Work Text:
Winter had been cruel to London, sending a blizzard through the cities and keeping everyone inside during the Christmas season. Celestial beings weren’t usually affected by such things, having been immortal, (apart from the infrequent hazard of Holy water or Hellfire.) Which was why Aziraphale was able to bundle up in nothing much more than a scarf and his winter coat when he left the bookshop for morning pastries, greeting Nina as she opened the store and mentioning something about her and another human, (possibly her partner,) going to see Christmas lights in the evening.
Aziraphale had thought it a wonderful thing to do, walk down the streets and admire all the lights that humans had put so much effort into displaying. He’d decorated every year since owning the shop, lights hanging above the opening and a Christmas reef hanging on his door. Not that it meant he wanted people inside the store. Oh no, quite the opposite. People seemed more keen to buy something from the bookshop over the holiday season, so Aziraphale put his best efforts into deterring customers. Most days, Crowley would be there as well, slithering around as an overly large snake to scare off people who wouldn’t take closing time as a sign to leave. He was rewarded later with a whiskey filled hot chocolate, and a warm blanket in front of the fireplace. Though the first time after The Failed Armageddon, he’d snapped his fingers and added a fire screen to keep the flames at bay.
He couldn’t very well blame the demon, having actually seen the bookshop go up in flames. Aziraphale could only imagine what Crowley had felt, goodness knows the poor dear wouldn’t talk about it. The most he’d ever said was that the whole place had been an inferno, to Aziraphale’s dismay.
But of course, the fireplace didn’t stop Crowley from being there. In fact, it seemed especially during winter, when Aziraphale lit the fire, Crowley found himself walking through the front doors and stretching along the sofa like a stray cat getting comfortable in the sun. And Aziraphale only compared him to a stray because a cat with an owner would never let their pet walk around with a scruffy excuse for a necktie.
It was getting colder now though, and Aziraphale had to wonder where Crowley was. He’d not seen the demon in several days, and being that they spent almost everyday together now, the angel wasn’t sure what to make of it. It had been a few months since the demon had gone for a nap, and he’d given notice for it, even if it did only last a week. Aziraphale thought that week had gone on for too long, in his opinion, taking every excuse he could to wonder if Crowley might have been awake. He’d not called in case he woke him up and the demon decided to sleep for any extra amount of time to wake up for it, but he had weighed up his options.
But at the moment, there was no notice of a nap. Or travel, or any other excuse that the angel could think Crowley might give to spend time away from him. Not that he’d ever really actively spent time away, but the point was, it was strange.
So, he called the flat.
And the phone rang once, then twice, and then again a third time. Right when Aziraphale was about to hang up, there was a noise on the other end. “What.” It was clearly Crowley’s voice that had answered the call, but it was much more strained than usual, to the point where it quite literally startled the angel.
“Oh, Crowley you sound dreadful.” The words slipped out before Aziraphale could stop them, and he heard the demon breath out a tired sigh, “Thanks Angel,”
Aziraphale frowned, and pursed his lips together, “You know what I mean, are you alright? I hadn’t heard from you in some time, and I thought I should check up on you.” He waited for an answer, which eventually came after some distant coughing away from the phone. “Peachy.” He said in a rough tone, as if forcing the word to come out was so difficult. Well, Crowley had always struggled with his word choices, opting for sounds that the angel had figured out over the millennia.
“You sound sick, Crowley.” Aziraphale pressed further, hoping Crowley would give in and just tell him what was going on, but unfortunately, the demon was being stubborn. Nothing new there. “Not sick. M’a demon. Don’t get sick.” He croaked out, then another cough came from over the phone, startling Aziraphale from in the bookshop. “Yes well, you’ve never been especially good at being a demon. Perhaps I should come over and see for myself.”
It wasn’t really a question in Aziraphale’s head, having known Crowley for so long and knowing that he’d do the same thing if Aziraphale found himself ill. Supposedly, Crowley presumed it was.
He was quick to speak back, no matter how gruff his voice sounded, “No, not happening. M’not sick. I’m hanging up now. Goodbye.”
Aziraphale slipped out half a goodbye when the call ended, and he sighed heavily, looking over to where the sofa laid bare of any demonic company wrapped in blankets and cozying up to the fire. He certainly did find himself missing Crowley more these days, whether he’d seen the dear a day before or a week before.
It didn’t really matter what Aziraphale was told anyway, because he and Crowley both knew that he would walk right into that flat and tend to the demon’s every need, unless it was alcohol. The last time he’d found Crowley drinking in his flat, he’d found a very worrying amount of bottles left laying around, and a demon so hungover that he couldn’t carry himself to his own bathroom to throw up all of the previous nights contents in his stomach. The only words he could muster between husky breaths were cursed human corporations and get out. Not that Aziraphale did such thing, and he expected the same words now, as he walked up the hall to the demons front door and rang the bell.
