

Crowley, meanwhile, was watching from the sidelines, his arms crossed as he leaned back against the dresser. "You do know how to work 'em, Angel,"

Aziraphale ignored him entirely, instead watching you with quiet satisfaction as you managed a few more small bites, slow and deliberate, but progress nonetheless.

After a few minutes, though, the effort of eating even something as simple as oatmeal became too much and you put down your spoon, looking up at him near pleadingly for permission to stop.

You'd humored him. You'd tried. And now, you were asking to be let off the hook.

For a moment, he hesitated, glancing at the bowl. You had barely eaten half. Hardly enough to fuel yourslef in any substantial way, but he knew making you to do much more wouldn't do much good. Not when you were clearly running on fumes already.

So, with a final glance at the half-eaten oatmeal, he reached out and carefully took the tray from your lap.

"Alright, my dear," he agreed, his voice as soft as ever. "That's quite enough for now. You did very well."

"That's it, then? A few spoonfuls and she gets to throw in the towel?" Crowley, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout the ordeal, huffed lightly. The comment was meant to be sarcastic, but there was something else behind it

Something tight in the way the demon's fingers tapped idly against his arm and his jaw flexed slightly before he leaned forward again, resting his hands against the baseboard at the foot of your bed.

"However!" Aziraphale continued, setting the tray aside before turning his attention back to you. "I must insist you have a bit more water before we call this meal finished." His voice was still gentle but was intentionally firm, not intending to leave any room for argument as he handed you the glass.

You took a few small sips, nowhere near as much as this morning, but enough to appease him and he hummed approvingly before setting the cup back down on the nightstand

"Now then," he continued, brightening up considerably, "we can't possibly have you lying here uncomfortable and bored all day. I do believe something to keep you occupied is in order." He turned to the dresser and gestured toward the sleek, very out-of-place television Crowley had so thoughtfully acquired. "Would you like to watch something? We could put on one of those animated programs you like so much."

"Or, you know, literally anything else." Crowley's smirked. "I've got a few other options in mind."

You made no move to respond.

"Or perhaps you'd rather something to read? I picked out a few titles for you while I was downstair last night. Some lighthearted stories, nothing too difficult to focus on." He picked up a small stack of books from the dresser and held them up proudly for your to see. "There's a charming little mystery novel here I think you'll enjoy immensely~"

You shifted slightly under the blankets and glanced at the offerings with half-lidded eyes. Your gaze lingered on the books for only a second before flickering toward the television, then to Crowley, who seemed to be waiting for your choice as well, arms crossed and smirk intact.

But with a tired breath, you simply shook your head.

You didn't want to read.

You didn't want to watch anything.

You didn't want to sit up.

You didn't want to do anything at all.

You just wanted to sleep.

So, without any further explanation, you burrowed yourself back under the covers, tugging them up to your chin with a hum and closing your eyes.

The silence that followed was very telling.
You didn't see the exchange, but you felt it. The glance Crowley and Aziraphale shared over your blanketed form. It was subtle, barely a flicker of a moment, but it was enough.

You had already started to drift, your body sinking deeper into the warmth of the bed as you slipped toward sleep almost too easily. But even through your drowsiness, the shift in the air as the mood in the room changed.

So you cracked an eye open again briefly, just enough to see the way both of them were staring at you before shutting them again.

Crowley had removed his glasses, his sharp gaze narrowed ever so slightly as they hung from his fingers, and Aziraphale was watching you with a level of quite, resigned concern. His previously busy attitude stilled as if he didn't know how to continue.

It was such a small thing, really. Just a quiet refusal, a preference for more rest over any form of distraction.

But for you?

It was enough to signal the severity of how awful you must have been feeling

Crowley was the first to break the silence.

"Come on," he began, his usual teasing edge softening just slightly. "You sure you don't want to watch something? Could put on something mindless. Something you don't have to think about."

You gave a tiny shake of your head, not opening your eyes.

"Not even a little bit of entertainment? Thought you'd be climbing the walls by now."

Another small shake.

His expression twitched.

You made a noncommittal sound, turning your face further into the pillow. Crowley clicked his tongue.

"Not a great answer, love."

"That's quite alright, dear," Aziraphale finally stepped forward, easing his hands over your blanket soflty as if to force the tension from the air. "You rest as much as you need."

It was permission you didn't even need, but still, something in his voice ushered away the last of your will to listen in and you fell unconscious rather fast in the silence that followed.

Crowley glanced at you once more, then exhaled through his nose before moving to take his seat at your bedside. "Right. Well. Guess I'll stick around, then."

Aziraphale smiled faintly, but his expression was otherwise unreadable. "Yes," he said stiffly, gathering up the remnants of your unfinished breakfast. "I rather hoped you might."

Chapter Text

"Right. Angel's gone. You can drop the act now."

Things had gone pretty quiet after breakfast save for the faint, rhythmic sound of your breathing and the occasional rustling from Crowley as he shifted in his chair, once again the sole occupant of your bedside for a short while.

"Come on now. I know you can hear me."

The demon tilted his head, studying you closely. Your face was slack with sleep, your brow unfurrowed, lips parted just slightly. Not a hint of the tension of someone playing at being asleep.

Nothing.

You didn't stir. Not even a twitch.

Centuries, he then thought, Centuries of watching over humans, sticking his nose into their business, and now, the angel's insisting on brushing up on basic care like an overzealous schoolboy. As if there was a single medical manual in this whole dusty bookshop that could tell Aziraphale anything he didn't already know.

"Books," Crowley scoffed under his breath, glancing toward the door Aziraphale had so carefully closed behind him a while ago before glancing to you again, continuing to speak as if you had been awake to share in his musing. "Of all things. The old fool knows full well what humans need." His fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the arm of the chair. "But no, he's got to calm his nerves with a bit of reading, hasn't he?"

No, the angel wasn't reading for information. Not really. He was sure he'd spend hours downstairs, hunting through dusty tomes about human illness for the sake of productivity. A distraction to make himself feel useful when there wasn't a bloody thing left for him to do. At least not until you woke up again.

Still, the demon had kept his mouth shut when he insisted on it. If that was the sort of thing that made Aziraphale feel better, then best leave him to it.

And when he left, he left Crowley with the now routine instructions to "keep an eye on you".

Which was quickly becoming a far more grating task than it had been days prior.

Not because of anything you'd done, per se, but because of what you hadn't.

You hadn't moved. Not since that half-hearted attempt at breakfast, and even then, it had been with all the enthusiasm of a dying star.

"Y'know," he continued, voice low, teasing but lacking its usual bite. "When I said let him have his fun fussing over you, I didn't mean you had to give him a real reason to worry."

The television sat silent, the books Aziraphale left for you remained closed on the nightstand, and even Crowley's usual prodding was earning no reaction beyond the occasional weak shake of your head.

The little spark of defiance you'd shown earlier, smacking his hand and calling him an asshole, had been all too brief.

"...You're properly out of it, aren't you?"

The silence pressed back at him again, heavier this time.

"Tch... overachiever."

A sharp, sudden cough broke through the silence. After a few seconds, another cough followed, then another, forcing you awake with a sharp breath.

Crowley shot upright in his seat, his casual demeanor evaporating instantly and he reached over the bedside table almost instinctively. But whatever restrained urge to help he'd almost acted on was cut short as he hesitated, his finger curling back half-way.

The coughing fit subsided as quickly as it started, leaving you slumped and still again. You didn't sit up. Didn't even open your eyes. Just let out a long, weary breath like the whole thing had been a terrible inconvenience.

He watched you for a moment with near bated breath as your brows furrowed uncomfortably before finally relaxing again with a little groan.

Ah-ha, now you were awake.

"Hah. There she is," he said, voice softer now but still carrying that familiar, sardonic edge. "Back among the living, are we?"

You didn't respond. Not with words, anyway. Just another quiet breath and the faintest crease in your forehead before turning away from him.

"You are~ I can tell."

You made a little groan at that. In particular, the kind that implied you didn't want to be bothered but unfortunately also confirmed that you were, in fact, awake.

"That's what I thought!" He declared pushing himself up from his chair and stretching his arms over his head before closing the short distance to the bed to lean over you. "You've had a good nap, yeah? Time to get up, or at least sit up. You keep laying there like that and—"

You groaned again softly, shifting slightly but making no move to actually follow the order.

"C'mon, love," he tried again, voice laced with an edge of coaxing charm, the kind he'd use when persuading someone into a bad idea. "Fine, you don't even have to move. Just pick something for us to watch."

You shook your head.

His fingers drummed against his thigh.

"Read something, then?"

Another shake.

"How 'bout hangman again?" He glanced toward the nightstand, your notepad still right within reach but untouched since yesterday. "I'll pick the word this time, you do the guessing."

"....don't wanna." You said quietly and Crowley's jaw tightened.

"You're not bored?"

You inhaled slowly then exhaled just as sluggishly. Too tried to be bored.

He stared.

This was wrong.

His eyes narrowed and he considered his options. He could make you sit up. Just a little miracle, nothing flashy, nothing dramatic, just a little push to get you upright so he could get a proper look at you, but you'd hate that. So, he tried the next best thing.

With a sudden stomp, the demon turned abruptly. He didn't say anything at first, making a show of stretching and rolling his shoulders with an exaggerated sigh of boredom.

Then, in the most casual voice he could muster, he muttered, "Right then. Guess I'll just leave you to it."

That, at least, earned a small acknowledgement. Your brows knitted together, barely perceptible, before relaxing again, as if shrugging him off.

The demon took a couple steps toward the door, hands in his pockets as he glanced back, waiting for further reaction.

But he waited, and waited, and you gave him nothing.

So after a slow exhale of defeat, he rolled his neck with a crack and turned right back around, retaking his seat with a dramatic flop.

"Alright, you caught me. I'm not going anywhere."

~

He hadn't meant to stay the night.

Not really.

Maybe it was the way the angel had glanced at him at one point, tired but grateful, as if he simply assumed he'd still be there come morning. Maybe it was the way the entire shop felt like it was holding its breath along with him. Maybe it was the subtle way you'd turned your face toward the sound of his voice when he spoke, when he kept speaking, prodding like usual even if you weren't up to offer a retort.

Made things feel more normal that way. Part of him liked to think you felt that way too.
Subconsciously maybe? However that worked.

Whatever the reason, the evening had stretched on without any real indication that it was winding down. No closing routine. No offhand comment from Aziraphale about retiring for the evening. The angel had simply remained nearby, tidying endlessly, checking on you every hour without fail.

Aziraphale had managed to coax you through some soup last night. You'd sipped at it with a dull look behind your barely enforced gratitude, not wanting to seem ungrateful but blinking slow and distant between bites until Aziraphale finally gave in and let you sleep again.

Then upstairs again this morning, the same routine since Thursday, a tray balanced in his hands and his usual smile dulled at the edges.

Breakfast. Coaxing. Gentle reassurances.

You'd managed a few bites of toast this time. Just enough to appease the angel, who through a brittle smile, seemed to call it progress.

And now?

Midday had settled over the bookshop with an oppressive sort of stillness.

You just laid there, curled up same as before, too tired to be bored and too quiet to be comforted.

Aziraphale hadn't stilled once for the better part of the afternoon, fingers twitching as he busied himself with a growing list. He had already gone over it several times in his mind, but insisted on writing it all down, as if committing it to paper might grant him some semblance of control over the situation.

Every few moments, he would glance up, flick his gaze toward you, then resume writing with renewed fervor.

Crowley, in contrast, had remained slouched in the chair at your bedside. He hadn't moved much in the past hour or two, sunglasses set aside on the beside table as he watched the angel work himself into a quiet frenzy.

You, at least, seemed unbothered by either of them. Still dead to the world as you seemed to prefer it since yesterday, you hadn't so much as stirred, whether from Aziraphale's hand checking your forehead for the fifth time or the muttering that filled the space between their silence.

Not that much had been said, apart from the angel's rambling.

"We'll need more honey, of course," he murmured, tapping the pen against his lip. "Another bottle of fever reducers, just in case. Oh! And perhaps something stronger for her throat. Those lozenges won't be enough in the long term."

Crowley sighed through his nose, watching without turning his head as the angel bustled about.

"A few more things for soup," Aziraphale continued, pacing now. "Broth-based this time. Heavier meals obviously aren't an option for the time being. Some ginger tea for nausea, and maybe I should look into getting—"

"Angel."

Aziraphale didn't look up. "Oh, and more tissues! Oh dear, I should have thought to get the ones with aloe, poor thing's nose must be terribly sore by now."

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. "Angel."

The angel muttered something else under his breath as he began miraculously summoning items at random. An extra pillow here, a cold cloth for your forehead, a new bottle of pills.

"Oh, and more blankets, perhaps. Heavier ones, in case the chills set in."

"Angel."

Still, he went on, now anxiously shifting objects around on the nightstand, rearranging them in some meticulous order only he seemed to understand.

"Aziraphale."

Finally, the angel stiffened, head snapping in his direction as if only now remembering he wasn't alone. "What?"

Crowley sat up, looking him up and down before his gaze settled on the anxious fluttering of his hands. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Making sure we're adequately prepared, of course," Aziraphale huffed, looking right back down at his notepad. "There't no telling how long this might last, and I won't have her wanting for anything."

"You're pacing a trench into the floor."

He stopped mid-step, nearly embarrassed before deciding that was the least of his concerns. "Well, really, Crowley, I don't see how that matters given the circumstances."

But the curtness of his defense was short lived, and Crowley watched as he stilled, the notepad lowering slightly. The angel's shoulders tightened and his frantic energy seemed to falter. He glanced toward you, still unmoving.

"...It's my fault, you know." Aziraphale murmured, so softly Crowley almost missed it.

"What was that?"

Aziraphale's fingers tightened around the pen, but he didnt look the demon in the eye. "It's my fault," he repeated, firmer this time but no less brittle. "She wouldn't be this ill if I had done things properly."

"Don't be daft. You didn't cause any of this."

"No." Aziraphale finally looked at him, expression tight with guilt. "But I allowed it to get worse."

The demon's own expression was unimpressed, or unconvinced rather. But Aziraphale continued.

"I shouldn't have let her come downstairs for lunch the other day. She wasn't well enough, and I knew it." He pressed on, his voice growing more fervent. "But she looked at me with that stubborn little expression. You know the one. And I let her. I let her have her way."

Crowley stared for a long moment before groaning and leaning back in his chair. "Angel, you're spiraling."

Aziraphale spun on him. "Am I? Because it seems to me that she's only gotten worse since. That was the turning point. It must have been."

"You let her eat at the table for what? An hour tops?"

"And look at her now!" The angel snapped, voice trembling as he gestured helplessly toward you. "Look at her! She can barely lift her head! And I—" He stopped short.

"She's human, Angel. Humans get sick. It happens." Crowley cut in, gesturing vaguely toward you. "They catch a cold. They get fevers. They eat something dodgy, touch the wrong door handle and who knows what'll happen. It's what they do." He leaned back again slightly, trying for a more casual posture than he felt. "You're not gonna be able to control every sniffle or cough, and you certainly aren't responsible for her catching the flu."

Aziraphale shot him a sharp, scandalized look.

Bad choice of words.

"The flu?" He turned back to you quickly, eyes wide and hands wringing together. "Oh, but that-That isn't what this is, is it? No, no, it couldn't be! A cold is one thing, but the flu -!" His distress was palpable, his fingers hovering like he wanted to do something. Check your temperature again. Make you drink some water. Adjust the ice pack on your forehead.

Anything but to just keep standing there.

The blankets rustled softly as you shifted in your sleep, and you made a small sound. A shaky breath, thick with discomfort.

Then, it was as if some unseen thread of patience had finally snapped.

"That's it," Aziraphale declared, almost to himself, and before Crowley could stop him, he strode directly to your bedside. "I can't stand it anymore."

