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Edinburgh, 1827
As dusk fell, the wind bit through Aziraphale’s greatcoat. Another gust threatened to sweep away his hat, just as Crowley had been swept away from him one month ago tonight.
The wind howled as Aziraphale walked the cobbled streets, Crowley’s final cry still echoing in his ears. Every day, Aziraphale considered returning to London, to his bookshop, to his duties as an angel. And every night, he found himself once again pacing the streets, waiting for the faintest whisper of Crowley’s presence.
It was unsettling, not being able to sense him for so very long. Normally, his presence hovered on the edge of Aziraphale’s awareness, as reliable as gravity. It only vanished when one of them was away from the Earthly plane.
Shivering, Aziraphale hunched his shoulders as he climbed a hill to look over Edinburgh. There was no real reason to go to higher ground; it wouldn’t aid in finding Crowley. But he yielded to the urge anyway. He might as well wait there, standing vigil until his adversary returned.
But Crowley was more to him than an adversary. His partner, in a way, at least when it came to the Arrangement. Aziraphale had tried to convince himself that the Arrangement was what compelled him to stay in Edinburgh for this long, that compelled him to wait and hope.
In the darkest depths of night, when the fear choked him, when his breaths came in shivering gasps as he worried about what must be happening to Crowley in Hell, he admitted that his real motive was something else. Something angelic, yes, but forbidden.
Night hadn’t fallen in earnest, though, so he was free to regard this as part of the Arrangement for now. Crowley had gotten him out of plenty of sticky situations in the past. It was only right to fulfill his own part of their deal, to lend a hand once it was needed.
He only hoped it would be needed soon.
A few stars peeked through the gathering gloom, and Aziraphale tilted his head back to gaze up at them. The bittersweet ache of old memories settled in his chest once again. Memories of being in those stars with a red-headed angel. That angel’s brilliant smile, so much pure joy, so much hope for the future.
Something shifted in the astral planes, and Aziraphale’s breath caught. Something getting closer, a presence he knew instantly. All sharp edges and smoldering anger, the defenses that cloaked a stubbornly lingering hope.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped.
He turned and ran down the hill, shoes pounding against the cobblestone. His breaths came fast and ragged as he charged through the dusk, following the familiar presence. Down an alley, across a street, around a turn.
Out of breath, he stumbled to a halt in the cemetery, the very same one where Crowley had been taken from him. He twisted back and forth, searching for the slender figure he knew so well. “Crowley? Crowley, where are you?”
There was no sign of him. And, in fact… his presence was still down.
Aziraphale looked at the nearest grave. Then, frantic, he miracled a shovel and began to dig. Scooping up the earth, flinging it aside, unable to focus on anything except getting to Crowley.
As soon as he could see the coffin, he dropped to his knees on top of it and pounded a hand on the wood. “Crowley, are you in there?”
A muffled cry, and a banging. Oh Lord.
“It’s Aziraphale, I’m here!” Aziraphale cleared away the soil and ripped his gloves off. He felt along the wood until he found the edge of the coffin lid, grasped, and tore it off. “Crowley?”
Dim moonlight illuminated the coffin. Crowley lay on his side in the box, naked and bloody, gagged, tears trickling down his cheeks. Wrists bound behind him, ankles tied. His black wings were crammed between his back and the side of the coffin, ropes securing them too.
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped. Golden eyes stared up at him desperately, wide and scared, and Crowley let out another garbled noise around the gag. “It’s okay now, my dear. I’m going to get you out.”
---
Crowley struggled weakly against the bonds, then went limp again. Pain screamed through his body, echoes of all the interrogations and torture sessions. Was he imagining this? Was he imagining Aziraphale, his mind scrambling to find some way to hold on?
He flinched at the gentle touch on his shoulder, the heat of Aziraphale’s hand shocking. Aziraphale murmured a soft apology, crouching down beside the coffin. His plump fingers worked at the gag, carefully pulling it free. “There, Crowley,” he murmured, warm hand cupping his cheek. “Are you all right?”
“Do I look all right?” Crowley rasped, throat raw from screaming.
Aziraphale winced, thumb stroking across his cheek. “No. No, not precisely. But it’s all going to be okay now, I promise.”
Crowley lost control over a sob, a raw noise of pain. “Angel, it… it hurts.”