Crowley didn’t answer the door, which was likely either because he was ignoring Aziraphale being there, or he was sleeping. So, Aziraphale unlocked the door with a wave of his hand, and stepped inside, “Crowley?” his voice echoed in the empty flat, usually spotless of any mess, but right now, was filled with clothes thrown askew and cups scattered around surfaces.
Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the cups found themselves miraculously clean and put back to where they belonged, along with clothing washed and pressed, before being folded back in the cupboard they were supposed to be in. “Crowley? Are you here?” It was a silly question to ask, Aziraphale thought to himself as he slipped his winter coat and scarf off, hanging them up on the convenient hook that hadn’t been attached to the wall a moment ago, and took a few steps towards the green room. Then turned into the bedroom that he’d only glanced at once before.
The day of The Failed Armageddon, also known as the day Aziraphale had inconveniently discorporated, and his bookshop had burnt to the ground, the angel had found himself in this same flat. He’d spent quite a bit of time with the plants, before Crowley growled at him for praising them, and distracted him with wine, which always worked with either Aziraphale or Crowley in reality.
He’d not dared to look in the demon’s bedroom, being that it was a room of privacy for humans and might have meant the same to Crowley. Aziraphale had wondered if Crowley was going to sleep that night and got his answer when the sun came up and neither of them had dozed off among their alcoholic session. It had also been the night they’d come up with the idea of switching places for Heaven and Hell.
Right now though, that’s where Crowley was. Laying flat on his stomach, in the dark, curled into his duvet and pillows as he groaned out a response to the angel. “Someone’s sake Aziraphale I told you-”
“You told me you weren’t sick, and I can see very well that you lied to me.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and a dim light made itself welcome in the corner of the room, closest to the demon who was most certainly sick. Crowley’s skin was pale, (more than usual,) and sweating through the sheets of his bed. His hair was all over the place, and his eyes gave away the broken sleep that he’d been giving himself. “Wait.” Crowley barked, throwing a hand towards Aziraphale to not come any closer. “I’m not going to get sick dear, trust me.” Aziraphale tried to step closer, and Crowley bundled himself up with more pillows and blankets. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.
“M'not… wearing any clothes.” Even in the dark, Aziraphale could see the blush spreading across Crowley’s face, and he would have teased if not for the heat in his own face. “I see, I’ll give you some privacy then,” Aziraphale cleared his throat and stepped back out of the room, thinking for only a moment before he marched into the kitchen and began cooking.
When the angel had thought it had been a sufficient time for Crowley to be dressed again, he slipped back into the bedroom, which was now lit properly with a ceiling light, and held the demon in his bed with his black cotton pyjamas. “Well now, here we are, I’ve brought something to eat.”
Crowley eyed off the tray in Aziraphale’s arms as he sat down on the side of the bed and dropped it in the demons lap. “I don’t eat food Angel, should know this.” He glared at the tray of creamed rice, and Aziraphale stifled a laugh. “Stop looking at the food as if it’s insulted you dear, eat it while it’s hot.”
Slowly, and stubbornly, Crowley lifted the spoon and poked the bowl of rice. “Oh for goodness sake Crowley, give it here.” Aziraphale snatched the cutlery from the demon, and scooped up some rice, blowing on it a few times before holding it up to his mouth. Crowley flushed and took the spoon back.
“You’re inssssufferable.” He hissed out, before shoving the spoon in his mouth and swallowing. Aziraphale watched carefully as Crowley ate half a bowl, then drank his tea and set the tray aside. “There, happy now?” He made a face to the angel, and Aziraphale smirked. “Quite.”
Crowley sunk into his sheets and grumbled something incoherent, then rolled away from Aziraphale. “Oh come now, don’t be rude.” He leant over to see Crowley’s face and caught the demon pouting softly at the wall. “Crowley…” Aziraphale waited for the demon to roll back around, then sit up abruptly. “M’gonna be sick.”
“You are sick, dear.” Aziraphale corrected with a furrowed brow.
Crowley struggled to get out of bed and made it to the doorway of his bedroom before spewing all over his carpet. Aziraphale was quick to rush to his aide, holding his hair back and running soothing circles over the demons back as he was sick all over the floor. Crowley had dropped to his knees at some stage and was now coughing up whatever hadn’t been brought back the first round. “Feel bad…” Crowley mumbled as Aziraphale helped him up and brought him back to bed, miracling a wet towel into his hands to wipe anything from the demons face.
“There we are darling, lay down now.” So, perhaps food wasn’t the way to go when it came to being sick. But it was all Aziraphale had read about when someone was ill. Their loved one would show up with soup, or rice, or something easy to digest, and they’d feel better in no time. Not… well, throw it all back up again. “Why don’t you have a lovely little sleep, and I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Crowley blinked slowly, eyes already falling victim to his next nap. “Promise?” He slurred softly, a hand reaching out to grasp the angels wrist. “I promise.” Aziraphale tucked a strand of hair behind the demons ear and watched him fall limp a moment later.