"What's it?" Crowley lifted his head sharply, immediately suspicious.

Aziraphale ignored him, leaning over you with an expression of deep, tender focus.

"I've had enough of this," Aziraphale murmured, voice trembling with a quiet resolve Crowley hadn't heard all evening, but his voice and eyes softened as he looked down at you, flushed and still so worryingly still. "The worst of it has lingered far too long. I won't stand by and watch her suffer another moment. Not when I can do something about it."

Crowley's posture shifted in an instant. His feet hit the floor as he straightened completely in his chair. "Angel," he warned, already sensing where this was going.

Aziraphale ignored him. Raising a hand over your forehead, his fingers poised for the briefest touch of divine intervention.

"I'm just going to take it away," Aziraphale murmured almost completely to himself. "Just the fever."

"Oh no, you're not." The words came sharp and clipped, and before Aziraphale's fingers could so much as graze your skin, Crowley was up, out of his chair in a heartbeat to catch the angel's wrist.

Aziraphale froze, eyes snapping to Crowley's in startled indignation. "Crowley," he said warningly, as if the demon had overstepped some invisible line.

Crowley didn't budge. "No."

"I don't see why—"

"Because that," Crowley interrupted, nodding toward your sleeping form and Aziraphale's still extended hand, "that is the kind of thing that's gonna get you noticed."

Aziraphale's mouth pressed into a thin line. For a moment, the angel looked almost fragile in his determination. Anxious, exhausted, but utterly unwilling to budge.

"And what of it?"

"You know 'what of it'. You think they-" the demon tilted his head toward the ceiling with unmistakable disdain "-won't notice?"

Finally, Aziraphale hesitated, and that was all the opening the demon needed to continue.

"Little things are fine," Crowley continued, his voice measured but unwavering. "Making her medicine taste better, poofing up pills, keeping oatmeal warm. Those are things that don't set off alarms. Do 'em as much as you please. But healing? That's– 'messing with the human experience', as they love to call it. Need permission for that, and that's the kind of activity that'll put us– that'll put you– put this bookshop back on Heaven's radar. Even if it's just a blip. And you and I both know it's too soon to be taking risks like that."

The angel swallowed hard. "I'm only-"

"You're only trying to help," Crowley finished for him. "I know. Believe me, I know." His grip on Aziraphale's wrist loosened slightly. "But you know what I'm talking about, and I'm sure you don't want any unnecessary attention on the shop. Not while she's still in it."

Aziraphale's gaze flickered from Crowley to you, watching the way your exhausted body still barely stirred, your fevered sleep unbroken despite the conversation happening right above you.

"Am I right?"

A long tense stretch of silence passed between them.

Crowley's expression softened and he finally let his hand fall away. "Look," he muttered, "maybe you need to step out for a bit. Get some fresh air. Give yourself a chance to breathe before you pace a damn hole into the floor."

"Leave?" The angel's hand fell back to his side as he repeated the notion incredulously, like the demon's suggestion was personally offensive. "I can't possibly leave while she's like this, Crowley. Not now."

The demon softened fruther, lightening his tone and waving a hand. "She won't be alone. I'm not going anywhere."

That, more than anything, made Aziraphale pause, but Crowley shrugged, as if that much had been obvious by now. "She'll be fine for a few hours without her guardian angel if you step out. I'll keep an eye on her. You left me with her before, remember? Kept her in once piece all evening all by myself."

"That was entirely different. Her condition is so much more fragile now I..."

Crowley tipped his head back to look down at him. "I ain't just suggesting it for your sake angel. I'm not sure the walls are gonna hold much longer."

Aziraphale frowned, brought out of his own head at least a little by the peculiar comment.
"What are you on about?"

"Haven't noticed?" Crowley gestured loosely toward the door, indicating the bookshop downstairs. "Shelves are shifting. Windows, too. Bit of a haze creeping in. Books starting to lean, like they can't quite keep upright." He smirked faintly, but there was something sharper underneath. "Shop's getting twitchy."

The angel's mouth twitched

"You need a minute."

"I most certainly do not!" Aziraphale scoffed, affronted. "There's far too much to do. I just need to pop in a few more things and we'll be–"

"You're really going conjure a whole pharmacy just to avoid stepping outside for a few hours?" The words cut through the air, firm but not unkind. "Go get this stuff yourself. Walk it off. Or at least take your pacing somewhere useful before the floorboards start to cave."

Aziraphale glanced down at his list.

A slow, near mournful creak echoed from downstairs.

Crowley gave him a knowing look.

Another stretch of silence

"…Look," the demon continued, less sarcastically now. "Make me a list if you're that worried. I'll make sure everything's taken care of exactly the way you'd want."

"..."

"Better hurry. Paint'll start peeling next."

The angel finally let out a long, reluctant breath.

"…Very well. Perhaps I do need a moment to reassess and reconvene."

"Good call." Crowley smirked. "She'll be juuuuust fine."

Aziraphale's shoulders eased, only slightly, as he glanced at the notepad in his hands. The paper practically shook between his fingers.

Tearing out the first list, he tucked it into his pocket before flipping to a fresh page, the pen gliding across it with meticulous precision. If he was going to leave, even briefly, he would leave no room for error.

After a few moments, the angel stood straight again. "Right," he announced, tearing the page from the notepad with a decisive rip. He turned, brandishing it like a sacred decree. "Seeing as she is still sleeping and probably will be for the better part of the afternoon, there's only really three things for you to worry about. So listen closely."

"Oh, I'm listening, Angel."

Aziraphale ignored the teasing tone and pressed on, stepping closer to hand the demon the list.
"Be sure that ice pack remains in place. If she rolls over and it falls off, you must replace it immediately."

"Right. Ice pack. Got it."

Aziraphale nodded, satisfied, and continued. "Now, if she happens to wake up and seems even a little peckish, there's still some soup in the fridge. You needn't make her eat if she's not feeling up to it, but—" He fixed Crowley with a sharp look. "—she must drink some water. If she doesn't wake up on her own in the next hour or so, I'd like you to wake her for a moment for just that. She's already had far too little today, and dehydration will only make things worse."

"I'll make sure she gets some water down..

"That part is of the utmost importance, you understand?"

"Don't let her dry out. Perfectly clear."

"Good," Aziraphale murmured, glancing toward you briefly before exhaling, shoulders stiff as if preparing himself for the grand ordeal of actually leaving. "I'll only be making two stops. First, the pharmacy, I want to get a professional opinion on whether there's anything a bit stronger she might take for her fever. The tonic and reducers haven't appeared to do much more than help her sleep, which is a mercy in of itself but finding something to actually cut that temperature is my number one priority. After that I'll just be stopping by the supermarket," Aziraphale went on, nodding to himself as if finalizing the plan. "We'll need more fresh ingredients and I'd like to find some things that will be gentle on her stomach."

"Take your time."

The angel huffed, grabbing his coat with far more force than necessary. "I'll only be a short while."

"Take your time." Crowley repeated as more of suggestion for the angel's own sake.

"If anything changes," Aziraphale started.

"I'll call you," Crowley finished smoothly.

Aziraphale gave him a look.

"I'll– set off a bloody flare. Miracle the tornado siren. Whatever. You'll be the first to know."

"And-"

"Ice pack, water, no forcing food on her, check, check, and check. Anything else?"

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes briefly, choosing again to ignore the demon's tone.

"If-" He hesitated, glancing toward the bed, his expression softening. "If she wakes up and she's feeling worse... if she asks for me..." Crowley raised a brow, waiting. Aziraphale shook his head slightly. "Just... let her know I'll be back soon."

Crowley's smirk faltered just a little, a flicker of something unreadable passing behind his sharp eyes. "Yeah," he said, voice quieter now. "I'll let her know."

Aziraphale studied him for a moment longer, then nodded, as if convincing himself one final time this was the best course action.

Then, at the demon directly, he gave a soft smile.

"Thank you, Crowley."

For once, the usual teasing remark didn't come immediately. Instead, he gave the angel a long look, one brow twitching upward before he tilted his head, lips quirking at one corner.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, waving a hand vaguely in the air. "No thanks. You can owe me a favor. Her too."

Something passed between them, something unspoken but tangible in the air. Something that didn't need to be acknowledged aloud, but existed despite even Crowley's attempts at deflection.

Aziraphale, with all his fretting, all his careful tending, all his worry, was leaving his most precious thing in Crowley's hands.

And Crowley knew it all too well.

Because, unfortunately, it was precious to him too.

~

The moment he heard the front door of the bookshop click shut downstairs, the signal that Aziraphale had finally left, Crowley let out a long, slow breath, slumping back into his chair with a dramatic exhale.

His head tilted back, his hand scrubbed down his face and his sunglasses were thrown on again, now pushed up into his hair.

"Finally."

Because, bloody hell—

He hadn't been lying when he said the bookshop had shifted. It had shifted far more then the angel's preoccupied mind would allow him to notice.

As an angel, Aziraphale's good-naturedness had always had a way of bleeding into the space around him. Normally, it spread out, settled into the bookshelves, the building itself, diffusing in a way that made everything feel safe.

And his shop?

As the place he spent the most time, the bookshop had nearly become an extension of the angel himself, not unlike the demon's own Bentley, reacting in small, quiet ways to his thoughts and emotions. Not dramatically, not in any way that would send books flying from the shelves or send the walls trembling, but subtly.

The space breathed with Aziraphale, responded to him, molded itself around whatever was sitting heaviest on his mind.

And right now? Thanks to all this? The whole bloody place was leaning in. The shelves, the walls, the very air was indeed holding its breath, caught in the same anticipatory tension Aziraphale had been carrying for days.

It had always been a warm place. Comfortable. Not his kind of comfortable, mind you, but cozy in that old-world, leather-bound, nostalgic kind of way. The kind of warmth that invited you in and embraced you outright.

But right now?

Now, it was like all of that warmth had been sucked from the rest of the building and concentrated into a single point.

The guest room.

Your room.

Crowley let his head fall back against the chair, tipping it up slightly so he could stare as the ceiling, observing the faintest flicker of golden light that wasn't quite visible but could be felt.

It was everywhere.

And the worst of it settled right around your bed.

That ridiculous old thing, stacked higher with pillows and blankets each passing day, half of them conjured on impulse, layer upon layer until it practically swallowed you whole.

The air around you had been so utterly saturated with warm intention that Crowley had started to feel the phantom touch of it the second he stepped too close, like a hand smoothing over his hair or a mother pressing the back of her fingers against a child's forehead.

So damn much of it, the demon groaned internally, rubbing at his temples.

Aziraphale had been so preoccupied with doing, with fussing over you, adjusting your blankets, keeping you fed, keeping himself busy so he didn't have to acknowledge the sheer depth of his concern, that he hadn't realized what he'd done.

He'd wrapped you in his worry so tightly that the very air around you was humming with it.

It was ridiculous.

Completely ridiculous in a way only Aziraphale could be ridiculous.

Crowley could almost see it if he squinted. Swirling over you in the angel's stead, just waiting for you to stir. Just waiting for the chance to wrap you up completely.

He narrowed his eyes at you, almost playfully.

"Lucky you, staying alseep through all this," he muttered, arms crossing as he studied the way the very room had seemingly decided to keep you tucked in.

His lips quirked, an amused little scoff escaping him. "Aziraphale's got no sense of restraint, does he?"

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Because it, whatever it was, the shop, the angel's intentions, whatever. It had the good sense not to disturb you while you were resting. But that didn't mean he couldn't feel it's desperation.

The air itself was restless.

Like an angel who wanted so terribly to do more, but had to settle for this.

The demon exhaled sharply through his nose, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

It was unbearable.

Because his energy was directly opposed to all of this. This warmth, this softness, this unbearable sweetness.

It wasn't just warm. It was familiar.

The same kind of warmth that always came with evenings spent in the bookshop and followed him out onto the street after more times than he cared to admit.

And now it saturated the air, not only cloyingly thick but active. And Crowley? Crowley had been marinating in it for hours at this point.

It made his skin prickle, like standing too close to an open fire.

"Don't even think about it." He muttered, swatting a hand in front of his face as if he could physically shoo it away.

He could almost taste it, softness and sunlight and something else.

And in all its excess, it desperation to be felt, it had been trying to curl around him too. It prodded and nudged, non-stop. Every breath drew more of it in, like honey-thick air coating his lungs, pressing itself inside of him with such infuriating gentleness that he'd just decided to stop breathing. But those unseen, golden whisps of warm intention kept trying their darnedest, determined to fill all the places that he refused to let be filled.

And it had taken everything in him to sit through it seemingly unbothered until the angel left.

He was jagged edges and cold-blooded detachment, and yet even he had barely been able to keep it at bay.

So he couldn't even begin to imagine what a mess it would make of you.

If you had been awake right now? If you'd stirred even a little? He was sure it would have pounced.

The second your eyes fluttered open, groggy and fever-bright, it would have rushed to meet you. No hesitation. No restraint. The sheer force of Aziraphale's warm intentions, all that aching, tender care he'd poured into the room, would have come crashing down.

It would have hit you like a warm drink on a cold day, filled your waking breaths and nudged at your ribs from the inside, curled under your knees, wormed between your fingers and toes, filling every last empty space like sunlight until you were giggling, exhausted and probably disoriented, but giggling none the less. Not because there was anything particularly funny, but because how could you not?

It would have settled in your stomach like a thousand happy butterflies, pooling in more warmth and coaxing out more laughter, more proof that you were awake and present and safe in all the ways Aziraphale's restrained physical corporation wouldn't allow.

The bookshop itself, with all its quiet semi-sentience, wrapping you up so thoroughly in Aziraphale that you wouldn't be able to do anything but helplessly bask in it

Oh, wouldn't that be a sight?

And if you had happened to have stirred earlier, while Aziraphale was still here?

The angel himself would hardly even notice it happening. He'd simply brighten at the sight of you perking up, delighted beyond words that you were "feeling better", before doubling his efforts, fussing over you, feeding you, ensuring you were tucked so snuggly into the nest of his care that you'd never wiggle free.

He'd smile that absurdly pleased smile of his, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes, the one he only wore when something, or someone, filled him with so much fondness he could hardly stand it.

Buuuuut that wasn't what you needed right now.

So, Crowley had cut it off at the source.

He'd sent Aziraphale away.

With the angel out of the shop—out of range hopefully—the weight in the air was slowly beginning to thin.

And that was for the best. It probably wasn't sustainable anyway.

And really, he thought, stretching lazily and exhaling through his nose, sending Aziraphale out really hadn't been for the angel's sake alone.

It was for yours too.

You were already feverish, too weak to deal with much of anything.

So yeah. No.

You needed a break.

Aziraphale needed a break.

He needed a break.

You needed to rest, not get dragged into the full-body onslaught of a building's emotional turmoil. You needed to breathe, to sleep in peace and to be given a break from the supernatural fussing that had been hitting you from all sides for days now.

He turned his gaze toward you again, still tucked under the blankets, breathing slow and steady. You looked so small there, so fragile in a way he didn't like to think about.

Then he stood and let his own presence press outward, cool and steady, a contrast to the unbearable weight of it all. Not enough to push anything away completely, but enough to help balance it a bit faster.

"Alright, that's enough of that," he muttered, stepping to your bedside and swiping a disruptive hand through the swirling, unseen haze above you. "We get it. She's sick. No need to smother her."

He paused, watching and waiting for whether it would respond. He could still feel it, thick and golden and stubbornly clinging to the bedposts, the blankets, the very air around your fevered complexion.

"Look, I know you mean well. But she's already burning up, yeah? No need to pile on. She needs rest, not to be wrapped up in all this." Another dismissive swipe, as if he could physically shoo the worst of it away. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as if speaking to an stubborn child. "Don't need you buzzing around like a worried nanny, we've already got one of those."