“I imagine it does, yes.” With a shaky exhale, Aziraphale looked him over. He gently stroked blood matted curls out of Crowley’s face. “My dear, I’m so sorry to ask you questions just now, but I need to know how injured you are before I try to move you. Do you have any broken bones?”
“I… don’t know.” Everything hurt so damn much that it was almost impossible to tell. “I think… my right wrist is broken. And some fingers. It’s… bad.”
Just focusing on it was enough to let the pain nearly overwhelm him. He took ragged breaths, trying to distract himself from the throbbing agony that shot through his whole arm. Shivering wrenched through him, making everything hurt even worse, and his teeth chattered.
“You must be so cold.” Aziraphale hurriedly took off his greatcoat and laid it across Crowley. Crowley gasped at the sudden warmth, almost painful. “I’m going to get you untied, if possible, and then we’ll see about getting you out. Do you think you’ll be able to put your wings away?”
Right now, Crowley wasn’t sure he was able to remain conscious. Everything went fuzzy, his head roaring. Aziraphale was still bending over him, talking to him with an increasingly worried expression. He couldn’t understand any of the words.
Then Aziraphale moved out of sight, and Crowley’s chest seized with panic. Nonono, please! If Aziraphale abandoned him here, there was no way he could get out. Hastur and Ligur had laughed when they locked him in it, laughed and told him he’d have to claw his way back to Earth. A fitting punishment for losing a graverobber’s soul, that’s what they’d said.
Someone touched his leg, and he flinched. But the hands were gentle and warm, untying him from the rough ropes that had torn his skin raw as he struggled to escape. Another touch, this time on his feathers. He jerked, bound wings thumping against coffin as he braced for blows.
But then the constricting pain of rope digging into his wings eased, too, and gentle strokes smoothed the damaged feathers. Someone was murmuring to him, voice kind. He struggled to focus on the words, to make sense of them.
“Oh, your poor wrist is indeed broken, and your forearm too. And some fingers. Hmm…” A gentle touch on his shoulder, so unbelievably warm. “I’ll need to get you out of there before I can mend this, Crowley. In your current position, the bones are quite out of alignment. I’m afraid this is going to hurt.”
Crowley tried to look around, heart beating too fast. He could hear Aziraphale, but couldn’t find him. “Aziraphale? Where are you?”
“I’m here. I’m right here.” Aziraphale moved into his line of sight and made a gentle shushing noise, cupping his cheek again. Crowley lost control of a few more tears at the sheer tenderness of the touch, such a change from Hell. “I’m going to lift you out now. I’ll be as careful as I can.”
Crowley tried to adjust, to move into a position that would make it easier for Aziraphale to pick him up, but he couldn’t manage it. “Nnnnh. Sorry.”
“Hush, dear boy, hold still. Let me help.” Breaths quick and shaky, Aziraphale bent over him. One arm slipped behind his back, the other under his knees. “Hold on, easy…”
Aziraphale lifted, and pain blazed through Crowley’s whole body. He clenched his jaw hard, breaths hissing between gritted teeth, and fought back against any reactions.
But then the movement jostled his broken arm, and an inferno of agony erupted. He screamed, body jerking reflexively.
“Crowley, don’t struggle!” Aziraphale held onto him tighter, cradling him to a warm, solid chest through all the movement. “Just a moment, that’s it, just getting you back up top.”
Crowley whimpered, tears pouring down his cheeks. Everything shifted, and then he was lying on his side again, but this time on cold ground rather than the hard coffin.
More pain in his arm, and he howled. But then, slowly, the pain receded. No longer the crushing throb of broken bones. Now, it just ached, an ache much more similar to the usual discomfort that plagued his corporation. That, he could live with.
“There we are,” Aziraphale said softly, rubbing his shoulder. “I’ve untied you, and mended the broken bones. Is that better, Crowley?”
“Yh.” He tried to catch his breath, tried to speak, but the fatigue and pain crushed his words. His heart pounded faster, thudding in his temples, and his teeth chattered more violently. “Sssso cold.”
“Oh, you poor dear.” Aziraphale knelt down in front of him again, fussing with the tan greatcoat. “You’re rather hurt, Crowley, but I don’t want to try to heal you up in the cold. You hardly need hypothermia on top of everything else. May I clothe you with a quick miracle, and tend to your wounds later?”
