Chapter Text
Dream A Little Dream Of Me
Crowley liked to sleep much more than food. Food was Aziraphale’s guilty pleasure, the little touch of humanity which he allowed himself to indulge. Crowley would sometimes join him in the eating of food, but it was more to make his angel smile than the true enjoyment of food.
Alcohol was different; alcohol helped numb the mind and shifted reality. No miracles required, simply copious amounts of alcohol.
If Crowley let himself be honest, and let’s face it that was rarely, his one guilty human pleasure was sleep. He enjoyed sleep. Sleep was entertaining, and because they had bodies, that allowed them to dream.
Dreams.
Maybe it wasn’t sleep that Crowley valued, it was dreams. In dreams he could do anything, be anyone, revisit old memories, go back, go forward, jump, leap, and reach out to where he would fear in real life. In dreams he could be who he once was, an angel. He would dream of creating and stars and nebulae and entire universes filled with galaxies. He sometimes dreamed of being back in heaven, he sometimes woke up smiling, not remembering everything, but small flashes of the dreams.
But sleep wasn’t always good. Often there were nightmares. Sometimes he woke up crying and screaming. Sometimes he woke up having scratched himself bloody because he was fighting for his life. Fighting one’s “inner demons” so to speak, and sometimes that wasn’t as much of a metaphor. Nightmares reminded him too much of hell. Of the time before he was selected to be top side on Earth. Nightmares sent him back to the place he was supposed to belong, yet where he never fit in. Nightmares were hell. In nightmares he relived the fall, over and over again. He felt the burn, the pain, the suffering all over again. It didn’t end. Crowley often wondered if demons maybe didn’t dream at all, just had nightmares.
But every once in a while, more often after spending time with a certain angel, he had dreams. The dreams were worth the nightmares. In dreams he was fearless and unstoppable. He could be honest and not fear the consequences of said honesty. In dreams, he was besides his angel, with his angel, loving his angel, and he wasn’t told he was too fast. He was free to go as fast as he pleased and sometimes be unable to keep up with his angel. In his favorite dreams, they were not an angel and a demon, they were just…them. They could love as ardently as they pleased and no one paid them any mind. Those dreams were worth a million nightmares.
“Crowley dear?” Aziraphale’s soft voice broke through his daydream and he shook his head, turning to face the angel.
“Sorry, what?”
They had just gotten back from another restaurant that Aziraphale had discovered. A small hole in the wall kind of restaurant that specialized in beer battered chicken sandwiches. They had made their way there in the Bentley and miraculously found the perfect parking spot around the corner from the restaurant. Even Crowley had to admit, the sandwich was very tasty. It wa greasy and crunchy and delicious. He hadn’t planned on ordering his own, but when the smell of them reached him, he caved, it had nothing to do with Aziraphale’s hopeful shinning eyes looking at him from the top of the menu, nothing at all. They both enjoyed the meal and drove back to the bookshop, where Aziraphale had promised him some form of alcohol. And who was he to refuse alcohol?
Aziraphale had misplaced the bottle of scotch he wanted them to drink that evening and as he looked for it, Cowley had sat down on the loveseat and stared at the books in the shelf in front. He had seen the titles countless of times, hell he probably knew the bookshop as well as Aziraphale. He had gotten lost in his own thoughts as one of the titles reminded him of the lovely dream he had last night.
Now, having been caught day dreaming, he was reminded of how Warlock looked when Nanny caught him snooping around for the cookie jar. Aziraphale was looking at him with an odd expression, a bottle hanging from one hand while the other held two glasses. He had a soft smile on his lips, but his eyes were slightly concerned.
“You seem distracted tonight my dear, everything alright?” he walked to the table and poured two glasses of the scotch. He handed one over and sat down at his chair, looking at Crowley with that same odd expression.
“You like eating right?” Crowley said instead of answering, “But you don’t need to eat, we don’t actually need any food to survive.”
“Yes?” Aziraphale answered, eyebrows drawn closer together in confusion. It was like asking a fish if he liked to swim, but he didn’t want his friend to not talk, so he answered.
“I don’t care much for eating” Crowley said, gulping down half of the glass in one go, “Drinking, absolutely, but food? Eh, could go without honestly.”
“You didn’t like the restaurant?” Aziraphale tried to figure out where Crowley was trying to get.
“What? No, I did. I’m just saying, sometimes we can do things even though we don’t need to do them.” He finished his glass and went over to pour himself another. He downed that too and refilled it once more, before sitting back down.
He swirled the amber liquid around the glass, keeping his eyes on the small wave going around the glass as he asked, “Do you ever dream angel?”
Ah, this is where Crowley was going with this. Aziraphale was aware that he liked to sleep; he had even witnessed the demon falling asleep, usually after a long night of drinking on their part.
“I have dreamt before yes, but I don’t much care for sleeping. So much more can be done if one doesn’t sleep. I suppose sleep is to me as food is to you. I sometimes indulge, but it’s not something I greatly enjoy or miss.”
“What do you dream about?” Crowley asked him, slouching a bit more in his seat as the alcohol warmed him from the inside out.