There was flicker, followed by a subtle shift in the atmosphere, and then finally a retreat as he near physically felt the air thin, successfully chased away by his scolding. The tension in the room finally lessened, dispersing back down through the floorboards and into the rest of this blasted place where it belonged. For the most part, at least.

Perhaps tension wasn't the right word. But it sure as hell had been making him tense.

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" He straightened, adjusting his sleeves before glancing down at you again. "Let the poor thing breathe a bit."

You remained still, entirely oblivious to the battle for atmospheric control happening just over your head.

But unfortunately, now he had a job to do.

After pulling his sunglasses back down over his eyes, he reached down, giving your shoulder a shake.

"Wakey wakey," he sing-songed, though his voice was quieter than usual before clicking his tongue at you. "Gotta wake up for a bit, kid."

He gave your shoulder another shake, a little firmer this time and you grumbled.

There you are.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's awful. But I'm under strict orders from the angel himself. Says you gotta drink something."

Your brow twitched, and you made a small noise of protest, curling into yourself and away from him.

"I ain't asking you to run a marathon. A few sips. Then you can go right back to sleeping the day away."

Nothing.

He clicked his tongue again, grabbing the glass of water from the nightstand and leaning down toward you. "C'mon, love, let's get you sat up. Just for a second."

Still, nothing.

He sighed sharply, tapping the glass against the nightstand with an impatient clink. "Seriously?"

Your only response was slight shift of your shoulders before you burrowed deeper into the blankets, as if to escape him entirely.

That did it.

Crowley exhaled, his patience wearing dangerously thin far faster then he thought it would. "Oh, for— Look, I know you feel like hell, yeah? But you need to drink something. You think the angel'll let me hear the end of it if you dry out and keel over on my watch?"

Again, no response.

He clenched his jaw. "I'm not asking for much," he pressed, trying to keep his irritation at bay. "Just a sip. One sip."

Your brow furrowed slightly, and even in your fevered daze he recognized the edge of obstinance in your half-consciousness expression.

You were ignoring him on purpose.

And that was... surprisingly reassuring.

He scoffed. "Unbelievable," before taking a step back to level a glare at you, though the effect was somewhat lost, given that you weren't even looking at him. He muttered something under his breath, then paced a small circled before coming up at your side again.

The demon scoffed sharply and ran a hand down his face, glaring at the glass and then at you like you'd both personally offended him before picking it back up.

That was when his frustration cracked, just a little, and something more raw bled through.

"You're gonna make me beg, aren't you?"

Once again, no response.

"…Alright," he said, quieter this time. "Fine. Let's try a different approach."

He hesitated, his fingers tapping against the cool surface of the glass as he considered his options.

He hummed, eyes flicking toward the ceiling before landing back on you. "Let's make a deal."

He set the glass back on the nightstand with a little too much force. "You sit up—just for a few seconds, just long enough to drink something—and I'll… I'll owe you one."

"A big one," he continued. "No strings. Just drink some water."

That, at least, got a tiny reaction. Your fingers unclenched slightly from where they'd so fiercely been keeping the blanket in place.

Encouraged, Crowley pressed on.

"Yeah? Sound good? You like collecting favors, don't you?" He leaned in a bit, his voice dipping into something more coaxing. "Could be anything. You want me to sneak you into a concert? Done. Need a ride? Just say where and when. Want me to 'borrow' something else expensive for you? Say the word."

No response.

Crowley let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "No? Not enough? Fine, how about this—" He stood up straighter, his voice losing its teasing lilt entirely. "You sit up now, drink some water, and I swear, when this all blows over and you're back to your usual restless self, I'll convince Aziraphale to let you out of bed early. Even if I have to carry you out myself."

Your fingers twitched again, but still, you remained silent.

Crowley made a frustrated noise and rolled his eyes. "You've gotta be—"

Then, finally, he abandoned all pretense of frustration, all irritation, all impatience, and let his genuine concern show through.

Much softer, barely more than a disgruntled breath:

"Please?"

That was what did it.

Because at that, finally, finally, you moved.

It was sluggish and weak, but you turned your head just enough to peek at him through half-lidded eyes. Your gaze was hazy, your exhaustion palpable, but at the very least, you acknowledged him, and he started breathing again.

"Yeah, that's it," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He crouched down beside the bed, holding up the glass again. "Just a little, yeah? Then you can go right back to sleep."

You blinked sluggishly at him before giving the faintest nod.

With that permission, carefully, gently, he slipped an arm behind your shoulders, lifting you just enough to press the glass to your lips as you took a slow sip.

"There we go," Crowley murmured. "See? Not so bad."

You hummed weakly, perhaps in disagreement, but didn't resist.

Once he was satisfied you'd had enough, he eased you back down, not exactly tucking you in, but looming over you until he was sure you had yourself properly settled beneath the blankets before setting the glass aside.

The demon hesitated for a moment, then seemingly on impulse, brushed a hand lightly over your hair.

You were too tired to react, but if you had been just a little more awake, you might have caught the way his fingers lingered on your forehead, curious and careful, as if confirming something for himself before he pulled away.

Warmer. Far warmer than the other day.

But that wasn't exactly news, he supposed.

"Good job," he murmured, watching as your shallow breathing evened out. Then, a little louder, "Now, go back to sleep before I start getting sentimental."

You would have laughed at him if you had the energy, he knew that, but instead, you let out a quiet exhale and nuzzled deeper into your pillow.

You hadn't even heard him.

Probably for the best.

He didn't move, not for the longest time.

He would have liked to just sit back down.

But something was different.

Your breathing was shallow now and your face twitched restlessly despite the silence.

A slight scrunch of your brow. A wince. The tiniest sound of distress escaping your throat.

As if you were unable to find your way back to the almost worryingly deep, but peaceful rest you'd been seeking relief in since yesterday, as whatever was now stirring inside that fevered head of yours kept pulling you back into a state of unease.

Crowley rubbed his chin, glancing toward the door as if Aziraphale would have returned at any moment. But he didn't. The angel wouldn't be back for a while yet.

It was just the two of you.

He stared for a moment longer before he groaned, deep and resigned as he loomed over you again. His eyes narrowed slightly, calculating, as if weighing the weight of the decision he was about to make.

Then, he extended a hand, letting it hover midair for a moment, just above your forehead.

"This doesnt count." Crowley grumbled under his breath "Barely tips the scales."

His hand flexed a few times, then, with an audible exhale, slowly and carefully, his fingers brushed your skin.

The second they made contact, the demom hissed, jerking back as if he'd been scalded. His wrist snapped to his side, and he shook it out violently, clenching and unclenching his fist in quick, pained succession.

"Shit," he muttered through gritted teeth, flexing his fingers again and glowering at his own hand. "Figures."

But then he looked back at you.

And there it was.

Your face had relaxed, the tight lines around your brow had smoothed and your breathing steadied back to what it had been, deep and calm.

Whatever discomfort had been prodding at the edges of your consciousness had successfully faded, leaving only the exhaustion behind.

So without another word, he dragged his chair around the nightstand, closer still, up to the edge of your bed, and settled in with a dramatic flop.

It was going to be another long night.

Chapter Text

"Crowley? I'm back!"

Aziraphale's voice carried itself upstairs effortlessly as he shook off his umbrella and stepped in from the street.

"Up here." The demon huffed in response. As if he'd been anywhere else.

There was the sound of rustling, like a bag or two being set down, then footsteps making their way up the stairs.

When he heard the angel approaching, in a sudden flurry of motion, he stood and pushed his chair back into its original place beside the nightstand, adjusting his glasses and crossing his arms in a practiced display of indifference. By the time Aziraphale reached the top of the stairs and peeked into the room , the demon looked as though he hadn't moved at all in all the time he'd been gone.

"Apologies for the wait," the angel greeted warmly and stepped inside with purpose, still carrying one neatly packed paper bag. "I managed to get everything we might need. A gentle throat spray, some more tissues, some 'vapor rub'. Can you believe I didn't have anything like it already on hand?" He mused, setting the bag down to begin carefully sorting through it.

Crowley noted the lightness of his tone immediately.

"Someone's in a better mood," he commented, his voice smooth but curious. "Trip go well, then?"

Aziraphale sighed in visible relief in confirmation of the demon's observation. "Yes, quite. The woman behind the counter at the pharmacy was absolutely wonderful. Very reassuring."

"Reassuring, was she?"

"Oh yes." Aziraphale confirmed, unpacking the bag and lining its contents up precisely on the dresser. "I described the symptoms as best I could; fever, fatigue, loss of voice, and she was so kind. Said that it sounded like a particularly nasty bug that's been going around. Gave me some suggestions on how to keep her comfortable and that all we had to do was keep going as we have been."

He turned to Crowley then, his smile soft and grateful. "It was... reassuring, you see. Hearing it from someone who knew what they were talking about. She even recommended this," He held up a small bottle of liquid medicine. "Said it'd be far more effective then what she's been taking up until now, and that as long as her fever stays below 40° there needn't be any drastic measures taken."

"Right. Because what you really needed was someone to tell you what you already knew," Crowley added with a smirk, leaning back in his chair as the tension in his shoulders undoubtedly eased.

"Still," Aziraphale continued, his voice still light. "hearing it from a professional does have its merits. And it gave me a bit of peace of mind, knowing there's a simple path forward. To hear that... I'd been doing right by her so far." The angel took a small breath, and nodded to himself, as if reassuring himself of that fact one final time. "Rest, fluids, and a little more patience. Same as day one."

Crowley didn't respond immediately. He watched Aziraphale move around the room, placing the new medicine carefully on the nightstand. His nervous energy from earlier had diminished almost completely, replaced by a calm conviction.

Then he perked up, looking to Crowley expectantly.

"Was everything alright while I was gone? You haven't started complaining yet, so can I assume no news is good news?"

"Well she's about as responsive as a brick wall." The demon scowled and hid it poorly. "Got her to drink some water, but it took more effort than I'd like to admit."

Aziraphale hummed at that and fixed his attention on you to press a gentle hand to your forehead, his expression melting into something gut-wrenchingly soft

"Sorry to keep you waiting, my dear, but I went out and got a few things I'm sure are going to help you feel better~." His tone was cloyingly fond, and Crowley clenched his jaw as he watched you shift ever so slightly under his touch, blinking awake in a weak attempt to focus on him

The demon had spent all that time trying to get you to react to anything, and yet, all it took, all it ever seemed to take, was Aziraphale's voice or gentle hand for you to stir even a little.

The angel sighed fondly, brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead before turning to a grab a few of the things he'd set out, showing them off to you as if you were in any headspace to pay attention. "I managed to find something that should help bring this down," he explained, rubbing your forehead softly in indication of your fever. "And I picked you up some more lozenges. Honey ones this time. I thought they might be a bit gentler on your throat, and I know you said the lemon ones had a bit of an odd after-taste."

You made a smallsest of noises and nodded faintly, your eyes going shut again as you did, in a clear giveaway that you had no idea as to what you were nodding about.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Lovely. Now let's see if you can actually get her to take any of it."

Aziraphale frowned slightly at the demon's tone but said nothing, instead focusing his attention back on you. He perched himself gently on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he smoothed his palm over the edge of the blankets in a soothing motion.

"My dear," he murmured, soft and coaxing. "I know you're tired, but I need you to wake up just for a moment. Just long enough to take some medicine, alright?"

You made a quiet noise of protest, shifting your shoulders as if to burrow deeper into the blankets.

Crowley scoffed. See? Not so easy, is it?

But then—

"Shhh, now now," Aziraphale crooned, his hand moving to stroke gently along the side of your head, down to your cheek in a steady, rhythmic motion. "I know, I know. I'll be quick, I promise. Just a little sip, and then you can rest again."

And just like that, Crowley watched in complete, unfiltered irritation as your muscles visibly relaxed under the angel's touch and your sluggish eyes cracked open again.

What. The. Hell.

Aziraphale smiled at you, all warmth and patience, as if he hadn't just performed some ridiculous miracle of persuasion that Crowley had spent ages failing to achieve.

"That's it, my dear," the angel encouraged, pouring some of the medicine into the small measuring cup it came with as the cap. "Here, let me help you sit up a little. There we go—oh, careful, careful."

Crowley's eye twitched. His attempts to get you to sit up earlier had felt so clumsy. And yet, here you were, letting the angel ease you into a better position, blinking up at him with absolute trust while Crowley sat there like a third wheel to the world's most infuriatingly effective act of caretaking.

You let Aziraphale press the medicine cup to your lips without protest, swallowing obediently even as you pulled a slight face at its chalky consistency.

"Very good," Aziraphale praised, beaming as he set the cap aside. "Now, a few sips of water and then you can rest some more."

And you did it.

No hesitation. No resistance. No bribes. You just did it because he asked.

"Unbelievable," Crowley muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face.

Aziraphale turned toward him with an innocent blink after tucking you back in. "Oh, don't be so dramatic, Crowley," he chided, ever-so-pleased with himself. "It's simply a matter of patience and gentle encouragement."

The look the demon shot him was almost offended. "You think I wasn't gentle?" he deadpanned.

The angel simply smiled, full of smug, serene knowledge. "She trusts me."

Crowley gritted his teeth and slumped further in his chair, grumbling something incoherent under his breath.

You, meanwhile, were as expected at this point, already slipping back into sleep, nuzzling against your pillow with a soft sigh.

Aziraphale reached out and brushed your hair behind your ear, his touch featherlight and impossibly tender. "There now, my dear," he whispered. "Rest well."

Crowley watched the way your breathing evened out under the angel's touch, the way your face eased from its feverish scrunch into something peaceful, and he let out an aggravated exhale.

Apparently all it took was a warm voice and a few gentle strokes along your temple and suddenly you were the world's most cooperative patient.

Aziraphale, sensing his growing irritation, patted Crowley's knee in passing as he stood. "I'm sure you'll get the hang of it, dear boy."

The demon gave him a sharp glare. "You're insufferable."

The angel hummed, utterly unbothered. "Yes, well. I do my best. Now—we wait!"

"For?"

"For her." Aziraphale nodded to you and glanced back at him, his smile contagiously hopeful. "We wait. And we trust that rest will do the work that neither of us can."

~
~
~

For the first time in what felt like ages, the oppressive fog that had been holding your mind hostage finally begin to lift. The heaviness in your body lingered, but your head was clearer. Less like you were greeting the world from underwater as you woke.

The first thing you registered, and what had perhaps been what pulled you from sleep, was a gentle scribbling sound.

Everything still ached, but it was dull and manageable. Your throat felt dry and scratchy, but it was no longer the unbearable tightness that had been keeping you silent. Even the feverish pressure behind your eyes had faded bac into a dull throb.

And the last two days felt like a weird dream.

You blinked yourself awake as best you could, coming to focus in what felt like slow motion. The timeline of the last couple days blurred in your mind, leaving a strange haze in its wake, but you shifted slightly, dragging yourself upright. The world tilted for a moment, but it settled almost immediately.

You blinked again, more alert this time as you focused on your surroundings.

You were awake.

Really awake.

The room swam just slightly, but not enough to keep you from taking it all in for the first time in what felt like forever.

That's also when you noticed—

Good grief.

You weren't so much in bed as you were swallowed by it.

Pillows were piled high at the headboard for you to lean against and sink into, and others were tucked at your sides in a makeshift barrier between you and the rest of the world. Your blankets were layered thickly, far more than you remembered, piled on one after the other as if someone had been determined to keep every ounce of warmth locked in.

It was like being gently smothered by a well-meaning cloud.

Huh.

You reached for the glass of water sitting on the nightstand and took a few cautious sips. The cool liquid soothed your dry throat, and you sighed, the breath shaky but deep.