Crowley managed a grunt of assent. He focused as hard as possible, and managed to fold his wings out of the physical plane. He tried to pull his arms forward, but the right one was still trapped under him. Pain lanced through his shoulders, and he hissed.
“Not to fret, my dear, I’ll adjust you once I take care of this.” A snap of the fingers, and Crowley was suddenly much less cold. “If I help you up, do you think you can walk? I can carry you, but I imagine you might be a bit affronted at the idea—”
“Can walk.” He had no idea whether that was actually true, but being carried was one indignity too far for a demon.
“All right, my dear. Let’s get you up, then.” Aziraphale guided him with gentle touches, but any movement at all made Crowley’s vision blur, and then dim. “Here, can you hold onto me?”
Shivering, Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, fingers digging into his coat. A moan of pain slipped from him as Aziraphale drew him to his feet, and he slumped against the angel’s warmth. Even with clothes on, the chill gnawed at him. “I don’t… feel well.”
“I know, but it’s going to be okay.” Aziraphale’s warm breath brushed his cheek, a soft hand cradling the back of his neck. “I’ll take you home.”
A surge of hot anger shot through Crowley, and he tried to jerk back. “I’m a demon,” he snarled. “Demons don’t have homes.”
The world spun, and then everything went dark.
---
“Oh!” Aziraphale clutched Crowley’s limp body to his chest, tears welling. “Crowley? Oh, dear boy…”
Standing had certainly been too much for him. Gently, Aziraphale scooped him up and carried him through the graveyard.
But where to? His first impulse had been the bookshop, but that was awfully far away. Teleporting both of them directly there would require a large, very draining miracle. Perhaps something nearer, then, but where?
Echoes of conversations flashed through Aziraphale’s mind, their recent discussions about farms. A farm sounded nice, nicer than the rented room where he’d stayed for the past month. It sounded almost like a home, in fact.
Decision made, Aziraphale snapped his fingers. The graveyard tore away, and was replaced with a rather dilapidated farmhouse, a dark silhouette against the faint glow of light near the horizon.
Well, it would do. Aziraphale rushed inside and found a bedroom with a fireplace. He snapped his fingers at the fireplace, then laid Crowley in the dusty bed. “There we are, my dear. Afraid this isn’t quite the warm, welcoming mental image I had in mind when I thought of taking you to a farm. Although at least there’s no people here to wonder why we’ve just burst into their home, hmm?”
Crowley was still entirely out cold. Attempting not to cry, Aziraphale took his bruised hand and held it gently. Oh, what had those monsters done to him?
A great deal, it seemed. Cuts and bruises marred his pale skin, remnants of whatever violence had been inflicted during his time in Hell. He had certainly gotten in trouble for aiding Elspeth, and had been punished for that act of kindness.
Aziraphale sat with him for a few more minutes, tears escaping despite his best attempt at control. Then, sniffling, he got up and got to work.
He found more blankets and laid them across Crowley’s limp form, murmuring soft reassurances to him as he did so. More careful healing miracles mended the injuries as best he could, although Crowley would still be in pain for several days. Residual damage lingered, the sort of thing that would only heal with time.
“That’s rather unfair, given how sore you are on any given day,” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley tried to hide it, but Aziraphale had known him for too long to be fooled by that. Crowley’s corporation had always rather objected to everything he did, and he struggled with a great deal of pain in his hips especially. “I’ll do my very best to take care of you. I promise.”
The fire was warming the room nicely, at least. Aziraphale touched Crowley’s ashen cheek, skin still cold under his hand. Getting him cleaned up would be nice, but even dabbing away the blood with a damp cloth would have to wait a bit. Right now, it would only worsen his chill.
Aziraphale fretted right up until the time that Crowley’s golden eyes cracked open and searched the room. Then he forced himself to calm, to smile, and to speak in a reassuring tone. “It’s okay, Crowley. You’re okay, just lie still. You’re with Aziraphale, and you’re perfectly safe.”
He’d expected an immediate barrage of questions. Instead, Crowley just looked at him with groggy, unfocused eyes. “Angel? S’ that really you?”
“It’s really me, yes. You’re okay.” Blinking away tears, Aziraphale forced himself to smile. He couldn’t let Crowley see how worried he was, not now. “Just lie still, hmm? You need an awful lot of rest.”
Crowley drew a hitched, ragged breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He moaned softly, shuddered. “Ow.”
