Ineffable Husbands One Shots

The Weeping Angel

Crowley didn't exactly know why he had driven over to the book shop at 8 pm tonight, but he had. He was here, and he was damned if he was going to return to his flat without at least talking to Aziraphale.

He burst into the shop and felt his heart drop as he heard a thick voice quietly but forcefully say, "We're closed."

He spotted a figure with his back turned to him, facing a perfectly organized shelf.

"Aziraphale?" he asked, his voice soft.

The man in question tensed and quickly wiped his eyes before turning to face him. "Ah, hello, dear. I'm sorry for the rude greeting, I wasn't expecting you," he tried for a smile. His voice was still thick, and slightly shaky. He was obviously working very hard to keep his emotions at bay, and was not entirely succeeding.

Crowley cautiously proceeded into the store, at a loss for words.

He had seen Aziraphale cry before, multiple times. There had been even more times when he was sure he was close to tears but the stubborn angel refused to let them fall. And so so many times when Crowley could tell the angel was holding something back, hiding his true feelings under a facade of cheer. He didn't know if he was good at sensing feelings in general, or just Aziraphale's. Or maybe Aziraphale was just bad at hiding his emotions. In truth, it was a mixture of all three.

The problem was Crowley never knew what to do. He knew Aziraphale was upset, and he knew he should do something but whatever that something was constantly escaped him.

Aziraphale always knew what to do. When Crowley came to him in an emotional state the angel had helped him without fail.

"Can I help you with anything?" Aziraphale jolted Crowley out of his thoughts with the mildly passive-aggressive question.

"It appears I should be the one asking you that question," Crowley's voice was full of compassion. "Are you alright?" he asked, despite knowing the answer.

"Perfectly," Aziraphale lied. "What do you need?" he edged into rude territory.

Crowley didn't answer. He didn't have an answer. He continued to slowly approach Aziraphale.

His yellow eyes stayed fixed on the angel, while his blue ones darted around the shop. Occasionally landing on Crowley, but flitting away just as quickly. Eventually they stopped, focused on a book Crowley was sure had no importance right now.

He was now close enough that he could clearly see the tears welling in his angel's eyes, threatening to fall at any given moment.

Crowley watched as, without the angel even so much as blinking, a tear escaped his eye, slowly rolling down his plump, flushed cheek. He took the final steps to the lachrymose man. Slowly, his hand lifted almost of its own accord, aching to wipe the tear away.

Aziraphale beat him to it, roughly raking a hand across his cheek, removing the offending tear. He turned his face away from the demon, "Crowley..." his voice cracked on the word. He cleared his throat before continuing, "If you cannot tell, I am not in the mood for pleasantries. Please-" his voice cracked again. He took in a shaky breath, still refusing to meet the demon's gaze.

Before he could continue Crowley quietly asked, "What are you in the mood for, angel?" Aziraphale's brilliantly blue eyes finally met Crowley's. They were quite literally dripping with desperation, brightened by the water that clouded Aziraphale's vision.

Wordlessly, Aziraphale watched Crowley's blurred form come closer and closer and closer until he was fully enveloped in... a hug? He just stood there for a moment, stunned out of his despair.