Chapter Text
Chapter One;
Crowley was lying on the bed in his room- well, it wasn't really his room, since he didn't really think of this flat as home. He didn't have a home, not really. Unless you counted Aziraphale's bookshop.
Crowley was bored. Bored and exhausted and yet unable to fall asleep. He had paced around his apartment and paced some more, he had yelled at his plants, he had beaten every game he had on his Nintendo switch.
Crowley couldn't bear the crushing pressure that bore down upon his skull every second that he was not distracted by something. There was only one thing left that he could think of to do. He knew that he wasn't supposed to be doing this but he had no idea what else would ease the weight of his own thoughts.
Graphic Self Harm Descriptions ahead, please avoid if this will trigger you!!!!
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He went into his bathroom and pulled out the small box from the cabinet under the sink. Inside nestled an array of small and dangerously sharp razor blades.
Crowley's eyes surveyed the selection and he picked one before placing the open box beside the sink and sitting down on the toilet. His heart raced as he prepared to place the blade on his skin.
As he pressed down and slowly pulled the edge along his wrist, half the instincts in his body were screaming at him to stop, whilst the other half pulsed with the adrenaline that an extreme thrill seeker might feel as they partook in their terrifying sports.
Blood pulsed up to the surface of Crowley's skin, but it wasn't enough.
He made another cut, pressing deeper this time as he felt the pressure in his head seep out along with his blood.
Again and again, he sliced more incisions into his arm, finding relief in the warm blood that dripped onto the floor.
After about half an hour, Crowley snapped himself out of the haze of blood and the release of tension. He glanced at his watch on the uninjured arm and blinked.
He had lunch planned in an hour with Aziraphale! How in the nine rings of Hell could he have forgotten? The self-destructive tendencies in him roared at him to cancel- to tell the angel that he felt unwell and stay here, isolating himself, but the joy that came to the surface when he thought of spending time with Aziraphale won over and he placed his blade back into the box and shut it away, leaving with it all thoughts of blood and blissful, sharp release.
He then turned on the shower to clean himself up and bandage his arms before he left for lunch.
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Graphic self-harm warning ends here
Aziraphale was sitting in his study, poring over a newly obtained first edition of one of his favorite books when he heard the unmistakable sound of Crowley’s Bentley as it rounded the corner and parked outside the bookshop.
He got up to greet the demon, grasping his hand and pulling him into a hug as the two usually did when they saw each other. This time, however, Crowley gingerly patted him on the back with one hand and then withdrew from the embrace.
Aziraphale frowned slightly at him; “Are you okay dear? You seem a little out of sorts”
Crowley frowned back and raised his eyebrows at the other man. “Very astute,” He observed, before presenting an explanation to the angel; “I’m a bit sore, you see, haven’t been getting enough exercise”
“Oh, that's never a good thing! Perhaps after lunch, we can go on a nice walk together to stretch out those aches eh?”
Crowley smiled, nodding, before gesturing to the door and changing the subject. “Are those croissants that I smell?”
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Crowley polished off the last of his third plate of delightful baked goods and washed down the crumbs with a swig of his drink.
He smiled at the man sitting across from him, gazing adoringly at him as he finished what was left on his own plate. When the angel was finished, he dabbed carefully at his mouth with a napkin before standing up to clear the table.
Crowley stood as well, moving to help Aziraphale with the dishes, but as he reached for the platter of pastries in the middle of the table, the wounds on his arm stretched painfully under his bandages and he gritted his teeth but was unable to avoid letting out a hiss of pain.
“Goodness, dear, are you ok?” fretted Aziraphale, his aura spiking with concern as he placed down the plates he was carrying and turned towards Crowley.
“I’m fine, angel” Crowley brushed it off with a wave of his hand and picked up the plate, turning swiftly and walking into the kitchen. “just the sore limbs”
“Right” Aziraphale clearly didn't believe him but chose to let the matter go, instead joining Crowley at the sink to do the dishes.
They didn't have to do the dishes by hand, strictly speaking, but since their exile from heaven both of them had been making an effort to keep their magic use as low as possible, to avoid conflicts with heaven and hell respectively. Also, Aziraphale stubbornly refused to buy a dishwasher.
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Aziraphale had tried to shake off his concern about the obvious discomfort Crowley was in, but he couldn't help but notice when Crowley deviated from his usual task and offered to dry the dishes after Aziraphale washed them.
Once the dishes were washed, Aziraphale suggested that the two of them walk to a local park and Crowley agreed.
It was cold outside and Crowley’s sunglasses immediately began to fog up, so he took them off.
It took Aziraphale all of two minutes to notice that Crowley’s eyes were twitching at the corners regularly. It took him two more minutes to figure out why. He was wincing.
Aziraphale was now more than mildly concerned about his companion. Despite his tendency to forget to eat, Crowley’s corporation was not by any means weak, so sore limbs could not be causing him this much pain. Aziraphale had his suspicions about what the problem might be, but he knew better than to pry too hard when Crowley obviously didn't want to talk.
