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Crowley bolted upright in bed, panting heavily. He could barely remember the nightmare, but the sight of the red-hot flames and the smell of burning pages stuck around. He looked around him and realised he was in his own room, safe and sound, but the fear and the panic he had been feeling while he slept didn’t dissipate.
He stumbled out of bed and rushed to his phone. His entire purpose for existing at that moment in time was centred on one thing and one thing alone: to make sure his best friend was okay.
He dialled the angel’s number and waited while the phone rang over and over again. He felt a pit open up in his stomach and a feeling like every organ in his body being violently thrown over the edge into the abyss. He wasn’t answering the phone…
Then, after an eternity of waiting, he heard a voice.
“Crowley dear, I understand we keep to rather more erratic hours than may be considered usual but it is three in the morning…” the angel quipped, voice heavy with sleep. Crowley had never heard a more beautiful sound in all his life.
“Aziraphale?” He checked, not quite trusting his ears.
“Of course it’s me, dear,” he chuckled half-heartedly before Crowley totally broke down. Despite hearing the voice on the other end of the line assuring him he was okay, the demon was powerless to shake the crushing weight of loosing him. He felt himself carelessly thrust back in time into the memory of standing alone in the bookshop as the charred remains of the bookshelves toppled to the ground around him.
He dropped the phone as the sheer weight of the emotion shoved him to his knees, dropping his head and letting out a defeated sob as the darkness came to rest over him. He was painfully aware of his heartbeat hammering at least twice as fast as it should have been, and the throbbing of it was all he could hear for such a long time.
Finally, desperate to cling to something that could drag him out of the haze, he heard a voice. It was distant, and he had no idea where it was coming from, but he heard it nonetheless.
“Crowley talk to me,” it said. “What’s wrong, dear?”
Crowley recognised that voice anywhere, and was more determined than he’d ever been to not let it disappear this time. He was never letting go of that voice again.
“Angel,” he sobbed in a desperate and heart wrenching plea for help.
“Dear what’s happening?” The angel repeated his question now he was relatively sure the demon on the other end could hear. Crowley struggled to think of an answer to that question, but was vaguely aware of the fact the answer would have eluded him even if he wasn’t thinking through a dense haze.
“I don’t know,” he choked, trying in vain to take a few deep breaths. Finding he was unable to sent a pang of terror shooting like an icicle through his racing heart.
“It’s okay, dear.” Aziraphale’s comforting tones flowed like music through the speaker. “You’re safe. Everything’s alright.”
Aziraphale’s voice was a beacon in the storm, guiding Crowley out of the swirling darkness. He listened to his soothing murmuring, reassuring him that everything was okay, while he felt his heart rate slow steadily and the looming presence somewhere over his head lift.
Finally, he could think clearly again, and he looked at the phone, abandoned on the floor so long ago. He didn’t know how he was even able to hear the angel’s voice, but he had no doubt who had made that happen.
“Are you with me Crowley?” The soft question sounded from the other end of the line.
“Yeah,” Crowley suggested in a breathless tone that suggested maybe he wasn’t too sure of that fact himself. He was beginning to feel a dull ache radiating from his knees, and his head was pounding in time with the beating of his heart. The angel’s voice knocked him out of his slightly shocked thoughts.
“I’ll be right there.”
#
Crowley heard a knock at the door. He didn’t know how long it had been. He had been kneeling on the floor staring down at his hands since the angel hung up the phone, but he was sure it couldn’t have been long. All he had to do was look at the door and it swung open, revealing the beige-clad figure of Aziraphale.
Without missing a beat, the angel was by Crowley’s side, kneeling on the ground next to him. He grabbed both his hands in his own and stared so deeply into his eyes the demon felt himself grow a soul just so he could look into it.
“Are you alright my dear?” He asked quietly. Crowley stared blankly into his face, trying desperately to work his way through the flood of emotions to get to the bottom of what he was really feeling. When that failed, he sat up on his knees and wrapped his arms around the angel, pulling him as close to him as he possibly could. The physical intimacy was unusual for both of them, and Crowley half expected him to pull away, but in less than a second the angel’s arms were wrapped around his back and holding him tight.
It was only then, with Aziraphale literally within his grasp that he allowed himself to really register that he was absolutely fine. He knew, somewhere deep inside, that worrying about it was ridiculous, but after being thrust into the same emotion he felt when he first laid eyes upon that bookshop it was impossible to push it away with rational thought.
He suddenly realised he was exhausted, and shut his eyes, resting his head on the angel’s shoulder.
“Come on, Crowley,” the angel prompted as he pulled away and helped him to his feet. As soon as he was standing, the demon sat on the edge of the desk, feeling as though supporting his own weight was a move that wouldn’t end well. He looked sheepishly up at the angel, starting to feel vaguely embarrassed.
“Sorry, angel,” he said.
“Demons don’t apologise,” the angel joked back, giving him a sad smile. Crowley didn’t respond. Truth be told he was far too tired to care what happened next, and had decided to let the angel take the lead.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
Crowley didn’t argue as the angel wrapped a strong arm around his back, steadying him on his feet. They walked slowly through the dark apartment until they reached the demon’s bed (which he didn’t strictly need to use, but which was a lot more comfortable than the walls or the ceiling). He watched the angel walk away, and a pang of something stabbed through his chest. The angel must have picked up on his discomfort, despite the fact Crowley was pretty sure he didn’t give it away.
“I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promised.