Somehow, that plaintive little noise broke Aziraphale’s heart far more than anything else could have. He bent over Crowley and kissed his brow, still fighting not to sob. “I’m so sorry you’re in pain, my dear. Afraid it’ll linger for a while.”
Crowley tried to shift a little, as if trying to get more comfortable, and somehow went even more pale. He shuddered, hands flexing anxiously. “No more, please…”
“Shh, no one’s hurting you now.” Concerned, Aziraphale laid his hand alongside Crowley’s head. He stroked the red hair until Crowley began to breathe a little more easily. “You’re safe, back on Earth where you belong. Don’t fret.”
Crowley’s eyes cracked open again, and he mustered a weak glare. “I’ll… fret if I want.”
The stubborn, barely coherent protest made Aziraphale smile. He nodded, somewhat reassured. At least Crowley was enough himself to be cranky and insist on some measure of control. “Of course you will.”
---
Deep, aching pain throbbed though Crowley’s whole body. His head pounded, agony spiking deeper whenever he tried to move. But if he laid still for too long, the pain got worse.
Everything was blurry. He tried to focus through it, to resolve the world into the sort of clear images that made sense. If he focused hard enough…
It wasn’t working very well. The harder he tried to focus, the more his head hurt. He shuddered, woozy. The shuddering hurt too.
But there were other things that didn’t hurt, even though they also didn’t make sense based on everything that had happened these past weeks. A fire, warm and crackling. Gentle contact, slow strokes across his hair, touches to his cheek, a squeeze on his hand. A voice, soft and reassuring, sometimes saying his name.
He didn’t understand any of it, not in the weird, hazy world where he seemed to have gotten stuck. But he appreciated it anyway. Even if he was just imagining it, it was a welcome break from Hell’s dark torture chambers.
Those broke in, sometimes, as vivid and intense as the gentle voice calling his name. His own screams, the smell of blood, pain erupting all through him. The mocking laughter of other demons.
But gradually, the laughter receded, and so did the screams. The kind voice took precedence, and the soothing touches seemed more real. And finally, he blinked away the fatigue and looked up into the worried face of his best friend. “Aziraphale? What’re you doing here?”
“Taking care of you, Crowley. Afraid you’ve been through quite an ordeal.” Aziraphale sat beside him, in what seemed to be a bed. Crowley looked at the pile of blankets across himself in confusion. “We’re a little ways outside Edinburgh. I’ve brought you to a farm.”
“A farm?” That really was not the kind of place he associated with Aziraphale, not these days. Aside from recent conversations, anyway. “Seriously?”
“Mm. The bookshop was rather far away, and I thought you might recuperate best somewhere peaceful.” With a worried smile, Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “You’ve been quite badly injured, my dear, but you’re all patched up now. At least, for the most part. Your body will need some time to finish mending itself.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve been hurt, Aziraphale. I know.” Crowley’s tone came out sharper than he’d meant, and he winced at himself. But the crushing pain made it hard to focus. “Sorry. Thanks, angel.”
“It’s quite all right.” Aziraphale ran a light, careful stroke across his hair, pushing limp curls off his brow. “In truth, it’s reassuring to have you cranky. Makes me feel as though you’re getting back to your old self.”
Crowley snorted. “Thanks.”
He really didn’t feel back to his old self, though. The small, scared feeling lingered, a pit of shame curdling in his stomach. And oh, Satan, he was bloody freezing despite all the blankets and the crackling fire. Probably the effect of all the trauma.
How long had it been? He’d turned up in the graveyard, he thought, and Aziraphale had been there. Maybe the punishment hadn’t gone on as long as he feared. Aziraphale would only have stuck around for days, not weeks.
“Anything interesting happen after I got dragged down?” he asked weakly.
“Nothing other than me fretting rather a lot. I’m so relieved to have you back.” Aziraphale swallowed hard, lip trembling. “I was so worried about you. I didn’t know how long they’d keep you down there.”
Crowley battled against his urge to ask, and lost. “How long was I gone? Kinda hard to keep track of time down there.”
He’d tried to say it in a nonchalant tone, but his voice broke. Aziraphale dropped his gaze for a moment, thumb stroking across the side of his hand. “A month,” he finally said. “Exactly a month, in fact.”
Crowley shivered, then gave Aziraphale a confused look. “You waited for me for that long? What about… the bookshop? Your assignments?”