Pausing mid sip, your eyes finally followed that persistent scribbling sound to the corner of the room and you lowered the glass again slowly.

A desk.

Wait.

You blinked hard, half-convinced you were still dreaming.

It was Aziraphale's desk. The one from downstairs.

The angel's journals and papers were stacked in their usual messy piles. A steaming cup of tea rested to one side. And there, seated at the desk, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, reading glasses perched on his nose, was Aziraphale himself.

He hummed softly as he scribbled something down, utterly absorbed in his work. His back was to you, but he was positioned just so. Angled perfectly so that he could glance back and check on you whenever he pleased

What...

"Aziraphale?"

Your voice came out hoarse but functional, surprising even you.

The scratching of his pen stopped immediately and Aziraphale's head whipped around to meet your confused gaze with wide eyes.

For a second, the room was filled with stunned silence.

"Oh— Oh!"

Then the angel startled so dramatically that his pen clattered onto the desk. His surprise melted instantly into something utterly joyful and he shot up from his seat so quickly the chair scraped harshly against the floor.

"My dear!" he gasped, stepping toward you with such unrestrained delight you barely had time to process it.

"You're awake!"

You blinked up at him, still sluggish and trying to piece everything together.

"...Mornin'?"

"Oh, why—you're even sitting up!"

Before you could react, his hands came up to cup your face, thumbs pressing lightly into your cheeks as if to confirm you were real. His eyes scanned you with such intensity that you were too stunned to pull away.

"I… uh. Yeah?"

"Look at you!" Aziraphale crooned, voice dripping with delight as he gave your cheeks a firm, affectionate squish. "Sitting up all by yourself! Oh, bless your heart!"

You blinked at him, startled and still a bit dazed as your face was squished in a way that made any reply impossible.

The angel didn't seem to care, though, and his smile softened impossibly further as he gave your cheeks a final squish before drawing back only slightly.

His attention shot down to the glass in your hands.

"Oh, yes! You should drink something!" he fussed immediately, reaching down to take your hands in his and guide the glass back up to your mouth. "Here, just a sip now, gently, there we are." Not that you needed the help considering you'd already downed half of it on your own.

But you obediently took a few big gulps, finishing it off as you watched him over the rim.

You glanced toward the desk again, then back at Aziraphale, who was standing there watching you with so much hesitant excitement that he didn't appear to know just how to proceed just yet.

"Azi... what's your desk doing up here?"

Aziraphale blinked at your question, glancing over his shoulder at the large, out-of-place desk sitting snugly in the corner of the guest room.

"Oh, that?" he said lightly, as if it were hardly worth mentioning. "Brought it up last night actually! I couldn't possibly keep retreating back downstairs with the way your condition had been progressing. This way I can keep a proper eye on you while getting some work done."

"So... You dragged your entire desk up the stairs?"

"Oh, goodness no!" Aziraphale gave an airy wave of his hand, "Crowley helped." He added, as if that explained everything.

"Crowley?" Your eyes flicked to the currently empty bedside chair.

"Oh yes, complained the whole time, of course. But, oh! Crowley! He'll be so pleased– well, as pleased as he allows himself to look, when he sees you like this!

Aziraphale clapped his hands together before you could say anything else, his entire being returned to buzzing with excitement.

"Now! No more dilly-dallying. We must check your temperature immediately. Just to be sure you're properly on the mend~

"Wait, where's-" You'd intended to question the demon's whereabouts, but were abruptly cut off by a light tap to your chin.

"Hush now, mouth open," Aziraphale instructed almost playfully, but his tone left no room for argument.

You parted your lips to respond, but the angel was quicker, and with the practiced precision of someone who had done this a dozen times, he slipped the thermometer into place with a bright expectant smile.

"There we are~" he sang softly, beaming down at you. "Now hold it for just a moment. You know the drill."

You gave a soft, half-hearted eye roll but complied without protest.

Things felt strange right now, unreal, almost. But you were still a bit too tired to question the oddity of it all. And listening to Aziraphale?

Well...

It was easy.

The angel clasped his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels as he waited with you for the reading.

"Honestly," he began, musing to himself as much as speaking to you, "when I heard you speak, I nearly thought I was dreaming. I hardly dared to hope you'd be up so soon."

His gaze drifted over your face with something close to wonder, like he was still marveling at the very fact you were up and speaking to him again.

"You gave us quite the fright, you know."

Us?

The word hung in the air, unaddressed.

You shifted slightly under the weight of his attention, glancing back toward the empty chair by your bedside. But once again, before you could speak, the thermometer was plucked from your mouth.

Aziraphale held it close to his face with scathingly narrowed eyes and you nearly held your breath along with him.

Then his shoulders relaxed.

"38.8°," he said, almost breathless. "Down again yet from 39° last night!."

"...is that really good?" you asked hesitantly.

Aziraphale looked at you like you'd just asked him whether books were meant for reading.

"It's wonderful!" he answered, practically glowing. "Oh, my dear, it's marvelous! Your fever's braking slowly! It's coming down!"

You let out a small , hooh, of relief.

"Not gone, mind you," he added quickly, rasing a finger in warning. "You're still a bit warm and we mustn't let our guard down, but this is progress!"

He stood straight and spun in a small flurry of energy as he decided how to proceed.

"Well then," he began again, his voice lilting with optimism but edged with a cautious note. "Since you're sitting up so splendidly and that fever is finally relenting... perhaps, just perhaps, you might feel up for a little breakfast? Only if you are feeling up to it, of course," he added quickly, holding up his hands as if not to frighten you off. "Something light, of course. Nothing too heavy!"

The enthusiasm in his tone was undeniable, but you could see it: a flicker of uncertainty. He was prepared for you to refuse. Prepared for you to shake your head and burrow back into the fortress of pillows he'd so carefully constructed. The expectation of disappointment hung just faintly in his hopeful smile, like he didn't quite dare believe you'd say yes.

You hesitated and that smile wavered, just a fraction more.

But then you shifted again, taking stock of yourself properly for the first time since waking and felt it immediately. The emptiness in the pit of your stomach that was gnawing at you, gentle but undeniable.

"...Actually," you started, your voice quiet but sure. "I... think I'm kind of starving."

Aziraphale just stared at you for a moment and you let out an awkward laugh.

"You're..."

"Ah, I-I'm sorry," You quickly moved to correct yourself. "It's not that bad, really, I just meant I was–"

"Starving! Starving! Oh, bless my soul, did you hear that?" he gasped, turning as though Crowley might be lurking in the corner to share the moment. "She's starving! Oh, this is progress!"

"O-oh—!"

You let out another weak laugh, both at his reaction and your own surprise. You really were hungry after days of feeling like eating was not only too much effort, but entirely unappealing.

"Toast! How about some toast? Perhaps with a bit of jam? Oh! And tea, of course! And a soft-boiled egg! Bland, easy on the stomach!" You watched him almost whirl around in thought.

He reached forward, squeezing your shoulder with a look of such profound pride and relief you found yourself shrinking back shyly.

"You just sit there, my dear. I won't be but a moment."

Aziraphale practically floated out of the room and you watched after him for a few seconds before slowly sinking back into the wall of pillows behind you.

It was strange. The world still felt slightly off-kilter, and you brought your hands up to your cheeks, attempting to rub out the ghost of Aziraphale's gentle squishing.

Your gaze flicked to the bedside chair again, the same one Crowley had seemed to occupy each time you'd stirred out of your feverish haze. At the time, you hadn't even been processing how constant he'd been.

And now, the idea of him grumbling his way up the stairs, carrying (or miracling around) furniture for Aziraphale— for you— left a strange sense of sadness in your chest, even if you couldn't quite place the reason.

A few minutes passed before Aziraphale reappeared.

"Here we are!" he chirped, carrying that familiar tray table with him as he nudged the door open with his hip. "Breakfast is served!"

You stared at the modest but lovely spread as he set the tray over your lap, and your stomach grumbled near immediately at the sight of food, only reinforcing how little you'd allowed yourself to have until now.

"As promised, we have toast, lightly buttered, with raspberry jam on the side in case you fancy something sweet. Tea, prepared just as you like, and of course, tada~! A perfect soft-boiled egg."

"Dope." You said in mild but genuine awe. "Thank you so much!"

"Oh, no need for thanks, my dear," he said with a delighted laugh, adjusting the tray more securely before stepping back. "You can thank me by eating as much as you possibly can. Every last bite, if you're able."

With a nod, you picked up a slice of toast and the moment you took your first bite, something inside you shifted.

It wasn't just the taste, lightly toasted and butterly; as perfect as it was in its simplicity.
It was that you hadn't realized how much two days in the hole would have you missing feeling normal. It wasn't just the food, it was the act of eating, of wanting to eat and the fog that had held you in place for so long seemed to peel back another layer.

The actual hunger hit fast after that as your body, starved of nourishment and energy, finally realized food was an option again and you tore through the first slice with more enthusiasm than you would have thought possible.

"Good?"

You nodded rapidly and went in for another bite, then another, stopping only briefly to spread some jam before tearing into it again.

Aziraphale watched you closely at first, but when he saw how you dug in without hesitation, he nodded contently.

"That's it," he cooed, pulling up the bedside chair and sitting down. "But no need to rush. We wouldn't want you upsetting your stomach again so soon."

But you couldn't help it. The toast was gone quickly and you reached for your tea next, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. The warmth seeped into your fingers, grounding you further and you took a long sip, downing half the cup in one go and humming beyond contently as the warm liquid soothed your throat and filled your stomach.

"So good..." You murmured into the cup, letting yourself breath for a moment before tipping it up again to finish the rest.

Then, you sank back into the wall of pillows, closing your eyes for a moment with a long, content sigh, feeling fuller than you had in what felt like a lifetime. The warmth of the tea spread through you thoroughly, and for the first time in days, you felt... good. Not perfect, your body still ached, and your head swam slightly, but good.

Then your eyes snapped open again.

"Oh! Egg!"

You sat back up so suddenly that the tray table wobbled precariously over your lap.

Aziraphale blinked, startled at first before he let out a delighted laugh. "Almost forgot it, did we?"

"How could I forget the egg..." You murmured, looking down at the soft-boiled egg sitting patiently in its little cup, still untouched. You'd locked onto it with such genuine excitement, it was as if it were some grand delicacy you'd been deprived of for weeks.

You tapped the side of the shell with a spoon and it cracked with a satisfying tap tap tap before you peeled the top half back carefully.

Your eyes sparkled and you took a massive, enthusiastic bite right from the top.

No salt, no spoon, no ceremony.

The angel beamed, clearly delighted by the sight of you eating so heartily. But ever the proper host, he pointed delicately toward the tray.

"Perhaps you'd like some salt, my dear. There's some right there."

You paused mid chew to glance where he indicated and, indeed, there was a small salt shaker sitting neatly beside the egg cup.

"Right. Salt." You said, cheeks still full of egg.

With a half-bashful grin, you swallowed and sprinkled a bit of salt over the remaining half of the egg before picking your spoon back up.

This time, you scooped the rest of the golden yolk and soft white out carefully, choosing to savor the next few bites properly.

"Mmm," you hummed around the final spoonful, much more dignified this time.

"Perfectly done." Aziraphale nodded then motioned to your empty cup. "More tea?"

A wide smile stretched across your face as you nodded eagerly, holding out your empty teacup with both hands.

"Yes, please."

Aziraphale took the cup from you with a soft, delighted hum.

"Of course! A fresh cup coming right up."

As he stepped away toward the tea tray he'd set on the dresser, you leaned back again to let everything settle. The warmth from it all lingered pleasantly in your stomach, chasing away the last remnants of the cold, hollow ache that had sat there for days.

You exhaled slowly, your gaze drifting across the room at the desk again, and Aziraphale filled the silence with gentle humming as he prepared your tea, along with that soft clinking of porcelain that inspired a domestic warmth that felt too perfect to be real.

The world seemed to slow.

The first few days here had been so different. So...like this.

You glanced toward the notepad still sitting on the nightstand, tucked between a bottle of medicine and a fresh box of tissues.

The last few pages were covered in messy doodles, mostly more pictures of Crowley that you'd busied yourself with when the demon insisted on choosing what to watch and you had to sit through nearly an entire season of the Golden Girls.

The demon had remained thoroughly unimpressed through all of them, groaning about your "dreadful taste in portraiture" while you grinned weakly, your silent laughter making your shoulders shake more with his reaction to each one.

Then you thought about laughing over the lunch and dinner you had together; Aziraphale proudly serving and Crowley always critiquing, but eating every bite.

It had all felt so nice.

Then you got worse.

And the cozy warmth that had filled the shop had dimmed. You could feel it, even half-conscious the tension was palpable. The way Aziraphale had fretted, genuinely fretted and the way Crowley's sharp remarks had become quieter, less teasing.

And no matter how much you might have wanted to, you had no strength to do anything about it. Your body had betrayed you so thoroughly that you'd clung heavily to sleep for the better part of two days without much choice.

The light conversation, the comfortable ease between the three of you, the homey atmosphere Aziraphale had worked to cultivate, it had all been replaced by worry.

You hated being the reason for that change.

A familiar unease began to creep back in, souring the pleasant feeling the morning had brought you, and the full, comfortable feeling in your stomach suddenly felt like an indulgence you hadn't earned. You didn't deserve to keep leaning into this so thoroughly, not when you'd failed so drastically at the one thing you were supposed to do.

"Something on your mind, dear?"
You looked up, startled from your thoughts as Aziraphale returned, handing a full cup back to you. "You're looking rather pensive."

"Ah-no, just..." You hesitated. "Thinking about... shepherd's pie."

Aziraphale tilted his head in surprise and then let out a warm laugh.

"Oh! You must have been hungry if you're still thinking about food." He said fondly. "That was a lovely dinner. Crowley wasn't nearly as complimentary as he should have been."

"It was really good." You added, hoping to play the excuse off well and setting your tea off to the side after only a single sip.

"Indeed," Aziraphale agreed, his voice lowering slightly. "But this-" He gestured gently toward you, "- seeing you awake, sitting up, eating again... This is much better, in my opinion."

There was nothing you could say to that. Nothing you could think to, anyway.

But you didn't have to, because Aziraphale continued on his own

"Ah, what a lovely morning it's turning out to be," he mused aloud, his tone carrying that familiar airy fondness. "Mondays have such an unfortunate reputation, don't they? But I'd say, with your recent recovery we've started the week rather lucky~" He smiled at you over his shoulder as he cleared away your tray, utterly at ease

Wait.

Monday?

The word echoed in your mind and your stomach dropped.

Monday???

No. No, no, no. That couldn't be right.

The realization hit you like a bucket of ice water and you froze, the panic drowning out Aziraphale's gentle musings.

It's Monday. Of course it was Monday. You'd been here since Wednesday night.

Your flight. You were supposed to fly home today.

"Azi-" You barely got his name out before you were flinging the blankets back, and the cold air against your skin barely registered as you scrambled to get out of bed. "My flight!"

Aziraphale stopped mid-sentence at the sound of your voice, but you weren't thinking anymore. Your body had already moved.

Your feet hit the floor, and immediately, the sudden motion sent the room tilting.

The edges of your vision blurred, and a high-pitched ringing buzzed faintly in your ears.

But you took a single, desperate step forward anyways—

You barely registered Aziraphale's gasp of horror.

—and the entire world went black.

But you didn't hit the floor.

"Oh, you foolish thing!" he scolded, his voice trembling with sheer, unfiltered panic. "What on Earth were you thinking?"

You barely managed to lift your head from where it had lulled helplessy against his shoulder, and your breathing was ragged as an arm was hooked under your knees and one behind your back. "M-my flight-" you mumbled weakly, though the words barely made it out as you fought to catch your breath around the overwhelming nausea that had brought you down.

The next thing you knew, you were off the ground.