Aziraphale spent a few minutes stroking Crowley’s hair gently, humming the song to something he couldn’t quite remember the words or name of, but he enjoyed it anyway. After he was sure the demon was asleep, he stood up and took a seat on the chair that had been positioned in the corner of the room, accompanied by a lovely tall lamp and a waist high bookshelf. There weren’t a lot of books on the shelf, mostly plant care and astronomy really, and a few of Shakespeare’s special editions that Aziraphale knew were also sitting in his shop.
Other than those few options, there were also many, many DVDs. Most were various series of certain things that Aziraphale knew Crowley liked watching when he was alone. Golden Girls was one the angel recognised, which made him chuckle for a moment, before picking out a Shakespearean novel and making himself more comfortable on the chair he’d sat in. It was quite the chair, if you’d asked him.
He was surprised Crowley owned such furniture, what with being all angles and glares. Aziraphale did always know the demon was a sweetheart underneath all those nasty words and positively awful things he did to the humans to ruin their days. Most times it just made Aziraphale roll his eyes at Crowley’s attempts, other times he’d have to counter it to make it fair. Unless of course, it was something that backfired on Crowley, and Aziraphale had warned the demon that his plans would backfire. Then it was fair game to watch and laugh afterwards.
Aziraphale was especially fond of the time the demon had spent weeks hacking into the computer systems of London and sending a video of a talking fish to everyone’s devices, with no way of sending it away. As strange as it had been at the time, (Aziraphale really couldn’t figure out why Crowley decided that was so funny,) it was as if the poor dear had forgotten he’d also been a very frequent user of any electronic device.
The first time it had happened, Crowley had jumped out of his skin, forgetting he’d done it at all. Then, the second and third time, Aziraphale had rolled his eyes at the demon, resisting the urge to toss his phone out the bookshop door and simply buy a new one.
On the fifth time that Crowley had unlocked his phone, he figured he’d just reverse the video, and get rid of it completely. He’d certainly chosen that as a last resort though, spending (too much) time hanging around Aziraphale, not that he minded the demon being around him, but there was a time and place to hover around someone while they were working. Not really something Crowley got the hint with.
Sometime through the night, Crowley groaned and turned over on his side, facing away from Aziraphale. For a moment, the angel wondered if he was going to be sick again, readying a bucket for when he woke up abruptly, but nothing happened.
When the demon made another noise, Aziraphale worried that he might be intruding, but it wasn’t like that. Crowley winced and whined and rolled over again, and the angel stood up, checking on his friend who was currently tangling his limbs in the duvet that kept him warm.
“Crowley? Are you awake?” Aziraphale ran a gentle hand across the demons forehead, and he let out a sluggish sob. It took a second for the angel to realise that Crowley was having a bad dream, and after that, he wasn’t too sure what to do. It wasn’t as if he could bless his sleep, Crowley would wake feeling itchy and possibly more feverish than he had been when he’d fallen asleep.
But he didn’t want to watch Crowley struggle in his sleep, especially since his mumbling was getting more coherent. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was ready to hear what Crowley was fretting about in his sleep, until he heard the clearest words that he’d spoken all evening.
“Aziraphale- I-.” Crowley furrowed in his sleep, and Aziraphale stood, frozen in a panicked way that he feared would scare the demon if he woke up in that moment. “I can’t- Where- You’re not…” He hissed out this time, hands twitching as he reached out across the bed.
Slowly, Aziraphale took the demons hands, and kissed the knuckles, hoping that would also keep his friend asleep. “I’m here Crowley. You’re alright.” The angel whispered softly into Crowley’s hands, begging to himself that this would work just a little bit. Crowley twitched again, another sob racking from his throat as he sprang up and sputtered out a string of incoherent words. “I- nghnn- Ziraphale?” He blinked at the angel beside him, and Aziraphale smiled softly. “Are you alright dear?”
“I- I thought you were- I mean… yeah. M’ okay.” Crowley put a hand over his mouth, then with a little more notice than last time, spewed into the bucket Aziraphale had provided for him. “M’hungry.” He mumbled into the bucket, and coughed up whatever was left for the moment. “Hurtsss my throat.” Another mumble, then more throwing up.
“How about I make you some toast and get you a glass of water?” Aziraphale stood up after making his offer, watching as Crowley nodded, then continued to spew. “Thanksss…”
“My pleasure.”
Aziraphale was stopped by a hand wrapping around his wrist, tightly, desperately. “No really. Thanks Angel.” Crowley raised his head and smiled in a tired, sickly way that humans would often do during their own sick days.
“I would love nothing more than to nurse you back to health my darling demon.” Aziraphale raised Crowley’s hand, pressing his lips to the demons wrist in a quick motion, before leaving the room. It was time to make some toast.