“Well, I don’t have any time sensitive assignments at the moment. And the bookshop can go without selling books even better if I’m not there.” A tiny smile tugged at Aziraphale’s lips, although his eyes brimmed with worry. “I did think that I ought to get back to things, but I just couldn’t. I had a feeling they might return you here.”
In a damn coffin. The thought of it sent a fresh wave of woozy horror through Crowley, his thoughts blurring. He couldn’t come up with a single thing to say, any way to even start to express the terror.
When he didn’t reply, Aziraphale slowly reached towards a small wooden table. He picked up a cloth and dunked it in a bowl. “Here, may I wash your face? It’s too cold right now to give you a proper bath, although you rather need one. Still, it might feel better to get you cleaned up a little.”
Crowley managed a nod of permission. Aziraphale dabbed at his face, slow and gentle, expression full of intense concentration. As if this, cleaning blood off a demon who only ever managed to get himself in trouble, was the most important task in the whole universe.
“There, that’s already looking a bit better.” Each touch tender, Aziraphale wiped away blood from Crowley’s cracked lips. “Does it feel okay? Not making you too chilled?”
He was absolutely freezing, but not because of Aziraphale. “Nuh, s’ nice.”
“Good, good. I’ve got a very nice fire going for you, and lots of blankets.” With a look of worry, Aziraphale laid his hand across Crowley’s brow. “You are still awfully cold. Um… it might be best if I laid down with you.”
Crowley’s breath caught. He’d always thought that sounded terrific, curling up beside Aziraphale in bed. Ideal, honestly. Being with Aziraphale made him happier than anything, and he couldn’t help longing for more closeness.
He’d just never imagined that he’d finally get to snuggle thanks to being tortured for helping someone. “Yeah. I’d… really like that.”
“Good. So would I.” Swallowing hard, Aziraphale finished bathing his face. Then he stripped out of his bloody jacket and untied his cravat. “There we go, that ought to be a bit more comfy. Going to settle in now, let me know if anything hurts too much.”
Crowley flinched a little as Aziraphale climbed into bed beside him, instinctively bracing for a blow. But this was Aziraphale, who had always been kind and helpful. Who would never hurt him.
Aziraphale laid down, slipping an arm under his shoulders, and Crowley curled towards him with a groan. Pain shot through him at the movement, and his shivering worsened. But gosh, Aziraphale was so warm.
“I’m here,” Aziraphale murmured, arms wrapping around him. “I have you, my dear. Does this hurt?”
“No, it’s…” A lump choked off Crowley’s words, and he gulped. But the emotions just grew stronger and stronger, a flood of them.
A sob burst out, and then another. He curled tighter against Aziraphale, hiding his face in the solid shoulder as waves of crying swept through him. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t control the tears that poured down his cheeks.
“Oh, oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale hugged him closer, stroking his hair. Crowley dug his fingers into the waistcoat, shaking convulsively. “It’s okay, shhh. You cry all you need to.”
“Sorry,” Crowley choked, squeezing his eyes shut. “I shouldn’t… I’m a demon, demons shouldn’t fucking cry.”
He’d hoped that would snap him out of it, remind him of how much he was humiliating himself. Instead, he just started to cry harder.
“You have every reason to cry.” Gently, Aziraphale stroked his hair. A kiss pressed to his head, tender. “You’ve been tortured, Crowley.”
“Thanks,” Crowley spat in the most acid tone he could manage. “I didn’t know that.”
But even harsh sarcasm wasn’t enough to stop the stupid crying. He sobbed into Aziraphale’s shoulder, unable to regain control no matter how hard he tried. He was too shattered, from everything.
“Shh, I’m here.” Aziraphale held him close, rubbing his back lightly. Light enough that it didn’t hurt, even after all his injuries. “You don’t need to feel bad, my dear. Just let me tend to you.”
Crowley didn’t exactly have a choice in that. He just wept, trembled, lost all control of himself as Aziraphale hugged him. Not just because of the pain and fear, either.
It was at least partially because after all he’d suffered, after all he’d endured, being treated with so much care tore away his defenses. He couldn’t hide behind his anger and sarcasm when Aziraphale was being so, so gentle.
So loving, even. Everything that Crowley had ever craved.
