soldier, poet, king (a good omens fanfic)

03 - I don't know what compels me to do the very thing that fells me

Crowley shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll pass. Should be getting back home, anyway. Check on my plants."

"No, I insist." The angel said, not willing to let the demon slither his way out of this one. "It's the least I can do for you, since you ... daringly rescued me."

"It was nothing, angel." Crowley replied, keeping his gaze straight ahead. "And I told you, my feet are fine —"

"I saw you wincing the whole way here, Crowley." He said firmly. "Come inside before I have to drag you."

The other being looked startled at that, but luckily didn't comment, and followed Aziraphale out of the car and into the bookshop. The door unlocked automatically since Aziraphale could be bothered to use his key, and he immediately felt calmer surrounded by his books.

Crowley was slow to follow him inside, slipping in just before the door shut closed. It locked automatically, and Aziraphale sighed and set the bag of books on a nearby table. As Crowley slunk deeper in the shop, no doubt heading towards the backroom to lay on the couch like he usually did, Aziraphale opened the bag to inspect the books inside.

He had no doubt that they were exactly as they were when he had first put them inside, but a little bit of his heart still unclenched when he saw the covers were unscathed. Slowly, one by one, he took each book out and held it in his hands, inspecting all the pages and spines to make sure there wasn't any damage to it.

"Need a light?" Crowley suddenly asked. He jumped slightly and turned to see the demon slouched against one of the shelves, one hand on the pull for a lamp on the table beside him.

"Oh, yes, please." He said. The demon pulled the chain and the lamp flickered on, bathing the two in a golden glow. "You can go sit down if you want, I'll be there in a minute to help your feet."

Aziraphale turned back to the books, now able to see better because of the light, and expected Crowley to listen to his instructions and slink to the back. However, he didn't hear any footsteps, and when he glanced back he saw the demon still watching him. He gave him a small smile and ran a hand over the spine of the current book in his hand.

"I don't think I ever said thank you for saving my books." He told the demon. Crowley made a noncommittal hum. "And - well, it must be in my nature as an angel to be polite *, but I do really mean it when I say it. Thank you, Crowley."

* Crowley would disagree — all the other angels were only polite for appearances — and say that it was in Aziraphales nature to be polite, not an angels, but of course, he would never say that aloud.

"It wasn't anything, really, angel." Crowley replied, ducking his head. "I just didn't want to hear your complainin' about your books being destroyed."

"Angels don't complain." He said. "And I certainly don't, either."

"Whatever helps you sleep better at night." Crowley said. He looked proud at his quip and went to shift against the shelf, but Aziraphale was able to see his barley concealed wince when his feet shuffled across the floor.

"I don't sleep, Crowley, and you know that." He replied. "But let's get your feet iced, shall we?"

Luckily, Crowley didn't need any prompting to take his usual slumped position on the couch in the back room. Aziraphale discarded his coat and hat, both slightly stained with dark ash from the aftermath of the explosion, before setting about getting a tub to soak his feet in. It had been awhile since the angel had been involved with healing any injuries *, and he wasn't entirely sure how to treat holy burns. And so, he paused in his trek of getting water sent and turned back to Crowley.