God I've let you guys wait for this one, sorry about that. Plot needed to happen but your girl just wants to write her dramatic emotional dialogue lol
But I finally got something! I pulled an all-nighter as a birthday present to myself and here we are xD
Thanks so much to everyone who's still here, hope you enjoy, always feel free to share your thoughts and yell at me in the comments :)
~oOo~oOo~oOo~
It's worse than the pain of his own blade slicing through him.
Aziraphale presses his teeth together until they hurt, but it only works for a few moments before another scream is ripped from his lungs.
His back feels like it's on fire, every burst of Crowley's energy making him feel like his flesh is melting from his bones.
He breathes through it for a second, two seconds, three, the edges of his vision going white.
Crowley stops, pulls away.
Aziraphale's entire body slumps down as the worst of the pain goes with him, opening space for the angel to feel the worry radiating from the demon like a tangible thing in the air, knows what Crowley is going to say before he even opens his mouth.
"Again", he says before the demon gets a word in. "Go again."
"Aziraphale-"
There it is, in his voice. Aziraphale can't look at him, can't look at the clenched teeth and the furrowed brow and the caring eyes.
"Again!", he says. "Crowley-"
"I can't!"
Aziraphale has to turn around at the distress in Crowley's voice, finds the demon's features etched with anguish.
"I'm hurting you! You're literally screaming, Aziraphale!" Crowley's eyes seem to water, but the demon quickly looks away. "It's too much, I can't-"
"Is it working?", Aziraphale breaks him off, breathing deeply to hide the way the searing pain in his back is still bothering him. "Crowley", he says more gently, waits until the demon looks at him. "Is it working?"
Crowley looks reluctant, bites his bottom lip. Then he nods.
Aziraphale takes a breath.
"Then I want you to go again."
"I-"
"Please, Crowley." He looks at him imploringly. "I'm asking you to do this." He hates that he has to do it like this, hates that he knows exactly what he's doing, because he knows that Crowley never denies him anything he asks for. "For me", he adds, because he's selfish, and he knows it will work. "Keep going, until it's finished. I promise I can take it."
He also knows Crowley wants to say no. He understands. He's not sure he would have it in himself to hurt Crowley like this either, even knowing it will help in the long run.
The demon presses his lips together, looking anywhere but at Aziraphale as he wrings his hands.
"Okay, fine", he says then, curt words pressed through gritted teeth. "Let's get it over with."
They get into position, both steeling themselves in their own way, and Aziraphale finds himself reaching for Crowley's free hand, squeezing it hard when the next wave of burning pain hits.
Soon, he loses track of how long they've been going at it, his throat feels raw and his screams echo in the room like they're someone else's. The pain that had started as a local point of searing anguish wherever Crowley focused his energy has melted together into one big tapestry of aching torment, overtaking his senses until his head is swimming, black spots dancing before his eyes.
Aziraphale clutches a hand around the headboard, fingers clamped so tightly the wood groans under the pressure.
"Almost", he hears Crowley say, muttering to himself. "Almost-"
It hits him again, and he blacks out.
~oOo~
Aziraphale blinks, the light burning in his eyes as he stretches his stiff limbs with a groan.
Everything feels like he hasn't moved in aeons and run a million-year-long marathon at the same time, his tense muscles protesting even from the subtle movement of his chest when he breathes.
"Aziraphale?"
He somehow manages to roll over, instinctively drawn to the sound of Crowley's voice next to him even as his body screams at him.
"Is it done?", Aziraphale asks, looking up at worried yellow eyes.
"Thank fuck, you're awake." Crowley leans down, draws a hand over his face. He looks tired, a troubling look for a being that isn't supposed to need sleep or rest, shadows under his eyes and deep lines etched onto his forehead. "I thought I'd done too much", he says, "miscalculated and maybe you'd be- fuck-"
"Crowley." Aziraphale inches a hand towards the demon, fingers grazing his arm. "I'm fine. Is it done?"
Crowley swallows hard, then nods.
"Yeah."
Aziraphale breathes out in relief, feels the residual tension bleeding from his body as he sinks further into the bedding.
"And did it-?"
"Started healing", Crowley says, and he can hear the same relief in the demon's voice now, the same flicker of hope he feels glimmering in his chest. "Scabbed over basically right away. Should be even better in a couple hours."
"Good." Aziraphale attempts a smile, and it has to work well enough if the soft look Crowley gives him is anything to go by. "That's good."
"Yeah."
"Thank you." His fingertips are still resting against Crowley's arm. Aziraphale can't bring himself to take them away, and not just because every movement hurts.
As expected, Crowley shakes his head.
"Don't-", the demon says, but Aziraphale won't have it, not this time.
"Crowley."