---
Two days later
Screaming and thrashing, wrenching against bonds. Unable to escape, pain tearing through him. Crashing into wood, completely trapped—
“Crowley, it’s okay! Hush now, you’re just a bit tangled in the blankets.” A hand on his chest, holding him down. “You’re okay, shh.”
Crowley twisted, desperately trying to jerk his arms free. “Aziraphale!”
“It’s okay, here we are. That’s it, see?”
His arms were free. He scrambled upright, grunting with pain, chest tight.
But this wasn’t Hell. It was a room with loads of blankets, with firelight. And with Aziraphale.
Crowley let out a shaky breath and clutched at Aziraphale’s hand. “Nnnh, shit. I dreamed about the coffin again.”
“Understandably so. What a horrible experience.” A shudder went through Aziraphale, and he squeezed Crowley’s hand. “But you’re okay. We’re perfectly safe at the farm.”
Although still shivering, Crowley almost chuckled. “Can’t believe you took me to a farm.”
“Yes, well. It was a bit impulsive, I suppose.” Aziraphale reached up and gently dried the tears on his cheeks. “You’ve gotten quite a lot of sleep, despite the nightmares. How do you feel?”
“Er.” He really felt like sleeping for the rest of the century, but he did not feel like having more nightmares. “I feel like getting up, honestly. Any chance it’s nighttime? I could go for some stargazing.”
“I’m afraid not, but we could stargaze later.” Moving slowly, Aziraphale climbed out of bed and pulled the blankets back. He took Crowley’s arm and helped him up, wincing as Crowley hissed in pain. “I do think it would be rather lovely to go outside, if it’s not too cold. Would you like that? I’ve miracled up a pair of sunglasses for you, by the way.”
Crowley grumbled vaguely and glanced down at himself. He was dressed in warm, soft clothes that were definitely not the outfit he’d been wearing when he got dragged down to Hell. “Why is there red and black tartan trim on my sleeves?”
Aziraphale’s cheeks went pink. “I got carried away.”
“Yeah, ‘course you did.” He didn’t have the energy to protest, not even about tartan. Instead, he just put on the pair of sunglasses that waited on the table, leaned against Aziraphale, and let the angel help him outside.
The rest of the farmhouse looked as shit as Crowley felt, dilapidated and broken down. No signs of life or happiness. Dark and sad, and very abandoned.
Shit, this whole torture thing had really messed with him, if he was getting this maudlin over a rundown building.
It wasn’t much better outside, in addition to being bloody freezing. The fields overgrown, fences crumbling. No livestock, although a few birds twittered off in the distance.
“Ah, here we go.” Aziraphale led him over to a bench by an unkempt orchard and helped him sit, then moved behind him. “Crowley?”
Crowley leaned back, tilting his head up to feel the few warm rays of sunlight that crept through a break in the clouds. It felt good. “Mm?”
“May I see your wings?” Gently, Aziraphale rested both hands on his shoulders. “It’s just that… I didn’t get a chance to tend to any injuries before you put them away.”
“Oh. Yeah, okay.” Gulping, Crowley focused, and manifested his wings. Pain shot through them, and through his back, and he gritted his teeth. “Ow.”
“I’m sorry it’s painful. I know you must be awfully sore.” Aziraphale moved his hands to Crowley’s wings, careful. “It’s okay that I’m back here? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Crowley really didn’t like having Aziraphale out of sight. Not because he was worried that the angel would do anything to him, but he felt so, so much calmer when he could see Aziraphale’s familiar face. “It’s fine, yeah. Maybe you could groom my wings a little? It feels like some of my feathers are kinda messed up.”
“Yes, they’re rather rumpled still from the bindings. I’ll take care of it.”
Plump fingers sifted through Crowley’s feathers, delicately putting them back in place. Crowley closed his eyes, soothed by the careful touches. From time to time, a warm healing miracle swept away a cut or bruise. Each moment of contact remained careful, full of love.
Emotion closed off Crowley’s throat again, and he battled against tears. A few of them escaped anyway, out of his control. It just felt so amazing to have someone care about him this much, to fuss and coo over him, to hold him when he was afraid or in pain.
“That’s much better,” Aziraphale murmured, skimming his thumbs down a primary feather and locking the barbs in order. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t do this sooner, but you weren’t quite up to it. Are you doing okay sitting up for this long?”
“Yeah, it’s not so bad.” Everything really hurt, and he was starting to get dizzy, but he could live with it.