"Absolutely not!" His voice, usually so soft, came out sharp and unyielding as he cradled you against his chest. "You've only just the found the strength to sit up properly and you throw yourself out of bed like that???"

"B-but m-my flight-" You repeated, The panic was still there, clawing at you even as your body betrayed you again. "I have to go I'll–"

"It'll have to wait" Aziraphale said with finality, carrying you the few steps back to the bed. "No flight, no rushing about. You're not well enough to stand, let alone fly halfway across the globe. The very idea!"

You tried to squirm weakly. "But— I have to, it's my—

"No buts!" Aziraphale scolded. "Goodness, I should have known you'd try something foolish the moment you felt a little better."

You made a weak sound of protest as he gently settled you back into bed, tucking the blankets back around you urgently as if they alone would be enough to stop you from bolting again.

"A flight," Aziraphale muttered to himself with a shake of his head. "Mercy, you've barely eaten properly! And after everything—everything— you thought you'd just waltz onto a plane?"

You shrunk as you began to register his tone, your expression pained and disoriented from the harsh rush to your head and the panic of it all.

Your chest felt tight.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

It's Monday.
I missed it.
I missed my flight.

The full weight of the past few days—lost to feverish sleep, unable to move, barely conscious—hit you all at once. You'd lost days.

Your hands gripped the blanket weakly, still trembling from the dizzy spell and your breaths quickened as you stared wide-eyed and helplessly at your lap.

Your heart pounded in your chest.

You weren't supposed to cause so much trouble. You shouldn't have even come back

The rising panic blurred your thoughts further. Your throat tightened, breath hitching audibly as your vision blurred for the second time and your eyes stung with the warmth of tears you wouldn't let spill over.

Your flight. The worry you'd caused. The weakness that still clung to your core. It was all still hitting you at once.

"I-I—" you whispered, barely audible, but Aziraphale heard you. His head snapped up immediately, his hands stilling from where they'd been putting pillows back in place when he saw you and whatever he'd been about to say caught in his throat.

He could see it happening in real-time. The way your entire body tensed, the tremble in your fingers where they clutched the blankets, the way your breath shaked just slightly but poorly hidden, like you were trying to will away the lump forming in your throat.

You weren't crying. You never really did. But he knew you well enough to know that this indicated all the same the depths of how upset you were.

"Oh—oh, my dear, no—" Aziraphale breathed, his voice losing every bit of sharpness from before. His eyes widened in shock and regret and his hands hovered in the air as though unsure where to place them without overwhelming you further.

He sat on the edge of the bed and hesitated only a moment longer before one of his hands came to rest carefully over yours, prying your trembling fingers away from the death grip they had on the blanket and enclosing them in his own.

"I—oh goodness, I didn't mean to raise my voice," he said gently, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I was just so frightened when you fell—"

"I-it's fine! I'm fine." You choked, rather unconvincingly, trying to delflect his soft response like it was some kind of accusation.

"You're still feverish." he corrected indulgently, his thumb rubbing slowly over your knuckles. "Still very unwell. You've only just woken up properly for the first time in days, and what do you do? You try to stand and leave. You can still feel it, can't you? The way your body is still fighting to recover. You must still be utterly drained."

"But I was supposed to—"

"Hush, now," he soothed, easing you back down so easily you weren't sure you'd even been in control of your body in that moment. He reached into a small bowl of ice water that had been sitting just off to the side on the nightstand and pulled out the folded washcloth from inside, wringing it out with a single squeeze. "No more of that. At the moment, you're exactly where you are supposed to be."

As if those words finalized the sentiment and before you could protest further, he pressed the damp cloth to your forehead.

Your entire body shuddered at the sensation.

You hadn't even realized how warm you still were; how the fever still clung to you, stubborn and draining. The coolness was a shock but a relief so profound that your breath hitched again as the chill cut through the discomfort you had grown so used to you had nearly forgotten it was there

Aziraphale, ever observant, understood your reaction to it immediately.

"There now," he whispered, his tone slipping into something impossibly understanding as his free hand came up to brush damp strands of hair away from your face. "That's better, isn't it?"

A small, fragile sound escaped you. A soft, breathy whimper of relief that only furthered his resolve.

"Ah, yes, I thought so," he murmured knowingly, his voice soft with fondness but tinged with something firmer, more resolute. "You see, my dear? Your body still needs care. In fact, it's rather desperate for it, I'd say."

Your managed to focus your eyes enough to glance toward the clock that sat against the wall. It was well past noon.

"I-I missed it..."

"Yes. You did."

The damp cloth lingered for a few more seconds before he lifted it away, and you barely managed to bite back a pathetic little noise of protest at the loss.

"I know you must feel as though everything has gone terribly sideways."

A soft splash echoed through the quiet room as Aziraphale soaked it again, and as he wrung it out, he continued, his voice still kind but firm.

"You had plans. A schedule." He stated, reading the thoughts echoing in your head with ease. "But that ship has long since sailed. From the moment you stepped into this shop, seeing you well again, properly well again, took precedence to any preestablished plans, wouldn't you agree?"

You made a weak, half-hearted sound of protest, but it was utterly drowned out by the way your body instinctively relaxed when the washcloth was pressed back against your forehead, fresh and wonderfully cold again.

Aziraphale let out a quiet hum of approval as he smoothed it over your skin.

His tone had been gentle. So gentle that the words barely even felt like a scolding, more like a calm, unavoidable truth being laid before you. His hand didn't leave your forehead this time and he pressed the cloth down just a fraction more firmly, letting the coolness sink in further

Your face scrunched up instinctively, as if resisting his words and the pull of relief that the coolness had brought you. You didn't want to relax, not fully. Not when your mind was still buzzing with half-formed thoughts of missed obligations and flights that had already departed without you.

His fingers twitched where they rested over the cloth, feeling the faint tension returning to your forehead, the little crease between your brows that hadn't quite smoothed away. You were fighting it, as if by sheer will alone you could somehow undo the last few days and fix everything from the confines of this very bed.

And how exhausting that must have been.

"I'm sure it must feel like the world is slipping through your fingers," Aziraphale reiterated softly. "That everything has gone beyond your control. But that's not the case at all. You've been so dreadfully unwell. It's only natural to feel a bit... lost."

His voice carried no judgment, only warmth and understanding.

Another flick of his wrist, another soft splash of water as the cloth was dipped into the basin again.

"When the time comes," he continued, his voice dipping into something soothingly firm, "we'll make calls, we'll book new flights, we'll rearrange whatever plans need rearranging." He pressed the cloth back onto your forehead for a third time, acutely aware of the way your reaction to such a simple relief broke you down and proved his point. "But for now, you, my dear— You are staying right here until I say otherwise."

Your fingers twitched slightly where they rested atop the blankets, another feeble sign of resistance. But your body had already betrayed you a third time as the nausea slipped away, leaving behind something soft and dull the longer you laid still.

"You don't have to do anything." He promised. "I will take care of all of it. All you have to do, is listen to me now. Just as you have been."

The words wrapped around you, warm and solid, as if they alone could catch you before you fell again.

"Just trust that I have it all under control."

A moment passed and Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully.

"Oh, I rather like the way that sounds." His lips quirked, a hint of mischief curling at the edges of his gentle smile. "Trusting me. That has a rather nice ring to it, don't you think?"

You gave him a tired, half-lidded look, the best approximation of skepticism you could manage in your current state, but you didn't pull away at the notion.

And that was victory enough.

Aziraphale chuckled, low and warm. "Yes, yes, I do believe I like the sound of that quite a bit." His hand, still resting over the cloth, brushed absently over your temple. His thumb ghosted across your skin, a featherlight, soothing motion, as if his touch alone might coax you into believing him fully.

His eyes searched yours, soft and imploring.

"You've already done me so many favors, my dear," he murmured, his voice dipping into something more earnest. "But would you be so kind as to do just one more? I wouldn't dare ask unless it was of the utmost importance." he added his tone turning just the slightest bit playful and his hand squeezed yours softly.

"Would you trust me? Just for a little while longer?"

Your lips parted, then closed again. You swallowed. The words weren't easy for you, not in the way they should have been. But still, after a long moment, you exhaled weakly and gave the smallest nod.

Aziraphale brightened instantly. "Oh, very good!" He clapped his hands together once before settling back down, his eyes twinkling with triumph. "You have my thanks, and you can be sure that you won't regret it~"

You stared at him, utterly exhausted, but with just the faintest hint of exasperation flickering in your eyes.

He laughed, a delighted, knowing little chuckle. "Oh, don't give me that look. You were bound to give in eventually." His expression softened with fond amusement. "I do have a few thousand years of experience when it comes to convincing humans to do what's best for them, after all."

Your brows twitched upward in a weak approximation of, oh, do you now?

The angel grinned.

"Oh, yes," he said airily, smoothing the damp cloth over your forehead once more with unmistakable satisfaction. "And I must say, I'm rather good at it."

"Mmhm."

"That's a very good "Mmhm,'" he praised softly, smoothing the cloth over your skin one last time before leaning back ever so slightly. "A verbal contract, if ever there was one."

You huffed softly, the closest thing to a laugh you could manage and Aziraphale let out a pleased hum at your surrender, more than happy to move the afternoon along now.

He could see you were still a bit shaky from the strain of standing and your fall, but at the very least, you were alert. Present. And that alone was something worth celebrating.

"Now then," he mused, tilting his head. "Since you're up, would you like me to put something on the television for you?"

You seemed to consider it for a moment but ended up shaking your head.

"No?"

This conversation began rather familiarly so he didn't push, just nodded in understanding.

"Ah. Well, I suppose you'd like to rest a bit longer? That's quite alright."

You hesitated, then shook your head once more.

That gave him pause.

He studied you for a moment, clearly puzzled. You weren't interested in watching anyhting or even sleeping. But you weren't upset either. You were just... still.

"You don't want to do anything, my dear?" he asked, his voice laced with mild amusement.

You gave the barest of shrugs.

He glanced toward the small stack of books on the nightstand, carefully curated by him over the past few days in the hopes that, at some point, you might be well enough to enjoy them.

"Oh! Would you like to read something then?"

"Nah... too much effort."

Indeed, this conversation was going very familiarly.

Aziraphale huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Well, that simply won't do. There must be something you'd like to do to pass the time if you're not going to rest."

He pondered for a long moment, his fingers tapping against his chin. Then, suddenly, his entire face lit up with inspiration.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, eyes twinkling. "What if I were to read to you?"

Your eyes narrowed slightly. "Huh?"

"I could read to you! No effort on your part required." He continued excitedly, rushing over to grab a book he'd left on his desk and show it off. "I've been going through a few of my favorites again lately and was just about to start another. I'd love to share it with you. That is, of course, if you'd be interested."

You hesitated for a moment, just in surprise as your tired brain mulled over the idea, finding it surprisingly... perfect. Engaging enough to hold your attention, but requiring no effort on your part. No decisions to make and nothing to focus on except the sound of his voice.

So you nodded.

"Splendid!" he declared, pulling his reading glasses from his pocket and putting them back on.

Book in hand, he stepped over to take the seat at your bedside again, but paused only briefly, glancing down at you, then at the cool cloth still resting against your forehead. A thought seemed to strike him and with a small, casual motion of his fingers, you felt the coolness refresh on its own, the sensation as crisp as if it had just been dipped in ice water again.

You blinked sharply at the sudden but welcome change, your eyes fluttering for just a second before glancing up at him in faint surprise.

"There we are," Aziraphale murmured with satisfaction, adjusting his glasses as he settled comfortably into his chair. "No need for constant re-dipping now. That should last a while. But do let me know if it becomes too much, won't you?"

You gave another small nod and relaxed, closing your eyes but ready to listen.

Aziraphale watched you for a moment longer, fondness written across every inch of his face.
Then, clearing his throat softly, he opened the book with a quiet rustle of pages.

"Right then," he declared, his tone settling into something warm, familiar, and undoingly safe. "Let's begin, shall we?"

Chapter Text

After an hour or two of quiet listening, you'd dozed off somewhere in the middle of Aziraphale's reading. It was one of those short, unintentional naps, the kind where you don't even realize you've fallen asleep until you wake up, feeling like you've blinked yourself forward in time.

By then, it was a little after three. You stretched lazily, rubbing the small remnants of sleep from your eyes, only to find Aziraphale already on top of things and eager to capitalize in your rediscovered appetite with a late lunch already prepared.

Still sat comfortably in bed, you slurped happily at a warm bowl of soup, a contented smile on your face. Aziraphale had even joined you today, a matching bowl in his hands as he settled into the chair by your bedside.

As fast as you were eating, it wasn't long before you were scraping the bottom of the bowl, tipping it up to get the last little bit out. And with a satisfied sigh, you set it aside and beamed at him.

"That was awesome~"

"Well, I'm very glad you think so." Aziraphale smiled, blowing on his own spoonful before taking a much more measured, polite approach to eating, but was no less thrilled to see you enjoying yourself. "Would you care for seconds? I made plently."

You hummed in consideration, glancing down at the rather larger, and now completely cleaned out bowl he'd brought you before giving a small shake of your head. "I... don't think I could eat another bite." You admitted. "But thank you!"

"Ahh, an angel can only hope, I suppose." He sighed, as if terribly disappointed, but the glint in his eye gave him away. He was clearly just happy you'd eaten at all, and the moment you giggled, his smile returned. He finished the last few heartier spoonfuls of his own soup before standing to clear away your tray.

When he moved, your gaze drifted to the chair he had just vacated, and a thought from earlier resurfaced.

"Oh yeah... where is Crowley, by the way?" You asked. It might have been presumptuous to assume the demon would still be hanging around, but after four days in a row of his near-constant presence, his sudden absence was definitely noticeable.

"Oh, he left sometime late last night," Aziraphale replied, sounding entirely unconcerned. "Said he was going for a drive, so I rather suspect he'll be gone for the better part of the day."

"Ah, gotcha," you murmured, nodding.

"I sent him on a bit of an errand as well," the angel added with something lightly playful in his tone. "Figured it would do him some good to have something to do."

Oooh an errand? You thought idly, but were too content, too warm and full of soup to care about pressing further, and instead just nestled back into the pillows with a happy hum, deciding to let the moment settle.

After a few minutes, Aziraphale stepped back into the guestroom with a thoughtful, almost restrained smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He'd only returned from clearing away both your dishes, and yet, as he stood just inside the doorway, his expression held something undeniably deliberate, as if some grand idea had struck him while downstairs.

You blinked up at him, instantly aware of the subtle change in his mood. He was thinking something, you could tell. And whatever it was, it was enough to make him positively beam in your direction.

Your gaze narrowed just a fraction.

What is he up to?

Without a word, he strode toward the bookshelf by the far wall, seemingly considering something before shaking his head and turning on his heel. Then he wandered over to his writing desk, drumming his fingers lightly against the wood before stepping away once more, his expression brimming with exaggerated thoughtfulness.

"... What?" you finally asked, immediately suspicious.

"Hmm?" The angel hummed in response, turning to you with his hands clasped behind his back and an air of lighthearted self-satisfaction. "Oh, nothing at all, my dear. I was merely thinking."

You squinted at him. "Thinking about what?"

The angel's smile widened, and he strode across the room, his steps slow and deliberate as he made a slow, thoughtful circuit around the space. "Well, you've had a good rest, you've had a proper meal, and you seem bright and awake," he observed, pausing near the window. "So I was simply wondering… what shall we do with you now?"

You cocked a brow. "Do with me?"

"Yes, yes," he confirmed cheerfully, turning and pacing back toward you. "You're far too alert to want to go back sleep just yet, am I right?"

You nodded cautiously.

"So it only makes sense we find some way to occupy you, hmm?"