His voice is rough from hours of screaming, tired from weeks of pain, sounding as small and weak as he feels. But there must be something in his tone that captures Crowley's attention, because he stops protesting right away and looks at him, eyes wide and guarded yet vulnerable- and Aziraphale wishes he had the words to express everything his heart can't contain.
He doesn't. He isn't sure if the words would be welcome even if he could put them together.
But this, he can say.
"Thank you", he repeats, with all the love and gratitude burning inside him, in the simple hope that the demon will understand.
Crowley looks at him for a long moment, Aziraphale watches as he presses his lips together to a thin line, prepares for the inevitable rejection and forcefully casual dismissal, but it never comes.
The demon nods. A few quick jerks of his head.
Then he wordlessly starts pulling the blankets back into place, smoothing down folds and adjusting pillows around the angel's head, and Aziraphale knows what it means.
This conversation is over.
~oOo~
Aziraphale drifts in and out of consciousness for a long while.
It could be hours, it could be days - he has lost sense of time altogether. He feels disoriented whenever he wakes, like someone has stuffed his head with cotton and made his eyelids droop to pull him back under so sleep can claim him again. But despite the exhaustion that is still overwhelming his corporation, he can tell it is healing, feels the mushy sensation subsiding and the ache in his back calming more and more each time he opens his eyes.
Crowley is there most times, sleeping beside him, lying awake on his phone, watching him with attentive care.
One time Aziraphale blinked awake with his back turned to Crowley, his senses slowly coming back to find the demon carding gentle fingers through his hair, and he had made sure to lie as still as possible, hoping Crowley wouldn't notice he had woken and pull away. That time had been his favourite, even though he hadn't managed to stay awake and enjoy the attention for long - the soothing sensation of Crowley's fingers in his hair had done wonders to lull him back to the most peaceful sleep he'd experienced as of yet.
And then at some point, he couldn't possibly tell how long it has been, he wakes to find his head clear, his corporation unusually devoid of any pain screaming for attention.
There is no stiffness to his limbs, no headache pounding behind his temples, no burning ache in his back.
The pain is just...gone.
A breath of relief flows out of him, his eyes watering momentarily as he feels himself overcome with the hope that it may finally be over. Aziraphale blinks the tears away, lets his shoulders sag and sink comfortably into the mattress as he allows himself a moment to feel his corporation, the blissful absence of any pain as he shifts and melts into the sheets.
It feels normal again, feel almost right again, were it not for the missing weight of his wings no longer tucked away on another plane. Even bound to his corporeal form, Aziraphale can feel their loss, can tell they took some of his grace with them - an angel's ethereal powers are stored where their connection to Heaven is closest, and an angel's wings are their heavenly representation made flesh in an earthly body, holding some of that power within them.
He hasn't taken the time to mourn them yet, not properly. He will, but not right now.
Right now, all he wants to concentrate on is the relief, the hope he feels bubbling up tentatively inside him, the gratitude for the demon without whom he would never have made it through this, without whom none of this would be worth anything-
Aziraphale turns slowly, finds Crowley asleep on the other side of the bed. He doesn't wake him, doesn't dare in case he's wrong and his body is only tricking him into believing it's finally over.
Aziraphale sits up, takes a slow breath when the world thankfully doesn't spin around him, his back doesn't protest the movement. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, pushes himself up carefully until his bare feet hit the smooth wooden floor.
He's standing upright for the first time in weeks, soft pajama bottoms Crowley had miracled for him swishing around his ankles. He needs to steady himself with a hand on the mattress for a moment, his underused legs learning to balance his weight again, but then it's like he was never confined to bedrest at all.
His ethereally charged body adjusts as quickly as it's supposed to, his steps are steady and sure as he makes his way to a mirror in the corner of the room that hadn't been there five minutes ago.
His torso is still bare, looking perfectly normal for all he can tell, a sprinkle of white chest hair, the familiar curve of his belly where it pudges out over the seam of light grey pajama bottoms.
Aziraphale takes a breath, closes his eyes, and turns around.
When he opens them again, he is met with the sight of two thick scars protruding from his back, the deep lacerations healed where he's been cut deep between his shoulder blades.
They're redder and less smooth than the rest of his skin, standing out like lines of blood drawn in snow. Aziraphale knows he could feel the raised bulges and uneven texture under his fingers if he were to reach out and touch. He doesn't, carefully flexes his shoulders instead and feels the skin pulling weirdly around the scar tissue, but there isn't any pain.
"Aziraphale."
His head turns quickly, finding Crowley awake on the bed and looking at him.
"You're up", the demon says, yellow eyes bright in the dimness of the room. He can see as Crowley swallows, shifting under the covers. "How're you feeling?"
"Much better, dear." Aziraphale manages a smile. "Look."