If only they could live like this all the time. Just him and Aziraphale, no Sides to worry about. Nothing they had to do, no assignments, no punishments for crossing lines. Just peace, and a home of their own.
But that wasn’t actually possible, and even the brief moment of fantasy just left him hollowed out. He couldn’t have a home, not ever. Better to put aside such ridiculous thoughts and just focus on enjoying the time they did have.
---
Aziraphale ran a few more strokes across Crowley’s feathers, being sure that they laid flat. There had been quite a bit of damage, but he looked much better now.
Well, much better in terms of his injuries. But his shoulders had slumped a while ago, and his expression was bleak when Aziraphale moved back in front of him.
“All done.” Aziraphale gave a fond smile and touched Crowley’s shoulder. “If you’d like to put your wings away, I was thinking of wrapping a blanket around you. You’re shivering rather a lot.”
“Yeah, could go for a blanket.” Crowley gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, and his wings vanished again. He crossed his arms, a shudder rippling through him. He glanced up at Aziraphale, something different on his face. A longing.
The longing wrenched through Aziraphale’s heart too, just the same. He cupped Crowley’s cheek and bent, brushing his lips to the cool brow. He let the kiss linger a moment, aching.
Oh, how he wished he could do this, and more, every day. That he could soothe away all of Crowley’s pain, and even perhaps alleviate of his own sorrow. When he was with Crowley, everything always felt right.
Aziraphale wiped away tears as he drew back, then miracled a blanket to them and wrapped it around Crowley’s narrow shoulders. Crowley wasn’t quite looking at him now, not even with the sunglasses. But as soon as Aziraphale sat, Crowley leaned over until their shoulders brushed together.
Still rather emotional, Aziraphale wrapped his arm around Crowley and drew him closer. “I’m awfully relieved to have you doing a bit better. I rather suggest a few more days of rest, but I suspect you’re going to start getting, well. Restless soon.”
Crowley gave a quiet snort. He glanced to Aziraphale, unusual vulnerability on his face. “Honestly, I don’t think I could ever get restless in a place like this. I wish…”
He trailed off and snarled, self-directed irritation wrenching at his face. Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile even as the ache in his chest worsened. “Me too, my dear.”
He took Crowley’s slender hand, squeezing. Crowley melted against his side and let out a long breath. “I don’t think I really… thanked you enough for this. For waiting for me, especially. I dunno what I did to deserve that.”
“Well, we do have the Arrangement,” Aziraphale said automatically. “And you’ve certainly come to my aid many times over.”
“Mm.” Another long breath, and then Crowley said, “Seriously, though. I was fucked.”
His voice cracked, and a shudder rushed through him. Aziraphale hugged him closer, pressing a kiss to his serpent sigil. “It was my honor to tend to you, Crowley.”
With a heavy sigh, he leaned the side of his head against Crowley’s. To live like this, just the two of them, would be utter paradise.
It was rather silly, dreaming of having a home. They were on Opposite Sides, after all. But oh, how Aziraphale longed for it, for a day when he could see Crowley truly happy and safe.
---
Two hundred years later
“You know what this reminds me of?” Crowley finally said, choked up as he stood beside Aziraphale and looked over their latest purchase. The crumbling fences, overgrown weeds, dilapidated cottage. And, off to the side, a small apple orchard.
Aziraphale smiled at him and squeezed his hand. “I’ve been thinking precisely the same thing. That old farm near Edinburgh, yes?”
“Yeah.” Crowley swallowed hard, a shiver going through him at the complicated memory. He still occasionally had nightmares about that punishment in Hell, and about being trapped in the coffin.
But far more often, he dreamed about the days after, the time he’d spent there with Aziraphale, just the two of them. The closest he’d ever come to the feeling of having a home.
It had drawn him to this wreck of a property right away, once he and Aziraphale had decided to find a place together. Once all the old misunderstandings were out of the way, once they’d dealt with their Sides again, once they were truly free and Earth was safe.
“Thank you for waiting for me, Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, a catch in his voice. “I… I’ve wanted this for so long, and it means so much to me that you didn’t, well… ever give up on me.”
“‘Course I waited for you.” Crowley took his angel by the shoulders, turning him gently. He gazed into the teary hazel eyes, and the restlessness that had plagued him for so long fell away. “I love you.”
“I love you.” Aziraphale brought a hand to his cheek, drew him down, and kissed him.