You squinted at him again, a suspicious, deadpan look taking over your face as you watched him continue his dramatic circling of the room. He was playing this up, and rather unsubtly at that.

Then, after one final, deliberately slow turn—

"Oh!" he exclaimed, moving swiftly toward his desk again with newfound purpose. "I know just the thing!"

Before you could even ask, he had already snatched up the morning paper that had been resting beside his writing materials.

"The crossword," he announced. "We could do the crossword together!"

"...The crossword?"

"Yes!" He waved the newspaper triumphantly. "Crosswords are a delight for the recovering mind! Engaging, thought-provoking, and a perfect way to pass the time! And," he added, ever the salesman, "I daresay I make a rather excellent crossword partner."

You stared at him. It wasn't that you were opposed to the idea, exactly....

He stared back, positively vibrating with enthusiasm.

"... You really want to do a crossword puzzle?" you asked flatly.

"Well, I do find them quite enjoyable," he said, looking rather pleased with himself. "But more importantly, you might enjoy it as well!"

"Uh-huh."

Aziraphale, finally giving in to your unimpressed stare, slowed to a stop before letting out a long, theatrical sigh.

"Oh... alright, alright," he admitted with a small chuckle, throwing his hands up in surrender and setting the paper down. "I suppose I'm being rather silly, aren't I?"

"Finally." You laughed. "What's up with the theatrics?" You asked warmly.

"I suppose..." he continued, tilting his head with a soft smile, "that with Crowley not here, I rather thought I might attempt to fill his absence."

"... hah?"

"You know!" The angel clarified, motioning vaguely to the empty chair beside the nightstand. "He always makes such an effort to keep you occupied, even when you're at your most reluctant. I thought, perhaps, I could take a page from his book."

You let out another short laugh. "You're trying to be Crowley?"

He scoffed at the mere suggestion. "Goodness, no. Heaven forbid."

"I don't know, Azi... Those are some pretty big sunglasses to fill." You teased.

"Indeed." Aziraphale gave an exaggerated shrug, still playing up the performance. "Even still, as long as your bedside companion is out gallivanting about, I'm afraid it falls to me to take up the mantle. But I can only feed you so much before I have to come up with something else, you know. I did consider reading aloud again, but you did doze off during my last attempt." He huffed in light offense.

"Hey, that wasn't a complaint, you know. That nap was incredible. Excellent narration. Five stars. Would let you read me to sleep any time."

He chuckled fondly at your commentary. "Well, I suppose if my reading is so soporific, I will take it as a compliment."

Jokes aside, though, you adjusted yourself, stretching and sitting up a bit more before continuing.

"But in all seriousness, you don't have to keep trying so hard to 'entertain me' or anything. Just being here is enough."

At that, the angel paused. "Oh, my dear... That's very sweet of you to say."

You shrugged, feeling a little bashful under his gaze. "It's the truth. Heck, that's all Crowley really does anyway, too." You admitted.

He hummed, clearly pleased, though his brows furrowed slightly as he studied you, something thoughtful in his expression. "Still, now that you're awake and in such bright spirits, I'd like to do something for you. It feels like an opportunity that shouldn't be wasted."

You watched him, a bit doe-eyed, as he stood there, gears turning in his head.

What's something you could do to capitalize on your wakefulness? Productive yet gentle Nothing too strenuous, but still beneficial?

Then, suddenly, his face lit up.

"Oh! I have it!" He clapped his hands together once, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "How about a bath?"

Your eyes narrowed again immediately.

"Ah, ah, ah! Think about it!" He raised a hand as if to head off any protests. "Something as simple as a warm soak can do wonders for your well-being. In fact, I'd say it's a rather perfect idea."

You hesitated, still skeptical, still reluctant to get too comfortable in the bookshop, but also slightly intrigued. "...I mean, getting clean does sound nice," you admitted, shuffling slightly beneath the covers.

"Exactly!" Aziraphale fired back, practically glowing. "Soothing, rejuvenating! The perfect combination of warmth, comfort, and healing."

You had to admit, as over-the-top as Aziraphale's idea of a bath sounded, the thought was appealing. And seeing as your flight had left without you, your hotel stay would be up tonight, and Aziraphale had no intention of letting you leave anyway, you might as well try to feel as okay with being at home here as you could.

So with a resigned sigh, you agreed. "Alright, alright. You win. That sounds... nice."

"Excellent! Then I shall prepare everything for you at once!" He spun toward the door, positively delighted to hear you agree.

"You sure you don't just wanna go with the crossword puzzle, though?" You tried weakly.

"Oh, hush," he chided playfully, waving a dismissive hand. "Crosswords are lovely, but this is far more practical."

Before you could comment further, he was already bustling out into the hall.

"And I must admit," he continued, utterly unaware of the landmine he was about to step on, "I'm quite looking forward to the chance to wash your hair. It's been such a long time since I've had the privilege of doing that for someone."

Your head snapped up so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

"Wait. What?"

Aziraphale turned back, smiling at you with mild, innocent amusement. "Washing your hair, dear. It's all part of the process! You'll feel worlds better once it's done."

Your entire face burned as the reality of what he'd just said sunk in. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no. That's— that's not necessary! I can wash my own hair, really," you stammered, pulling the blanket up over yourself as if it could shield you from the sheer mortification already setting in at the idea.

"Nonsense," Aziraphale reassured dismissively. "You're still not well. The last thing you need to be doing is contorting yourself in the tub when I'm perfectly capable of helping. Besides," he added with a soft chuckle, "I daresay I've gotten rather good at it over the years. I'll ensure you're quite covered, and I think you'll find my way of doing things rather satisfactory."

"Years? You've done this before?"

What were you saying, of course he had.

"Of course!" he said, as though this were the most normal thing in the world. "I've helped plenty of humans in their times of need. It's quite a soothing process, actually, for both parties involved. Now, wait right here, I'll be just a moment."

~

You sat frozen on the edge of the bed, gripping the blanket like a lifeline while Aziraphale bustled away in the bathroom nextdoor, blissfully unaware of the mortifying ordeal he had just signed you up for.

How did this happen?

One moment, you'd let your gaurd down, enjoying your soup, safe and unsuspecting. And the next? You were faced with the prospect of an angel rolling up his sleeves and washing your hair like some kind of doting nursemaid.

The worst part? He was completely unbothered.

No hesitation, no awkwardness. Just cheerful, matter-of-fact, Of course, I shall assist you with the utmost care and professionalism, my dear.

From the bathroom, you could hear the faint sound of water splashing, followed by an occasional hum of some old tune as he busied himself with filling the tub. He sounded positively chipper about the whole thing.

Meanwhile, you remained in the same spot, eyes wide, unblinking.

Maybe if I just... lie back down and pretend to fall asleep, he'll forget about this whole thing.

That was a solid plan. You could just sink into the pillows, feign a relapse, and—

But before you could so much as move, Aziraphale stepped back into the doorway, sleeves neatly rolled up and a pleased smile on his face.

"All ready for you, my dear!" he announced, wiping his hands together. "Go on in, I've drawn it to just the right temperature."

You turned your head toward him slowly, dread creeping into your features.

Aziraphale blinked at your expression, then smiled with unshaken patience. "Now, now," he chided gently, tilting his head as he regarded you with that impossibly tender gaze. "Don't be so dramatic~"

You did not move.

He let out a knowing sigh, placing a hand on his hip. "I assure you it'll do you a world of good." He tilted his head, his expression shifting into something softer. "And besides... would you deny me the simple pleasure of caring for a dear friend in their time of need?"

Oh, he fights dirty.

Your lips parted, perhaps to argue, perhaps to beg, but before you could gather the words, he nodded toward the bathroom once more.

"I promise, there's nothing to be nervous about. Come along now, off you go."

With a deep, resigned sigh, you finally moved, dragging yourself to your feet and shuffling out into the hall and toward the bathroom like a prisoner heading to the gallows.

When you stepped inside, your eyes immediately landed on the tub. Aziraphale's massive, old-fashioned claw-foot tub. The one you'd seen a thousand times but never really given much thought to.

The tub was filled, and a mountain of soft, foamy bubbles laid over the surface of the water so thickly that there was no doubt your modesty would be thoroughly protected.

Still…

You turned, fully prepared to voice one last plea for mercy, but angel was already backing toward the door, giving you another patient smile.

"Take your time," he said lightly. "I'll be just outside. Let me know once you've settled in." And at that he stepped out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

This was going to be an ordeal.

After a moment of mental preparation, you huffed, shuffling out of your clothes and slipping into the hot water with an involuntary shiver of enjoyment.

This part... this part was nice.

The heat seeped into your muscles instantly, soothing every last ache and discomfort, and before you knew it, you'd slouched low, submerging yourself up to you neck as your head rested against the edge of the tub.

A moment passed. Then, another.

You had two options. You could sit here forever, refusing to acknowledge the next step while he shuffed patiently outside the door. Or...

—The sound of movement from outside.

You cleared your throat.

"…Aziraphale?"

"Yes, my dear?" came his immediate, utterly expectant response. "Are you in?"

You gritted your teeth.
Paused.
Took a deep breath.

"...yeah."

The door creaked open, and before you could even see him, you planted your face firmly in your hands and sank as far into the water as possible, praying that you could simply disappear beneath the bubbles and reemerge once this nightmare had passed.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale approached with the same calm, unhurried patience he did with everything he truly cared for; handling rare books, preparing tea, mending frayed seams. And now, tending to you.

He carried along a few large towels, two bottles, and what appeared to be a small pitcher, pulling up a stool and settling himself comfortably behind you at the head of the tub. His expression was nothing short of serene, seemingly unaware of, or perhaps politely ignoring your mortification.

"There we are," Aziraphale said brightly, setting everything but the pitcher to the side for a moment. "Are you comfortable? The water's not too hot I hope?"

"It's fine," you muttered into your palms, embarrassment rolling off of you in waves.

"Wonderful," he replied, rolling up his sleeves the rest of the way with a kind of determined glee that made your stomach flip. "Now, let's get started, shall we? We'll begin with a rinse. Sit up a bit straigher for me, won't you?"

You shuffled yourself up wordlessly, your face remaining planted firmly in your hands. Your ears were the only thing visible, and they were surely burning red.

The angel hummed and dipped the pitcher into the tub, letting the water under the bubbles pool into it before pulling it back up.

Right before you were sure he was going to pour it over your hair, you involuntarily hunched forward, letting out a disconcerted whine into your hands.

"Ah, now now, don't go hiding from me," Aziraphale chided gently, his tone full of warmth as he coaxed you to lean back again. "There's no need to be embarrassed. I assure you, my dear, this is hardly the most intimate task I've ever assisted with. There's no reason at all to get so shy about these sorts of things."

You obeyed reluctantly, letting you hands fall to you sides as he tipped you head back and poured the water gently over your hair.

The sensation was incrediblly soothing, the warm water cascading over your scalp and down onto your barely exposed shoulders.

Even more undoing was the way he shielded your forehead with his free hand, ensuring no water trickled into your eyes. The sheer tenderness of the motion made your heart clench.

"There now, that's not so bad, is it?"

You didn't answer, of course. You couldn't. But if the situation weren't so objectively embarrassing, you might've admitted how nice it felt.

He chuckled softly at your continued shyness but said nothing more on it.

He repeated that step a few times, combing his fingers through your hair to ensuring it was thoroughly soaked before setting the pitcher aside.

"Now," he murmured, gently smoothing your hair back as he reached for one of the bottles. "Let's get you nice and clean."

You swallowed, tucking your hands under your thighs to resist the urge to hide your face again, but kept your eyes firmly shut as you listened to the sound of a cap flipping open, followed by the faint scent of something sweet and lightly floral.

"Ah-ha yes," Aziraphale murmured, more to himself than to you as he poured a small amount of shampoo into his palm, rubbing his hands together before bringing them to your scalp. "This will do just the trick, I think. Should lather up nicely."

Then his hands were back, both of them this time, massaging the shampoo into your hair with slow, practiced movements. His fingertips pressed just firmly enough to soothe the lingering tension in your head, working the lather through your hair with an ease that made it impossible not to relax.

Despite your best efforts, your shoulders slumped slightly, your body betraying you as the sensation melted through your reluctance.

He noted the visible shift silently, rather pleased.

"You know, in all my years, I've always rather admired the trust humans place in others for these sorts of things. Letting someone care for you in such a vulnerable state—it's no small thing. Shows remarkable strength, I think."

You werent sure how to respond to that. So Instead, you let yourself focus on his hands, on the warmth of the water hugging you from all sides and the confidence of his movement. He was so... methodical about it, so precise and impossibly gentle. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness, just quiet, patient attentiveness.

It was... nice. A little too nice.

You breathed slowly, eyes still shut as he continued his careful work.

"…You've done this alot?" you finally spoke, muttering it more as a statement than a question.

Aziraphale hummed in confirmation. "Oh, yes, plenty of times. Children, the elderly, the infirm. I've had my fair share of tending to those in need over the years. It's always such a tender thing, washing someone's hair." His fingers stilled and he removed them for a moment, satisfied with the lather. "There. Time to rinse again. Chin up again for me, please~"

Still flustered, you obeyed, letting your head tip backward as he refilled the pitcher. The lather dissolved under the steady stream, his other hand once again shielding your forehead as the suds ran down the length of your hair and disappeared beneath the bubbles.

"But, I must say," he continued, picking up the second bottle. "Compared to some, despite all your troubles, you're a rather unique case."

"There it is," you deadpanned immediately, finally opening your eyes to glower at nothing in particular.

Aziraphale didn't pause, lathering conditioner between his hands before weaving them effortlessly back into your hair. "Hmm?"

You turned back a little, just enough to get a look at and turn your nose up at him without pulling away.

"There it is. I knew it. You think I'm a 'case'."

For a second, he simply blinked at you. Then, to your mild irritation, he laughed.

"My dear," he said, amusement lacing every syllable. "That's not quite what I meant."

"No, no. I think it was. I've been officially categorized among the troubled and infirm."

Aziraphale's laughter softened into something fonder. "Oh, hardly," he reassured you, wetting his hands again before resuming his slow thorough kneading through your hair. "You, my dear, are quite unlike any 'case' I've had before."

You grumbled, but it was half-hearted at best. He was doubling down on his efforts now, his hands moving with even greater care, gently detangling strands of hair as he worked the conditioner through from root to tip. The warm water, the scent of something floral and soft, and his steady, practiced movements, all had you practically liquefying under his touch.

Still, you forced yourself to roll your eyes instead of melting at the sincerity in his tone.

"Uh-hu, sure."

"Now, hypothetically. If I were to categorize you, I daresay I'd need quite the extensive patient chart."

You made a scoff of protest. You could feel the smile in his voice, the way he was about to enjoy himself far too much with this. "Oh, here we go—"

"Let's see…" He sighed. "Patient presents with a stubborn streak most persistent. Frequently exhibits a certain... performative resistance to any offered assistance, despite clear and pressing need. Though, notably only when fully conscious."

You huffed softly. "Gee, thanks."

"Mmhm, quite remarkable levels of obstinacy," he continued as if you hadn't spoken, his voice laced in mock seriousness. "Tendency to minimize one's own suffering, even when buring with fever."

"Doctors aren't supposed to talk this much."

Aziraphale gave a delighted laugh. "Oh, but I'm not a doctor, my dear, just a humble caregiver. And I do believe this is all relevant information to note. What else... Ah! Also prone to flights of fancy, literally, as evidenced by one ill-advised attempt to flee the premises just this morning."

You groaned at the reminder, covering your face again. "Are you done?"

"Oh, certainly not. Honestly, I might require multiple pages for your file," he continued. "There's simply too much to document. 'Unreasonably fond of late-night escapades,' 'Prone to attracting all manner of trouble,' 'When not umwell, possesses a worrying ability to function on minimal sleep—'"

You let out a long-suffering sigh and tipped your head forward slightly, as if that would somehow save you from this line of conversation. Aziraphale merely tsked and guided your chin back up, resuming his methodical kneading of your scalp.

