Chapter Text
Even with Crowley’s help, Aziraphale struggled to limp back to the bookshop. Everything hurt an awful lot, and he was quite dizzy. It seemed he’d hit his head, and while he wasn’t entirely certain it was severe enough to be considered a concussion, heads did not like to be hit.
“My book,” he mumbled. It wasn’t difficult to talk, precisely, but his head did hurt quite a lot. “I need to go get my book. It wasn’t even one for sale, it was off my desk…”
“Right. Easy, okay. Here you go.” Crowley helped him lie down on the sofa, then snapped his fingers. A book materialized in his hands, and he waved it in front of Aziraphale’s face. “Book’s right here, okay? So you don’t need to do anything. Just lie still, let me take care of you.”
“Oh. Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “I don’t quite understand what happened.”
Crowley pulled out a first aid kit that Aziraphale kept under the counter, as responsible business owners ought to do. “How do you mean?”
“Well, the car. You said I got hit by it, but that doesn’t make any sense,” Aziraphale said. “It shouldn’t have hit me. It was very rude.”
Crowley pressed a cloth to the side of his bleeding head, and Aziraphale winced. “I mean, you did step out in front of the car.”
“Yes, but I do that all the time! Cars slow down automatically when you step in front of them, it must be some sort of a safety feature or…” Realization dawned, and Aziraphale suddenly felt as horrible as if he’d just spent an entire day being lectured by Gabriel for all his angelic failures. “Oh dear. Cars don’t slow down automatically, do they?”
“Nnnnh, not really.” Crowley made a face, his voice crinkling. “I mean, driver might slow down, but it definitely doesn’t happen automatically. How many times have you chewed me out for almost running over pedestrians, eh?”
“Well, I always thought the Bentley was a rather special case. I never even looked before crossing the street, and I was quite confused why humans thought it was so important.” Tears welled again, and this time Aziraphale couldn’t blink them away. They started to roll down his cheeks, and he gave a broken sob, which just made everything hurt worse. “You must think I’m… I’m so stupid. I am so stupid, I’m absolutely useless—”
“Nonono, hold up.” Scowling, Crowley shook his head. “You’re not stupid.”
“I don’t even know how to cross a street, Crowley! Or find a radio station that doesn’t play awful bebop!” Aziraphale sobbed again, then whimpered and clutched at his head as the pain worsened. “I don’t understand how you can put up with me. I don’t know how to do anything right, it’s just like Gabriel always said. I am soft, and far too stupid to be of any use, and…”
The sobs overwhelmed him, no matter how hard he fought them. It was horribly embarrassing, still more proof that he couldn’t cope with life. He’d only been without miracles for one day, and already he’d made a terrible mess of everything.
But Crowley didn’t yell at him for making a mess of it all, or even give him a look of stern disappointment for crying over making such absurd mistakes. He just bent, keeping the cloth against the side of Aziraphale’s head, and gave him a careful hug.
That was very much not helpful for bringing an end to the crying, but it did feel much better to cry into Crowley’s shoulder. Aziraphale did so for a while, unable to help it. And somehow, even though he was thoroughly falling apart, Crowley didn’t chastise him for it.
When Aziraphale at last stopped crying, Crowley pulled back. He took off his dark glasses, put them on top of the book he’d saved, and gave a soft sigh. “Look. I’m really bloody awful at reassurances.”
Aziraphale managed to smile a little at that. “No, you’re not. You reassured me very nicely earlier.”
“Hrng. Look, I don’t think you’re stupid.” Crowley dropped the bloody cloth into a bin that had miraculously appeared, then reached for disinfectant. “We’re not humans, but we kind of work the same way. We’re still people.”
“Well, yes. I-I mean…” Aziraphale sighed. “I’m perhaps not very good at being a person, but yes.”