It was far from their first kiss now—they’d taken every possible opportunity to explore kissing, once they’d reconciled—but the contact still sent a flood of emotion through Crowley. He melted into Aziraphale’s touch, fingers tangled in the fabric of his jacket.
Sunlight warmed the air around them. Off in the apple orchard, nightingales sang. Bees drifted past lazily, and the wind gusted through the long-abandoned property. But it wasn’t abandoned anymore.
Crowley drew back at last, sliding his hands down to Aziraphale’s hips. Aziraphale beamed at him, teary. “Oh, my dear. I can’t wait to fix this place up with you.”
“Me neither.” Crowley stole another kiss, this time a quick one, then took Aziraphale’s hand. They meandered between overgrown rose bushes together and towards the welcoming scent of apples. “One of the first things on my agenda is definitely gonna be this garden. The place is a bloody wreck.”
“You certainly can’t accuse these plants of not growing well enough,” Aziraphale said lightly. He trailed his fingers through verdant leaves, expression peaceful, and Crowley watched him. “I suppose I’ll join you, part of the time, but that poor cottage itself rather needs tending to. I-I think the first priority there ought to be, well, the bedroom.”
He gave Crowley a shy smile, and Crowley returned it. “Yeah, me too. But for now…”
A snap of the fingers provided a tartan blanket near the orchard, under the weathered bows of the old apple trees. He drew Aziraphale to it and guided him down, their lips meeting in a dance that became more familiar every day. Fingers tugged at buttons, bodies pressed together. Crowley’s hips would be really pissed off later about rolling around on the ground, but it would be worth it.
As they lost themselves in each other, contentment flooded through Crowley, a true happiness that he’d never really felt before. He and Aziraphale were home.
---
The late summer breeze was rather more chilly without clothes, and Aziraphale drew Crowley close to him as they sprawled together under the apple trees, sated. “Oh, that was so lovely.”
“Yeah, really was.” A soft smile on his face, Crowley traced a finger along Aziraphale’s bottom lip. “I love just looking at you, y’know. You’re gorgeous.”
Even after all they’d just done, that was enough to bring warmth to Aziraphale’s cheeks. He ducked his head, shy, a sleepy giggle slipping out. “Oh, thank you. So are you, my dear.”
Especially when he was happy. The deep furrows of anger and frustration had vacated Crowley for the time being, and his beautiful golden eyes glowed with delight. He wasn’t the angel that Aziraphale had met so long ago, but the demon he was now had found peace at last. And oh, what a stunning sight it was.
Aziraphale kissed him again, this time lazily, slowly. There was no rush for anything, not now.
“I already love this place,” Crowley murmured once their lips parted again. “I can’t wait to get it fixed up. Honestly, I think it’ll be good for us, working on it together.”
“I do too.” They had both been through rather a lot, and the peace and isolation from the rest of the world would give them the space they needed to heal.
“Mind, I hope the bed’s softer than the ground.” A teasing note entered Crowley’s voice as he shifted into a different position, his head pillowed on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “My corporation’s pretty pissed off about this.”
“Is it bad enough that we need to go…” Home “…inside?”
Crowley’s eyes flicked to him, and he smiled again, joy so strong that Aziraphale could feel it resonating through the metaphysical planes all around. “Nah, I’m just sore. I’m enjoying taking full advantage of our home too much.”
Tears stung Aziraphale’s eyes, and he sniffled as he pressed his brow to Crowley’s. “Our home.”
“Yup. I guess it turns out demons can have a home, eh?” Crowley’s slender fingers trailed along Aziraphale’s side, a tender touch full of love. “And so can angels.”
Too choked up to reply with words, Aziraphale nodded. He curled his hand around the back of Crowley’s head, drawing him to snuggle closer.
Crowley was shivering in the breeze, just the slightest bit, and Aziraphale pulled his wings into the physical plane. He swept one up and spread it across Crowley, a blanket of soft white feathers.
They laid tangled together as the sun dipped lower in the sky, dusk approaching. Soon, the stars would peek down on them. Perhaps they would gaze up at the beautiful sparkling lights later, and reminisce.
But for now, with the sun still casting a warm glow across the isolated land, Aziraphale closed his eyes and listened to Crowley’s slow, even breaths, basking in the joyful comfort of his presence. Here, safe in their new home, they could savor eternity together.