"Now, now," the angel crooned, the laughter in his voice barely contained. "No use pouting. You must admit, you've rather set yourself up for such thorough documentation."

"…You're really taking your time with that, huh?" you muttered after another moment, desperate to change the subject.

"It's conditioner." He gave an innocent hum. "It's important to let it sit."

"Oh, is it?"

"Of course." His hands gave another slow, indulgent pass through your hair, skimming over your head with unmistakable purpose. And then, without warning, they changed course, flattening slightly, the pads of his fingertips digging into your scalp in slow, circular motions. A proper massage.

For a while, there was no more talking. No teasing, no witty remarks, just the quiet lapping of water, the occasional shift of his hands, and the steady, rhythmic motion of his fingers.

Then, his hands glided down, following the curve of your neck.

At first, it was subtle. The lightest sweep of his thumbs behind your ears, barely noticeable beneath the other pleasant sensations. A gentle, almost absentminded touch. Until, without warning, he began scrubbing.

You flinched.

"Hey—!"

You tried to duck away, but his hands followed, relentless.

"Ah-ah, none of that, my dear," he tutted, his grip featherlight yet inescapable. "It's all part of the process. Can't have you running about with less-than-pristine ears, now can we?"

"I—I can wash my ears myself!" You whined, twisting uselessly under his hands. "Don't treat me like a kid!"

The angel let out an obscenely fond laugh, utterly unbothered by your protests. "Oh please, one never grows out of needing a proper scrub behind the ears."

"I do not need—!" Your protests died on your lips, betrayed by the sheer audacity of how gently he was doing it. His thumbs worked in slow, soapy circles as warm water dripped down the sides of your neck. His motions were infuriatingly careful, as if this were the most important task he would undertake all day.

"Ah-ah, hold still now, dear," he instructed, his voice practically beaming with good-natured amusement. "We must be thorough!"

"Azi, stop it!" You squeaked as your shoulders shot up instinctively, ducking forward in a desperate bid to block him off. But the angel's fingers chased after you, continuing his enthusiastic scrubbing like you were some unruly child.

In a last-stitch effort, you twisted away completely, backing yourself against the far side of the tub.

The water plashed wildly as a reault of your hurried movements, and for the first time since this entire ordeal had begun, you were facing him.

"Well, hello there!" he greeted cheerfully, as if this had all been a perfectly reasonable chain of events. His sleeves were still neatly rolled, fingers still lathered with sweet-smelling bubbles, and far worse, was the sheer delight in his eyes as they landed on your face, as though you had just done him some great favor by turning to face him.

You glowered at him, chest heaving, shoulder hunched and cheeks burning with indignation. You sank as deep as possible into the water, glaring up through damp lashes as the bubbles tickled your chin.

"Oh, my dear," he sighed, ever the patient, put-upon caretaker. "You act as though I am torturing you!"

You pressed your back firmly against the other side of the tub, eyeing him like a cornered animal.

"Aziraphale," you warned, your voice low.

"Come now," he coaxed, and you let out a tiny, helpless squeak as he stood and followed after you, rounding the tub to effortlessly close the gap you had so frantically created. "I'm nearly done."

"I—I can finish myself!"

"Nonsense," he dismissed with a tut, stepping right up to the rim and leaning over you. "You'll just rush it. Now, let me see—"

Before you could react, his hands were cradling the sides of your head, gently but firmly guiding your ears back into his reach.

"Now, hold still~"

Then, to your absolute horror, his thumbs pressed into the delicate folds inside your ears, massaging them in tiny, circular motions. His fingers, meanwhile, resumed their gentle scrubbing behind them, his efforts painstakingly thorough.

You groaned, squirming as much as you could for someone stuck hiding under layer of bubbles and were half tempted to just dunk yourself to escape him entirely for even a second.

The sensation was overwhelming, not exactly unpleasant, but intensely, intimately invasive in a way that had you thumping the bottom of the tub under the water in flustered protest as the soapy lather he was working up fizzed gently in the shells of your ears.

"This is completely unnecessary!"

"Oh, nonsense. It's such a delicate area! Always overlooked, you know. It's quite a shame, really!" He fingers trailed down and he gave both your earlobes a light tug of appreciation.

Your hands shot up, gripping his wrist to push him off. "That's—that's enough!"

"Not quite, dear," he countered, still infuriatingly gentle, "I've nearly—oh, there we are!"

And just like that, he finally released you.

The moment his hands withdrew, you collapsed against the back of the tub, utterly spent, your ears continuing to tingle in the aftermath of his ruthlessly tender assault.

Aziraphale let out a content sigh as he settled back onto his stool, dusting his hands off like he'd just completed some grand accomplishment. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

You clamped your hands to the sides of your head protectively and sank deep into the bubbles with an expression of absolute betrayal. Your narrowed eyes locked onto the angel in a dark, seething stare, as if sheer force of will alone could make him feel the full weight of your indignation.

"Oh, come now, don't be like that," he said, utterly unbothered, like he hadn't just committed the single most egregious invasion of personal space you had ever experienced. "I was quite gentle~" As if that had been the problem. "Now, let's get that conditioner rinsed out."

You remained firmly rooted on the far side of the tub, still guarding your ears and eyes still narrowed in deep, unyielding suspicion.

Aziraphale smiled, entirely undeterred. "Now, now," he coaxed, his voice dipping into that maddeningly patient tone that usually preceded him getting exactly what he wanted. "Your ears are perfectly clean now. I haven't the faintest reason to touch them again. Truly."

Your scowled.

It was a standoff.

"No more scrubbing, I assure you. Just a rinse. You do still trust me, don't you?"

That was the problem, wasn't it? That you did trust him. Had trusted him far too much, and now look where it had gotten you. Scrubbed like a misbehaving child.

But he just kept smiling at you, all patience and good humor.

He wasn't waiting you out, per se. That would imply a challenge. A battle of wills. This was something else entirely.

He was prepared to wait for you. As long as it took. Like he had all the time in the world to make sure you were looked after "properly." Like there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

And wasn't that just unbearable?

Your shoulders slumped and he patted his knee in an unmistakable come here motion.

"Come now, just one final rinse and then you're free to soak in peace. No more surprises."

A few more seconds passed, the battle waging silently between your lingering indignation and your own exhausted sense of surrender.

Until finally, and with great reluctance, you pryed yourself away from one edge of the tub and moved back to the other, sitting with your back to him again.

"That's a good girl," he praised, his voice unbearably warm, and you nearly reconsidered your surrender on principle alone.

You muttered something unintelligible under your breath, making him chuckle again as he reached for the pitcher once more.

"Very good, we're almost finished."

You tilted your head back on impulse this time, and the warm water cascaded through your hair again, rinsing away the last of the conditioner and the suds from your ears after a couple good pours. His fingers followed the motion, smoothing through the strands and ensuring no residue was left behind.

Once he was satisfied, he reached past your head and tucked your hair behind both your ears in one easy motion.

"There we are," he murmured, leaning back and rinsing his hands. "That should do quite nicely. All done~"

You hummed in acknowledgement, raising your hands from the water to comb through it experimentally, your suspicion from earlier fading into begrudging gratitude as you glanced back at him.

You'd certainly overdone it with all that thrashing, because the weight of exhaustion began settling over you again. It wasn't the uncomfortable, fevered fatigue from before, but something softer.

A few moments passed as Aziraphale dried his hands and tucked away his supplies, so you simply sat there, basking in the warmth of the water comfortably.

Then he spoke again, his back to you as he tucked the shampoo and conditioner back into his toiletry cabinet.

"You know..." he began, voice quiter now, "Truth be told, I wouldn't actually need a chart for you at all."

"Hm?" You looked up at him from where you'd began idly stacking handfuls of bubbles.

"In regards to what we were discussing earleir." He clarified, turning back to you. "Oh, don't misunderstand. I do love a bit of thorough documentation. But in your case? I know you far too well by now to need that sort of thing. No notes required."

"..."

"However," he sang, "If I did, I would simply have to note that, despite your stubborn streak, you do respond rather well to care. When you allow yourself to, that is."

You frowned slightly at that, lowing your hands and shaking them clean of the foamy suds underwater.

"I respond well to it?" You stressed the word, self-aware enough to doubt that entirely.

"Indeed," he hummed. "Meaning, for all your initial resistance, you do quite enjoy being looked after, don't you?"

Your breath hitched just slightly and you immediately avoided his eyes. "That's... that is–"

Aziraphale made a soft, knowing noise. "No?"

But before you could stress to formulate a response, he continued, the moment dissolving as fast as it had begun as he stepped towards the door.

"Now! Your hair is all done, my dear, so you're free to finish up at your leisure. I'll step out and give you your privacy. Take as long as you'd like."

It took you a second to catch up, but you finally nodded, turning your eyes back down to the water.

"Towels are right over there," he added, motioning politely to the pile now neatly folded on the stool by the tub, "and there are some fresh nightclothes for you here as well. Nothing like something clean to change into after a good soak~"

Then with a final, satisfied nod, he made his way out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a firm click. Leaving you to soak in peace.

"As always, do call if you need anything else."

And at that, the ordeal you'd so thoroughly been dreading was finally over.

Chapter Text

The water emptied slowly, spiraling down the drain in a steady current after you pulled the plug.

You weren't in any rush to move, watching the tub empty with an idle sigh before standing and undoing the towel you'd wrapped your hair in before tossing it into the hamper.

Then your eyes flicked toward the mirror. Steam clung to the edges of the glass but your reflection was clear enough, so you studied yourself for a second.

Aziraphale had, of course, left you another nightgown to change into. Intentionally or not making sure you certainly felt the part of the bedridden patient, but the soft, clean cotton did feel lovely against your equally clean skin.

After days of fevered haze, sweat and chills, getting to freshen up "properly", like the angel would to put it, did feel incredible.

You ran your fingers absently through your still damp hair then pressed your palms to the heat gathered at your cheeks and took a slow breath. The flush was still there, a combination of lingering fever and the warmth of the bath, but it was softer now.

You were supposed to be gone by now.

The thought came unannounced, creeping in through the quiet.

You were supposed to have woken up this morning, packed your things, and headed to the airport. You'd had it all planned out. No extra days, no complications, just a quick visit before heading back to the new routine you'd been attempting to build.

And yet, here you were.

Stuck.

Ahh, maybe not "stuck". That wasn't the right word.

If you were really stuck, you'd be far more determined to un-stick yourself. You'd be scrambling to find a new flight, calling ahead, already making the arrangements. But you weren't doing any of that.

Instead, you were standing here, wrapped in a clean nightgown, fresh from a bath you hadn't originally wanted but had thoroughly enjoyed.

Your lips twitched, caught between a grimace and a smile.

That was ridiculous.

Your hands moved of their own accord, lifting again to rub at your still-tingling ears as if it might erase the memory of Aziraphale thorough scrubbing.

Then you huffed, letting your hands drop.

Unbelievable.

The second you stopped you could still feel it. The phantom sensation of careful fingers and gentle circles, and the way he had murmured on about "overlooked areas" as if he weren't actively ensuring you'd never forget the experience.

Your glare shifted pointedly to lock eyes with yourself.

"Don't smile about it," you warned yourself out loud, slapping your cheeks, but your reflection didn't want to comply.

No. No indulging in whatever familiar warmth had crept into your chest. No getting too comfortable.

You told yourself, you'd nearly sworn on it; after Armageddon armageddidn't, you needed to go home. And you had. For the better part of a year you'd finally left London behind, tried to feel normal back in the states.

This was just a visit.

And already an incredibly indulgent one, at that. You hadn't even waited the year you'd told yourself you would before coming back for any reason.

You huffed and drew out another long breath to center yourself.

You were still leaving. As soon as you were able, you were going to book another flight, pack your things, and go home.

Again.

After cleaning up the bathroom the rest of the way, you stepped out into the hallway and stepped softly down the short stretch back toward the guestroom.

You stopped only briefly to listen for where Aziraphale might have gone, but when there didn't seem to be any sound coming from downstairs, your eyes found their way back to the guestroom door to see it slightly ajar, spilling warm light into the dimly lit upper hall. So after closing the distance the rest of the way, you cautiously nudged it open further and peeked inside.

The bed, your veritable nest of blankets and pillows that you'd been buried in over the past few days was no longer the cozy mess it was when you left it.

All the extra blankets and pillows had been neatly folded and stacked temporarily on the bedside armchair, and Aziraphale appeared to have just finished up changing the sheets. His back was to you as he smoothed out the fresh linens with a happy hum before folding the top throws and quilt back over neatly.

You opted to stay silent for a moment, lingering a bit longer than intended, until your weight shifted slightly, and the small creak of the floorboard that followed made him straighten and turn toward you immediately. His expression brightened at the sight of you and he gave you a pleased once-over.

"Ah, there you are! All fresh and feeling better, I hope?"

"Yeah... much better." You answered, almost shyly.

"Well, you're just in time." He made a proud gesture toward the freshly made bed. "I thought it was high time for a bit of tidying up! I'm sure you'll find it just as comfortable, all clean and fresh now, like yourself."

"...thanks, Aziraphale" You thanked, as always in a bit of awe at his thoughtfulness when put in a position where you had no choice but to accept it.

You shuffled a little in place, hesitance still clinging to you as you took in the sight of the now near hotel-perfect bed and tidied room. You felt... awkward. Unsure of where to put yourself, which was probably rather stupid considering the amount of time you'd already spent up here, but you couldn't help it.

The angel noticed rather quickly the way you'd let yourself linger and ushered you inside. "Come along, no need to linger in doorways." He coaxed knowingly, then gestured toward the far end of the room. "Do take a seat over there for me, won't you?"

You snapped to attention. "Over where?"

He gestured again, and this time, your eyes followed properly to the side of the room opposite his desk.

There, against the wall, was a vanity. A vanity that you were reasonably sure hadn't been there just earlier

You stared at it for a moment, then slowly turned back to him.

"...Hah?"

"Go and take a seat, I'll be with you in a moment!" He instructed again with an air of finality, before turning back to finish tucking the corners of the quilt just so.

You stood there for another long second before finally giving in with a defeated puff and shuffled over to the latest addition to the guest room, easing onto the cushioned seat with reluctant curiosity.

When you did, you came face to face with your reflection again. This time though, before you could begin overthinking, Aziraphale joined you, stepping up behind your chair with a satisfied little hum and rested his hands on your shoulders.

He leaned down just slightly to meet your eyes properly in the mirror. "Look at you. Positively glowing." He mused giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze and you ducked your head on instinct, embarrassed by the sincerity in his gaze.

"...Okay. What exactly are you doing?" you asked carefully.

His hands lifted from your shoulders for a moment before coming back down in an enthusiastic pat and then pulling away as he stepped aside to fetch something. "Well, my dear, I can't very well let you go to bed with damp hair, can I?"

You let out a breathy, incredulous laugh, watching what you could of him in the mirror as he grabbed something from the dresser.

"Seriously?"

"I'm quite determined you'll continue to rest comfortably. No chills, no dampness, nothing left undone." He continued, stepping back up behind you with a hairdryer in hand.

"Where did you even get that?" you asked, a bit astonished that he'd have such a thing.

He held it up proudly but looked... mildly baffled by it, his brows knitting in concentration as he inspected the buttons, giving them each curious press.

"Oh, this?" He gave the hairdryer an experimental turn in his hand, peering at it. "Crowley left it here. A few weeks ago, actually." You raised an eyebrow and Aziraphale made a light noncommittal hum. "I'd been meaning to return it to him but it rather consistently slips my mind. Still, I'm sure he won't mind if we get some use out of it."

