Work Text:
Rome, 117 AD
“There.”
Half-hidden atop a rise overlooking the road stood a stone watchtower. Time had worn away part of the upper parapet, but the structure itself appeared sound. Without waiting for discussion, Crowley headed toward it.
Aziraphale followed automatically before realizing what he was doing. “We can't simply—Crowley, stop!”
Crowley did not stop.
By the time they reached the tower they were both thoroughly soaked.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale hurried over, breathless. “What if it's…occupied?”
It was a valid question. Even though neither of them could truly be killed, an unexpected sword through the chest would still be annoying, as would the paperwork.
Crowley shrugged. “Only one way to find out.” The heavy wooden door protested as he shoved it open. He stepped inside first and held the door open behind him, a grin on his face.
Aziraphale hesitated. The reason why was embarrassingly difficult to explain. Roman soldiers or dangerous thieves troubled him far less than they ought to have. What really worried him was something harder to name.
“Or,” Crowley said, clearly amused by Aziraphale's hesitation, “you can stand out here until morning and get struck by lightning. Entirely your choice.”
Another crack of thunder split the sky. Aziraphale sighed and hurried inside behind Crowley.
Inside, the air was cool and dry. The tower consisted of a single circular chamber, sparsely furnished. A small hearth occupied one wall. A rickety ladder led upward to the watch platform above.
“Hello?” The angel called politely. “Is anyone here?”
Silence followed.
Crowley motioned for Aziraphale to wait, and cautiously headed up the ladder. Aziraphale held his breath. To his annoyance, he found himself more concerned for Crowley than he ought to be.
The demon returned unscathed a minute later. “S'empty,” he reported. “Just us.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale said, smiling in relief, although he couldn't quite calm the fluttering feeling in his stomach.
His companion shrugged off his sodden cloak and draped it over the nearest bench. “Well,” Crowley said, surveying the small room. “I've certainly stayed in worse places.”
“Have you?” Aziraphale scoffed.
“Oh, angel.” Crowley crouched before the hearth and began arranging what remained of the firewood. “You have no idea.”
Flames flickered to life beneath his fingertips. Soon a roaring blaze filled the tower with warmth. Crowley sat back on his heels and regarded his handiwork with satisfaction. Aziraphale watched him for a moment before setting his own cloak aside. He sat down on the bench opposite the hearth. Outside, the storm continued to batter the tower walls, rain rattling against the stone and wind howling through the narrow arrow slits.
He’d run into Crowley quite incidentally that morning. The demon had suggested they travel together—“Safety in numbers, angel”—and Aziraphale, after some token resistance, had agreed. Besides, it was at least a day's walk to the next town and it had been so long since he'd had any proper company.
And so now, here they were.
Crowley settled on the bench beside him. “Right,” he said, “Since apparently we're roughing it…”
He snapped his fingers. A fur rug appeared before the fire, piled with overstuffed pillows and a blanket. Nearby sat a pitcher of wine, two tumblers, and a platter of grapes, cheese, and fresh bread.
Aziraphale leaned forward, eyes widening. “Is that wine?”
“I improvised.” Crowley handed him a tumbler full. “Not bad, if I do say so myself.”
“I don't believe Roman soldiers enjoyed so many comforts.”
“No?” Crowley stretched languidly.
“No,” Aziraphale affirmed, although a little less resolutely. He probably shouldn't be here, but the tower was warm, Crowley was familiar, and the storm outside had cut them off from the rest of the world.
Soon enough, the wine was finished and they were stretched out comfortably on the rug before the fire. Crowley had spent the last few minutes quietly enjoying the sight of Aziraphale making a rather impressive dent in the platter of snacks.
“Thank you,” the angel mumbled, as he munched on a grape.
“For what?”
“All of this.”
The demon waved a hand dismissively. “If we're going to be stranded, we may as well be stranded properly, don’t you think?”
Aziraphale smiled. “You know, this reminds me quite a bit of another night you and I were stuck together during a storm.”
Crowley snorted. “Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.”
“The Almighty trying to flatten Job's house.”
“And you tempting me with food.”
Crowley grinned. “I thought angels couldn't be tempted?”
“I distinctly recall being encouraged.”
“I merely suggested a rib.”
“A rib? Crowley, I ate an entire ox.”
“You certainly did.”
There was a teasing fondness in the demon's voice that made the angel purse his lips. Crowley was smiling at him, and with the fire crackling softly beside them and the storm safely beyond the tower walls, Aziraphale was struck by the curious thought that there was nowhere else he would rather be.
“It's getting late,” he said. “Perhaps we ought to get some rest? You go ahead and sleep. I'll take watch.”
Crowley stared at him. “You're offering to sit up while I sleep?”
“Well, yes,” Aziraphale said, puzzled by the question. “I don't mind. Someone should keep an eye out.” He hesitated. “It's what… travelling companions… do.”
“And you?”
“I don't really sleep anyway.”
“Never?”
“Oh, occasionally. But not often. I rather enjoy the peace and quiet.”
Crowley glanced towards the fire for a few seconds before looking back at him. “Alright,” he acquiesced. He stretched out onto his back, pulling the blanket over himself. “But wake me halfway through.”
“What?”
“Wake me halfway through,” Crowley repeated, meeting his eyes. “You deserve some rest too, angel.”
Before long, Crowley's breathing had settled into a slow, steady rhythm, and Aziraphale had settled in to keep watch. Outside, the storm continued to rage. Yet as the hours passed, he found himself keeping far closer watch over the sleeping demon than anything else.
Whatever this strange thing was between them, Aziraphale decided he would quite like to keep it safe.