“No one’s good at being a person, as far as I can tell from relatable memes. But listen, angel. People—human or otherwise—get used to what they know.” Gently, Crowley dabbed at the cuts on Aziraphale’s head and face with disinfectant. It stung quite a lot, and Aziraphale winced. “If you took a random human off the streets today and tossed ‘em in Restoration London, they’d be glad there were still coffee shops, but they’d be a wreck without their mobiles and cars and washing machines. Take a random person out of Restoration London and toss ‘em in Bethlehem, and they wouldn’t even have coffee shops.”
“Oh dear. I suppose that is true.” Aziraphale had always found it difficult to keep up with the swift changes of the world, but then again… “It’s really very unsettling not having miracles. In a way, one might say it’s also like one of those episodes of a science fiction television program where people became trapped in the past, and made all sorts of silly mistakes because they didn’t quite understand how things worked.”
“Right! Good one, angel.” Crowley grinned at him, looking quite proud of Aziraphale for thinking of the analogy. “It’s like that. You thought the world worked one way, because that is how it normally works for you. S’ no way you could have known. I mean, I don’t know how to tell if a cut needs stitches, so I’m gonna look it up now.”
“I just really didn’t mean to be so much trouble. I thought you’d just need to, I don’t know… help me move heavy boxes of books or something.” Aziraphale sighed, watching as Crowley tapped industriously at his phone with a distracted look. “It’s really become quite more comprehensive than that. You’re having to do all sorts of things for me, and I simply have no idea why you’re so happy to help me.”
“Because I love you,” Crowley said absently, scrolling on his phone.
“You…” Aziraphale blinked a few times. Perhaps he’d misheard, because of the head injury. “You love me?”
“Wot?” Crowley looked up from his mobile, golden eyes suddenly very wide. “I do?”
“Well, that’s what you said. You said that you’re happy to help me, because you love me.” Heat crept into Aziraphale’s cheeks, and had he felt well enough to move, he would have gone off to tidy shelves so that could escape the conversation, not to mention hide his own flood of emotion. “But, um. I-I know you were quite distracted when you said it, so if you want me to pretend I didn’t hear it, I can.”
“Ngk.” Crowley just sat there for a moment, and then made several more indecipherable noises. “Er. I mean, it’s true, but if you don’t feel the same way, we can pretend—”
“No! I mean, yes. I, um…” Aziraphale’s breath caught, and his injuries suddenly seemed rather less important. “I love you too, Crowley. And while I don’t quite know how the world works at times, I have read more than enough romance novels to know that we ought to kiss now.”
A grin spread across Crowley’s face, and he slowly put his mobile down. “Yeah?”
Aziraphale nodded, which made his head hurt, but that was quite all right. “Yes. In fact, I-I think that we ought to kiss rather a lot. And then perhaps have our pastries and coffee.”
Gently, and quite careful to avoid the scrapes, Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s cheek. “Anything you like, angel.”
He bent, and kissed Aziraphale with the utmost care. Really, Aziraphale had expected it to be a much more passionate and overwhelming kiss, at least based on his reading.
This kiss was only overwhelming in that the sweet and gentle presses of lips felt so wonderful. Aziraphale had no experience with this, and as far as he knew, neither did Crowley. But unlike the rest of the things in the world with which Aziraphale lacked experience, this was one area he intended to keep exploring even after he recovered the use of his miracles.
And perhaps this had all worked out for the best. He’d had a number of realizations today, and the hope that rushed through his mind as he kissed Crowley was rather an exciting one.
---
Crowley hadn’t been the one whose head collided with a parked car, but honestly he felt pretty dazed himself. Dazed in a good way, now that he and Aziraphale had talked.
He’d thought about his feelings for Aziraphale, sure, and he’d only just started considering what sort of life they might have. He just hadn’t expected to get it all out in the open now, let alone enjoy this much terrific kissing.
For now, they weren’t kissing, but he was pretty sure that more would come later. After Aziraphale got a nap.
It was weird to see Aziraphale sleeping, honestly. Crowley had only witnessed such a thing a few times in all the thousands of years they’d known each other, usually after both of them got really spectacularly drunk and forgot to sober up.
Now, Aziraphale was just sleeping, and pretty peacefully despite all the shit that had happened to him. Crowley had bandaged his injuries, gotten him cleaned up, helped him to drink his coffee and eat a pastry.