He continued to fiddle with the buttons, pressing them gently. Nothing happened, so he turned it over again, examining the cord with a curious frown.

"Ah yes...It appears it requires an electrical connection," he said, his tone polite but unimpressed.

You bit back a laugh. "You don't say."

He fiddled idly with the cord, running his fingers along its length before reaching the plug at the end and glancing around, seemingly looking for an outlet.

Then, after a pause, he simply shrugged and set the whole thing aside.

"Ah, well."

With a flick of his wrist, a small, warm breeze suddenly swept through your hair, and before you could so much as react, the damp strands fluffed up in an instant, drying in impossibly soft waves.

You squeaked, ducking sharply into your shoulders at the unexpected sensation.

"What in the—Azi! Warning, please!"

"Apologies!" Aziraphale chuckled as you reached up, frantically patting down your now warm, inexplicably voluminous locks ." But much more efficient, wouldn't you agree?" he said, thoroughly amused as he smoothed his hands over your poofed-up hair himself, taming it back down with a few careful strokes. "There we are~ Now let's get you brushed and back in bed."

He reached around you, plucking a hairbrush from where it sat atop the vanity, and you sat up straighter on instinct, squeezing one eye shut in preparation for what you were sure was going to be a series of sharp tugs.

But when the brush made its first pass over your head, there were no painful catches at all, just the smooth gliding of the bristles as they worked through the natural flow of your hair.

"We'll have you sorted in no time," The angel stated confidently, his tone warm and conversational as he worked.

Then he laughed to himself, brought back to the thought of a particular demon.

"Speaking of Crowley, you know, he would be positively beside himself if he knew I'd gotten to your hair before him. But first come, first serve as they say~" He sang softly, and a small smile forced it's way onto your face at the thought.

You couldn't help but look everywhere in the mirror except at the angel directly.

"Pfff, Crowley doesn't care about my hair."

"Oh, doesn't he?" Aziraphale teased with a knowing arch of his brow. "Don't you know? He's always so particular about his own hair. All that preening he does. I'd wager he'd have a field day if given access to yours. And no doubt he'd try to convince you that he could do a better job with it than I could. Imagine that!"

You snorted and the angel's s eyes lit up at the sound, clearly pleased.

There it is, he thought, a real smile at last.

"You've made such lovely progress, you know," he began again, gathering another section of hair and brushing through it.

You sighed and let your shoulders slump, sniffling to test your lingering stuffiness. "Yeah, even my headaches gone almost completely now."

"Well, yes, that." he agreed, brushing a bit more slowly, as though thinking through his words. "But not just that."

You shuffled, catching his gaze flicking down in the mirror, trying to meet yours. But you pointedly looked away, focusing on the far corner of the room instead.

Still, he continued.

"If I had I attempted even half of this-" he gestured slightly with the brush, indicating the bath, the brushing, all of it, "-just a few years ago... well," he trailed off voice dripping with gentle amusement, "I suspect I might have come away missing a few fingers."

You couldn't help the small, startled laugh that escaped you before you swallowed it down.

"Mmmhmm." You nodded curtly, catching a bit of a tone as you rolled your eyes. The subject of your warming up to the angel wasn't one you were keen on discussing aloud. That's what actions were for.

Aziraphale smiled down at your reflection again, not at all deterred by your deflection.

"You've come a long way, my dear," he added, still clearly referring to more than just your current condition. "Just look at you," he went on, brushing down the last section of your hair. "Letting yourself be tended to with no protests strong enough to chase me off."

"Yet," you interjected quickly.

"Yes, well, I'll take my victories where I can." The angel chuckled.

He set the hairbrush back down on the vanity and smoothed his hands over your hair a few times to finalize his work. Then his hands rested lightly on your shoulders once more.

You finally glanced up to meet his eyes in the mirror, and found him already looking at you. No teasing, no smugness, just quiet pride and affection.

"You're doing wonderfully," he said, his voice so soft that you slowly ducked away again in a half-hearted attempt to avoid it. But he only laughed fondly and gave your shoulders a firm, final pat before stepping away to give you room to stand.

"Come along, now. I'd say you've spent more than enough time up and about. Let's get you back into bed.

~

"Three down: 'A tool oft used to divine the earth's hidden paths, through means purely geometric.' Ten letters."

"What the hell kind of crossword puzzle is this?"

The angel shot you a look from over his reading glasses, so you held up your hands and rephrased.

"Sorry. Sorry. What in Heaven's name kind of crossword puzzle is this?"

Aziraphale gave a satisfied nod, pleased with your correction, and tapped the newspaper with his pen. "A very reputable one! Their clue structure is rather inspired, don't you think? I find the traditional ones far too... expected."

"Uh-hu..."

He glanced up at your silence, smile widening. "No guess?"

"Leeeet's skip that one for now too." You suggested again, hoping at some point he'd land on one you had a chance of answering.

"Very well," he agreed with a small, amused nod of his head. "Though that's the third one you've passed on. Let's try to give the next one some more thought, shall we?"

"Fine..."

"Very good. Now, Four across—"

SCREEEEECH.

A familiar, unmistakable sound of tires locking and skidding echoed from the street below, carrying itself through the window from just outside the shop.

You and Aziraphale both turned sharply toward the noise.

The angel's brows lifted with quiet surprise, while you just blinked, mildly startled but not exactly alarmed, as it was followed by the heavy slam of a car door and the bang of the front door rattling in its frame downstairs.

There were heavy footsteps on the stairs and before you and Aziraphale could even share a knowing look, the door to the guestroom burst open with an unceremonious shove as Crowley stomped inside, sunglasses slightly askew and arms full. He was dragging a suitcase behind him with one hand, and had a couple of bags held awkwardly under his other arm, which he was currently wrestling to keep from slipping.

"That'll be the last time I play delivery boy, I can promise you that. Three trips to and from the car just to get all this stuff down."

He continued without waiting for a response, muttering something else under his breath as he swung the bags down and let the suitcase thud to the floor with a thunk, like he was trying to separate himself from the job as fast as possible.

"Kid packs like shes—" But he looked up mid-complaint, and saw you.

You, sitting upright, hair suspiciously fluffed, bundled in a clean nightgown with the angel smiling at your bedside, pen and newspaper in hand.

And that made him stop, the rant dying on his tongue. It was only for a moment, maybe a second or less. But it was there. A flicker of something subtle in his posture, like his whole system had braced for one thing when he'd entered and found another. Like something had caught in his throat at the sight of you awake just before it worked to quickly turn itself into a joke.

"Well look who's finally conscious." And just like that, his voice was all teasing bite again, sharp as ever. "I get stuck doing your errands and suddenly you decide to wake up. Figures."

"Heeeey." You grinned and gave a little wave.

"Don't 'hey' me," Crowley snorted, waving a hand in your general direction before turning back to the corner where he'd tossed the things he'd carried in with him and nudged the suitcase further in with his foot. "Bloody heavy that one. You take to packing concrete on your hops across the pond now?"

"... Wait." You leaned forward a bit. "...Are those-?"

"Yeah." He gave your suitcase a light kick and mosied over to drop himself on the arm of the angel's chair. "Your things. Place would've booted 'em out by tonight. Angel asked me to handle it, so I handled it."

Aziraphale, still seated, nodded and set the paper aside. "Indeed, with your recent change of plans, as we'll call it, I thought it best not to leave your belongings at the mercy of hotel staff. I'd have gone myself by Crowley agreed to the errand on account of him already knowing quite well where you were staying."

You stared at the bags, your gaze bouncing from the suitcase to Crowley, then back again, and the slow almost shameful realization clicked into place.

Your suitcase and carry-ons... You'd nearly forgotten all of it. It wasn't like you'd forgot that your hotel stay was up tonight, you'd remembered that well this morning. Only to almost irrationally forget it all with Aziraphale's promise that everything would be handled.

Which in any other case, would have been a mistake. To simply let yourself forget, that is. By any of the laws of common sense or personal responsibility, letting such an important detail slip your mind would have come with a proper mess to clean up.

And yet, here were your things, safe and retrieved.

Handled. Just like he said it would be.

But he couldn't take all the credit, as much as the proud smile he was wearing in regards to your awed look would lead you to believe that he already was. Not that it hadn't been his idea, of course, but a far slimmer set of hands had carried out the actual task.

Your eyes slowly locked back onto the demon, and he was already staring at you.

You grinned, but the moment your expression even hinted at a real thank-you, he cut you off with The Look.

That perfectly honed, well-worn glare that meant: Don't even think about it. I'm a demon. I do not run errands, I'm not helpful, and I haven't done anything worthy of thanks. Don't even suggest that I have. Keep your thanks to yourself, thank you very much.

So instead of saying anything, you held up a hand and made a familiar little zip motion across your lips.

The "no-thanks-here" sign, that had become so routine between you in moments like this that it conveyed your gratitude all the same.

A rather convenient loophole, you thought.

His expression didn't shift, but you saw a half annoyed twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Real good having you back." He muttered dryly.

Satisfied, your eyes drifted toward the dresser, where the TV—the hotel's TV—sat exactly where Crowley had wedged it days ago.

Needless to say it was still there.

"So," you began slowly, "now that I've technically checked out… you gonna return that thing anytime soon?"

Crowley followed your gaze, then tilted his head with exaggerated innocence.

"And why would I do that?" He asked, voice dripping with fake confusion.

"Because it's not ours?" You laughed.

He shrugged lazily, and pushed himself from Aziraphale's chair. "Yeah, well. You're not done with it yet."

"Crowley." The angel warned. "I'd really rather the number of pilfered goods under my roof remain at a minimum."

"What?" he scoffed, motioning to the television. "She's not done with it yet." He reiterated to Aziraphale as if it was an excellent point. He was as the one keeping you here after all. Might as well have something besides books there to keep you busy. "Not like they're gonna come looking for it."

"They've got my card on file," you signed.

Crowley's grin stretched just a little wider. It was the kind of smile he probably would have hid behind a sip of wine if he'd had a glass in hand.

"Not anymore~" He sing-songed.

You stared at him, your suspicion instantly sparked by the satisfaction in his voice.

"…What'd you do?"

"Me?" Crowley pressed a hand to his chest at the accusation of your question. "Nothing. Not a thing. But if I had done something?" He huffed a laugh. "I'd have been very thorough, I assure you." He scrunched his nose and flashed an exaggerated toothy grin before dropping it just as fast and deciding this line on conversation had gone on long enough. "Moving on! Angel?" The demon turned sharply to Aziraphale with a dramatic pivot.

"Hm?"

"Dinner. What've you got? Any plans? Anything in the oven just yet?"

Aziraphale blinked, clearly taken off guard by the abrupt question. "Dinner? Well, no, nothing's been decided yet. We only just had tea and biscuits not an hour ago."

"Perfect," Crowley said, cutting him off with a satisfied clap of his hands. He took a few steps toward the hallway, but caught the doorframe just before stepping out. "Hey," he called, looking back at you. "You got your phone?"

"Oh? I– " You paused and gave a quick glance around the bed, patting at the pillows and lifting the blanket near your legs before spotting it underneath at your side. "Yes! Here." You held it up.

"Great. Order something," Crowley said with a casual nod. "I'll go grab it."

"You're... picking up takeout?"

"Sure. Long as the angel doesn't have any objections~?"

"Can we really order something?" you asked, sitting up straighter in bed.

"Well," Aziraphale hesitated, glancing toward the demon half suspiciously, but when he turned toward you, he found you already unlocking your phone with a bit more enthusiasm than he was expecting. "I suppose, it's quite alright, if that's what you'd prefer. But do try to avoid picking anything that might upset your stomach."

"Awesome! I'll pick responsibly, promise."

"Sounds like a plan." Crowley clapped. "I'll get the car warmed up!"

"With the way you pulled in, I very much doubt it's had any time to cool down." The angel muttered dryly raising an eyebrow toward the window.

Crowley ignored him, and was the better part out the room before he backtracked, catching the doorframe and leaning back just enough to poke his head back in and address you. "You wanna come with?"

Your eyes lit up. "Wait, can I?" You were halfway out from under the covers at the offer, already swinging your legs over the side of the bed. But were swiftly stopped by Aziraphale, one hand held out like a crossing guard and the other gently guiding you right back down.

"Certainly not." The angel corrected you firmly.

"Oh, come on," you groaned. "I feel so much better."

"And I'd like to keep you feeling as such." he said lightly, brushing your shoulder and nudging you back into your pillows, which was somewhat of a downgrade considering you'd been sitting up for the better part of the day until now. "You've made wonderful progress today, but one bath and a healthy appetite does not equal full recovery. You stay put."

You pouted up at him, but the look on his face made it clear that there would be no negotiating. Patient as it was.

Aziraphale just gave you a very firm, very pleased sort of smile. "You can pick dinner. That's your only task for the evening."

Then he turned back to Crowley, who was still lingering at the door, grinning at your thwarted attempt to rise. "Go on, then. She'll let you know where you're going in just a moment."

Crowley gave a casual salute to the angel, and then a shrug to you that seemed to say, I tried, before slinking out the rest of the way. "Text it. I'll be downstairs."

With a few vicious taps to your phone, you had your order placed in record time, sitting up just enough to call back as you heard boots hitting the stairs. "Sent!"

Aziraphale stood at your bedside for a moment longer, looking you over one last time as if to make sure you were settled before stepping back to his chair.

"Now~" He began, his tone turning pleasantly official. "While we wait for our courier to return, shall we return to let's say...." he retook his seat, reached over to retrieve the newspaper from earlier, folded it in his lap again and flicked open his glasses, "...four across?"

"Is that what he is now? I'm sure he'd love that."

"Among other things," Aziraphale replied smoothly, his tone light, but his eyes still soft as they lingered on you over his glasses. Then his smiled changed to something quiter. "And he was quite right about one thing."

"Yeah, I do pack pretty heavy." You admitted, assuming the topic, but he continued uninterrupted around your misunderstanding.

"It really is quite good to have you back, my dear." His words just as heavy with the double entendre they'd carried earlier, at the vanity.

Though, it didn't seem like he intended to give you time to think about them too deeply.

"Now~ There's still over half a crossword puzzle to finish. And do I believe you were just starting to warm up to the challenge. Shall we get back to it?"

"Yeah, okay. Hit me."

Chapter Text

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

False update, I'm so sorry, but I wanted to alert those of you who don't follow me on Tumblr that this fic will be going on hiatus!

This fic started with me spinning a wheel in an attempt to force myself to actually write something and ended up kickstarting a GO hyperfixation after my interest in the series had previously been fairly causal lol.

I've been working backwards off of it in my head since I started it and while writing chapter 12 realized I was getting further and further into territory where some of the interactions and the ending I had in mind would feel a bit out of place without the context leading up to them that I'd built in my head.

I'm pretty happy with where I left it off for now, so I'm taking a step back from Humans are — to write some other GO stuff, turning it into what I'd like to be a whole series.

I WILL be coming back to this, and I promise that the last three chapters won't be so out there that you'd need to read any of my other works to enjoy them. It can and will still very much be able to be enjoyed as the one-off sickfic I'd originally started it as. I just wanted to give a heads up to anyone following it that there's going to be a pretty big gap until the next update, and the reason why.

When the times comes, this author's note will be deleted and a real chapter will be posted in its place.

Thank you to all my readers so far! Your comments have been the fuel on my writing fire, which, while still dim, has been burning brighter than it has the past two years. The GO community is so sweet and active and creative and the series has my heart in a chokehold.

If you wanna check out my other stuff, I just posted the first chapter of a new fic tonight: I Might Have Picked a Different Bookshop.

Or you can follow me on Tumblr (@binbogummy). Always open to questions and when I finally get the ball rolling, I'll be open to requests too!

♡♡♡