He can't help the quick irrational thought that he doesn't want Crowley to see him like this, but he pushes it down, aware it's a ridiculous way to feel. Crowley has cared for him through all of this, he has seen him when he was tattered and bleeding. This is nothing in comparison.
He makes himself turn around, watches in the mirror as Crowley's eyes travel over his back.
"It's healed", Crowley says, and the relief is palpable in his voice, even as he obviously tries to reel it in.
"Thanks to you."
Crowley doesn't say anything to that, but the fact he doesn't deny it or brush it off is already a victory in Aziraphale's book.
He waits and watches in the mirror as the demon keeps staring at him with slightly parted lips, looks at the rumpled sheets next to Crowley on the bed where he had spent the last weeks, wonders if by getting off that bed, he had unintentionally determined the last moment he'd been welcome to occupy that space.
Because this is it, Aziaphale realises with sudden clarity.
His back is fine, his wounds are healed, his need for care is over.
That bed had been his to lie in while he needed it, but he doesn't need it anymore.
Crowley's presence had been his to selfishly exploit while he depended on it, but there is no excuse to keep doing it now.
Aziraphale looks up, meets Crowley's eyes in the mirror. The demon swallows hard, eyes wide in a way that tells the angel he's probably come to the same conclusion.
He has to look away.
He can't watch the resolve settle in those golden eyes, can't watch as Crowley will inevitably get up, leave the bed they have shared, tell him to walk away, and not to bother coming back this time.
Crowley doesn't get up, doesn't say anything.
In fact, he doesn't move at all.
The silence stretches until Aziraphale can feel it pressing down on him, pushing against his chest, and he can't breathe, he can't breathe. He can feel Crowley's eyes on him, can feel the tension in the air, building with every second, pushing, pushing- and he can't take it anymore.
Aziraphale turns around, meeting Crowley's stare with a forced smile, and he says the first thing that comes to mind, the only thing that feels safe, the only thing that might save him.
"I do still feel quite tired", it tumbles out of him, a lie - one he's hoping won't be too obvious and serves to cover the panic threatening to shine through in his words. "I'm not in pain anymore, but-" He's almost scared to look at Crowley, to see his reaction, but he can't tear his eyes away. "I might need to take it slow for a while longer", Aziraphale says carefully, watches as Crowley's mouth twitches, the movement of his throat as he swallows.
"Yeah", the demon says then, slowly, cut off by a jerking nod. "Course, course. Wouldn't've expected you to be up and runnin' right off the bat after a thing like that."
Relief floods Aziraphale, a tentative smile spreading on his face.
"And they do say healing is a process, after all."
"Sure do."
"So I'll just-"
He gestures to the bed, takes a step towards what he has preposterously come to think of as his side.
Crowley nods again, makes an awkward waving motion with his hand in invitation, a renewal of the gracious courtesy he has chosen to grant Aziraphale for some unfathomable reason.
"Go ahead, yeah, uhm..." Crowley trails off, rubs the back of his neck where his hair is still standing up at lovely messy angles after his nap. "Can I- get you anything or...?"
"Oh no, don't go through any troubles, please."
Crowley lifts an eyebrow, looks at him in that knowing way that makes Aziraphale's cheeks heat because it tells him once more that the demon knows him all too well.
"I do perhaps feel a little peckish", he admits sheepishly, "but-"
"Course!" Crowley practically flies off the bed, be it in his haste to tend to Aziraphale's every wish, or escape his presence as quickly as possible. His leg gets tangled in the sheets as he goes, making him stumble for a moment, his posture just a little too stiff when he catches himself against a wall and straightens his back, pointedly not looking at Aziraphale. "Haven't eaten in- how long? Never go more than a day without- should've called that, really", he babbles, already making his way to the door. "Maybe I still got some- uh, don't think so. Nevermind. But I can- Gonna whip something up real quick, no problem."
"No really, you shouldn't-"
"Coming right up", Crowley calls over his shoulder, skillfully ignoring the angel's protest.
Fleeing from his presence it is, then.
"Don't worry about it. You just wait here."
"Crowley-"
And finally, the demon actually pauses and looks at him.
"Aziraphale", he says, something serious overtaking his tone. "Wait here."
It almost sounds like a request. Like a plea.
Please, let me do this.
Please, let me do this for you.
Please, let me go.
Aziraphale swallows hard.
"Alright", he says, and he thinks he might even see a little smile hiding in the corner of Crowley's mouth. Then the demon turns, leaves.
Aziraphale watches him go, and it's fine, it's fine for now, because he knows he'll come back.
Aziraphale breathes in, seeing that the crisis has been averted, at least for now.
It hasn't been resolved, of course. Nothing between them has.
But he has bought some time, and he almost convinces himself that Crowley has jumped at the opportunity far too readily for it not to mean something.