A couple of tiny miracles had fixed the damage to this outfit. Crowley couldn’t fix Aziraphale right now, but at least he could fix his angel’s clothes. Miracling away stains—and in this case, tearing—was easy enough for him.
Honestly, that went for all of this. Aziraphale had been so self-conscious about needing help, about not being sure how things worked. He’d been sure that he was being trouble.
“You’re not trouble, you know,” Crowley said as soon as Aziraphale woke up.
Aziraphale paused mid-yawn and stretch, giving him a baffled look. “I’m sorry?”
“You’re not trouble,” Crowley repeated. “With any of this. I like rescuing you, okay? Helping you is what I like best.”
A shy smile tugged at Aziraphale’s lips. “Even if I only need to be rescued from little things like modern music or ruffled hair?”
“Especially the little things.” On sudden impulse, Crowley ruffled Aziraphale’s hair more. Aziraphale blinked at him. “Look, angel. I love rescuing you. Don’t actually love having you in danger. Today when you got hit by the car, I…”
Crowley faltered, shuddering with memory. Memory of rushing across town, of running through smoke and flames, of screaming Aziraphale’s name into an empty and ruined bookshop.
“Crowley.” Aziraphale rested a hand on Crowley’s knee, the touch light and gentle. “It’s all right, my dear fellow. I’m here, and I’ll be fine.”
Letting out a long breath, Crowley nodded. The smoke of memory cleared, leaving just him and Aziraphale. “I know. Just… scared me earlier. The world really can be dangerous, and I don’t like having you in danger. Maybe we could just stay home for the rest of the week.”
Aziraphale smiled, nodding, then winced and rubbed his brow. “I’d like that. I-I mean, I had thought of going to the park to feed the ducks, but it may be safer to wait. Who knows, perhaps ducks are secretly fond of attacking people, and I’ve simply been protected by subconscious miracles all these millennia.”
“I think ducks are pretty safe, angel.” Crowley considered it. “Geese, on the other hand…”
“Oh dear. Yes, I-I do rather think we ought to stay home. And now, I think I’d like a nice cup of tea.” With a soft groan of pain, Aziraphale adjusted, then gave Crowley a look with big, pleading eyes. “Perhaps you’d like to rescue me from my inability to sit up easily?”
Grinning, Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand. “My pleasure.”
Once he helped Aziraphale up, they went into the kitchenette together, still holding hands. Aziraphale finally let go there, a look of relief settling onto his face. “It’ll be rather nice to do something straightforward,” he said, pulling a bag of loose leaf tea from the cupboard. “Oh, by the way. I-I’d like to ask you something.”
Since Aziraphale seemed to have making tea under control, Crowley leaned back against the counter. “Right, okay. Is it about what the other radio stations are for?”
Laughing, Aziraphale shook his head. “Not this time, although perhaps later you might explain why they bother to play anything other than classical. But, um… actually, it’s about what you said.”
“I’ve said a lot of things. Which one?”
“Well, that we ought to just stay home.” Aziraphale paused in the middle of spooning tea leaves into little strainers, and gave him a shy look. “Does that mean you consider the bookshop to be your home?”
“Hng. Er, didn’t really realize I said that.” Cramming his hands in his pockets, Crowley looked around the shop. At the stacks of books everywhere, the angel statues, the scrolls. “I guess so, sort of. I mean, I’ve spent a lot of time here over the past couple centuries. And wherever you are, that’s… hrgk.”
He cut off. He might be a retired demon, but he was still a demon, and some things were too sentimental to say even now.
“Wherever you are, that’s my home too.” Aziraphale beamed at him, and Crowley gulped. “That’s very sweet of you.”
“M’ not sweet,” Crowley muttered reflexively.
“But really, I-I think if there’s one good thing that’s come out of this whole miracle situation, it’s that I realized just how much happier I am when we’re together. And how much I want it to stay that way.” Still beaming, Aziraphale dropped the strainers into a pair of teacups. “Even once I get my miracles back, I think I’d like to live together. If you would like that too, I mean.”