Aziraphale finished his glass and refilled both of their glasses. “I don’t much remember dreams, I remember the feeling I wake up to more than the dream itself.” He shrugged, “I wake up content, sometimes laughing, I have even woken myself up from laughing, but I have never recalled what was so funny.”
Crowley smiled into his drink. “I think I’ve done that once or twice too. Strange isn’t it? An angel and a demon laughing themselves awake.”
“I suppose it is. I wonder if we were perhaps remembering a funny memory. You think two people could have the same dream?” he poured another glass full, the bottle was almost empty, so he miracled it full once more.
Crowley happily drank some more. “I don’t know. Not many angels and demons hanging out to ask. Not that any of them ever sleep. Or eat. I guess we’re on our own.”
“Could ask humans?” Aziraphale suggested.
“Psh. What do they know, they sleep because they have to, they eat because they have to. It hasn’t got anything to do with wanting to. They die if they don’t. We don’t.”
They both drank in comfortable silence, finishing the bottle, yet the bottle never emptied. Crowley was well on his way to being sloshed. He had somehow made it down onto the carpet, and his head was on the seat. His shades had long been abandoned and his eyes were closed. His dark hair stuck out in all directions in a way that should not be attractive, yet was. Not that Aziraphale was looking at him, he wasn’t, he just happened to glance up from the book he was reading and noticed his companion. Perfectly normal thing to do. He actually thought Crowley had fallen asleep, when the demon suddenly heaved a big sigh and opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling.
“What is it my dear?” Aziraphale placed the book back on his desk, fully paying attention.
“Ever had nightmares?” The question was whispered softly, in a way that made Aziraphale’s heart clench.
If Crowley noticed the extra-long silence after the question, he didn’t mention it. He just stared at the ceiling and waited for an answer.
“Once in a while, but like dreams, it’s difficult to remember what they were about.” Aziraphale wasn’t exactly lying, but he wasn’t telling the full truth either. He remembered images of his nightmares. Burned into his brain. Crowley suffering. Crowley being hit by Holy Water. Crowley getting punished for being around the enemy. For fraternizing. They were his worst nightmares. The ones where Crowley was injured, hurt, exorcised, banished, or destroyed and he was forced to watch. Unable to help, call out to, or comfort his friend as he met his end. Nightmares were the reason he didn’t chose to sleep. He couldn’t risk watching those things happen, even in his subconscious.
Crowley nodded then finally met Aziraphale’s eyes. They stared into each other’s eyes; a nonverbal conversation taking place between them. Neither was sure what they were trying to communicate, yet felt understood somehow. It was Crowley who broke eye contact first, reaching out to finish the last sip of alcohol in his glass.
“Tell me something angel.” He started and Aziraphale tensed slightly, hoping to God that he wouldn’t have to explain his nightmares. “Does the kind of beer they use change the texture of a beer battered chicken sandwich?”
Glad for the change of topic, Aziraphale and Crowley spend the rest of the night discussing the various beers and how they would improve or deter the taste of said chicken sandwich. They talked until it was more early morning than late night. After not getting an answer to a question he asked, Aziraphale looked over to see that Crowley had actually fallen asleep. He was lying down on the carpet, his head pillowed underneath his arm at an angle that didn’t exactly look comfortable, but he looked at peace. Aziraphale smiled and walked over, pulling one of the blankets over his friend.
He picked up the book he was reading earlier and flipped it open, he read for a few hours then decided to get another book. He was about to walk away when he saw a sharp movement from the corner of his eye. Crowley had curled into himself and his once peaceful face was scrunched in as if he were in pain. Concerned, Aziraphale made his way over. He heard small whimpers come from his sleeping companion as well as a few mumbled pleas under his breath. Not sure what to do, Aziraphale ran his hand through Crowley’s hair.
“Shhh, you’re all right Crowley, it’s just a dream.” Crowley stopped mumbling, but his face remained scrunched in a pained expression. An idea occurred to Aziraphale, he wasn’t sure this would work, but he gave it a try anyway.
“May your dreams be blessed.”
Crowley flinched a bit as if he had been hit by something, but his brow unfurled and smoothed out; once more having a peaceful sleep. Aziraphale let out a quiet sigh of relief. He wondered if Crowley often struggled with nightmares. Maybe there was something he could do. He slowly and quietly got up and looked around his shop. He had a book around here that may have something that could help his friend.
There it was. He had a book about different Native American tribes including the Ojibwe or Chippewa tribes. He had always had great respect for their traditions and had sometimes visited some of the tribes on his free time in between the missions sent to him from heaven. He had witnessed how they made the asabikeshiinh for their children and adults, hoping to keep the evils away from them as they slept. In modern days they were called dream catchers.
He looked over to where Crowley was now peacefully sleeping. Aziraphale had never made one before, but maybe he could make something similar for Crowley. If it would help his friend, it was worth a try. Smiling to himself, he opened the book, some research wouldn’t hurt before he got started. He would let Crowley sleep as much as he needed, and hopefully present him with the gift once he woke up.