They arrived at the park and sat down on a bench to rest. Crowley had a small smile on his face as he watched the children play. He still had his glasses off but had cast a small glamour on his eyes to avoid scaring the kids.
After a minute, the children and their parents dispersed from the park as the fog grew heavier. Crowley drifted off, looking rather tense and Aziraphale noticed that he began to fidget with the sleeves of his shirt, tugging at them and scratching at his arm.
“Crowley, are you ok?”
Crowley blinked; “huh-? Oh yes, I’m fine, Aziraphale. “
“Crowley, you seem bothered by something, what's wrong?”
Crowley tensed his shoulders and Aziraphale could sense him putting up his walls, metaphorically and literally. (Just as the angel could probe at peoples senses and find out how they were feeling, Crowley was rather adept at blocking himself off from these ‘intrusions’ as he called them)
“Crowley, don't shut me out, dear, you know I only want to be here for you” Aziraphale implored and Crowley shut his eyes and leaned back against the bench.
“I’ve just been rather… bored lately”
“Bored?”
The demon swallowed, clenching his fists tightly at his sides.
Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands into his own, gently uncurling the other man’s fingers to see that his sharp fingernails had left shallow gouges in his palms.
“Darling, do be careful, I don’t want you hurting yourself”
Crowley let out a seemingly involuntary snort before quickly becoming quiet again.
“What do you mean by bored, Crowley?”
Crowley growled quietly but answered the question.
“y'know- just, nothing interests me. I don't know what to do when I’m at home and at the same time I can't find the motivation to leave the flat and do anything productive- it's fucking ridiculous”
He ended the sentence rather loudly before he fell silent again.
“That sounds like it's been very hard” Said Aziraphale softly, looking at Crowley, who averted his eyes to the ground.
“Eh- well, I should be able to bloody well cope with it, I’ve been alive for over six thousand years after all”
“Crowley, just because you have a lot of experience in life doesn't mean you can't still find things hard”
Crowley frowned a little. “Sure, sure, but that doesn't bloody explain why all of a sudden I can't stand to spend any time alone with my thoughts”
Aziraphale stood up, gesturing to Crowley, who stood up too. “I think perhaps we should have this conversation at the bookshop. It's getting rather chilly out here, even with my lovely coat”
He nodded and took Aziraphale’s hand. A moment later the two of them stood in Aziraphale's study.
Aziraphale gestured for Crowley to take a seat before sitting down in the armchair opposite.
“Right, so Crowley, if you’ve been feeling so cooped up, why didn't you tell me?”
“S’pose I didn't wanna bother you with it” muttered the demon, who had put his glasses back on as soon as they were back inside.
“Dear, you’re never a burden to me.” Aziraphale asserted.
Crowley smiled a bit but quickly stopped.
“Crowley, I can't be certain, but it sounds like you’re experiencing some understimulation and depressive tendencies”
“I'm not depressed”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you are, dear”
Crowley stared at the floor for a moment before standing up. “Well, now that you’ve diagnosed me, doctor, I suppose I should be getting home.” He remarked sarcastically.
Aziraphale stood as well. He knew how fast the demon could leave if he felt threatened, and he still needed to confirm his suspicions, so he decided to cut to the chase.
“Crowley,” He said, and the man turned toward him, giving him time to lock the door with a flick of his hand.
“before you go, would you be so kind as to roll up your sleeves for me?”
“No.” Growled the demon, turning once more to leave and finding the door locked.
“Right, well then I suppose I am either coming with you, or you are staying here.”
“What the fuck?” Hissed Crowley, trying to magic the door open and finding it still locked.
He turned on Aziraphale, who, rather than backing down, took both of the demon’s hands in his own for the second time that afternoon, and looked into his eyes.
“Crowley, If being alone at your flat is what’s causing you to be hurting yourself, I am not going to allow you to be alone at your flat. Isolating yourself is not a good thing to do when you’re already struggling with your mental health.”
Crowley looked taken aback, yanking his hands away and instinctively tugging at his sleeves again. “Who says I’ve been hurting myself”
“I’m not an idiot, Crowley,” Aziraphale found himself echoing a sentence from long ago, this time though, he was speaking softly and kindly, not in the harsh tone he had used all those years ago at St James park.
Crowley seemed to recognize the truth of these words and he sat back down in his chair, removing his glasses and wiping his brow with his sleeve.
“So how long am I going to have to stay here for?” Despite the intention he had of scathing sarcasm, his words sounded, even to him, more hopeful than anything else.
Aziraphale glanced again at his arms, and then at the bags visible underneath Crowley’s eyes and made a decision on the spot. He wanted to be there for Crowley, and although he had worried that it seemed too forward, he hadn't been more certain than he was about this idea.
“Well, I was actually wondering if you wanted to move in with me?”