“Gosh.” For a moment, Crowley couldn’t catch his breath. Then he managed it and nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot. We can kiss more that way, too.”
“Yes, we certainly can.” With another little laugh, Aziraphale leaned to steal a quick kiss. Crowley happily obliged him, and then Aziraphale reached for the kettle. “Now, let’s see about…”
Aziraphale picked up the kettle and immediately frowned. Crowley straightened up, alarmed. “Angel? What’s wrong?”
“Well, my kettle’s out of water!”
“M’ not surprised. You’ve been drinking tea practically nonstop all day. You’ve used a lot of water.”
“Well, yes. But kettles automatically refill themselves!” Aziraphale said indignantly, then paused. He blinked down at the kettle. “Ah. Kettles don’t automatically refill, do they?”
“Not generally. But don’t worry, angel.” Crowley took the kettle from him and winked. “I’ll deal with this.”
Crowley kissed Aziraphale once more first, and then whistled “Don’t Stop Me Now” while filling the kettle. It was good to be home.
---
One week later
“I do think it’s worn off,” Aziraphale said, a little cautiously. “I feel much more like myself.”
He and Crowley had been snuggling on the sofa when it happened, a sudden rush of energy and a sensation that he could do absolutely anything. Aziraphale had never been sick before, not in the same way as humans, but it felt rather like he imagined a sudden recovery from some illness would feel. As if everything was working properly.
“Terrific. You look better, too. Er.” Crowley made a face, nose crinkling. “Not that you don’t always look great. S’ just, your eyes are brighter.”
“Well, that’s good, I suppose. Um.” Rather nervous, Aziraphale straightened up. “I suppose I ought to test it, although I don’t know on what!”
“Could open the shop and see if you can deter customers again.”
Aziraphale gave a weak laugh. He’d closed up the shop that first day, and kept it closed. It had been something of a difficult week, although made much easier by Crowley’s steadfast company and care. He’d simply been so tired, and having to do everything the human way was rather more wearing.
The fatigue meant that he needed sleep, and sleep had been terribly disruptive to Aziraphale’s reading plans. He hadn’t minded it quite so much once Crowley started sharing his bed, though. Neither of them had an interest in things like “making love”, as the humans deemed it, but they both very much enjoyed kissing and cuddling. Sharing a bed was ideal for that, and Aziraphale found that sleeping in Crowley’s arms was actually rather lovely.
“I don’t quite feel like battling customers today, and it shouldn’t be anything dangerous like walking in front of a car to see if it slows down. And I still have tea, or I’d try boiling the kettle via miracle.” Aziraphale considered the problem. “And I don’t want to try summoning anything to myself just in case something goes wrong. It would be awful to lose a first edition Wilde to the aether.”
“Nothing could be worse,” Crowley agreed solemnly. “Could turn the radio on with a miracle.”
Aziraphale sighed. “I like my radio, too.”
But it was an awfully good idea, and so he raised his hand. After a deep breath to brace himself, he pulled it back down and snapped his fingers.
The radio turned on at once, playing some very nice Schubert. Aziraphale gestured again, and the station changed.
Rather than playing some horrible bebop, however, the radio switched to Tchaikovsky, and Aziraphale sighed with relief. “Oh, thank goodness! No more awful modern music.”
Crowley snorted, but he was grinning. “Right, so you’re good to go?”
“I seem to be! And I’m quite relieved that Radio One is back to playing sensible music. Hopefully, now that I have my miracles back, the rest of the world will start working like it used to.” Which would be quite a relief, given how tired Aziraphale had gotten of refilling the kettle. “From now on, though, I do intend to look both ways before crossing the street.”
“Good. Don’t want you getting hit by any more cars.” Crowley pulled him close again and kissed his cheek, then leaned their heads together. “How’s all that feeling, anyway?”
“Well, still a touch achy, but not too bad. I think all the sleep helped.” At least, Aziraphale had read in plenty of novels that it was important to rest while sick or injured. As he’d been eager to snuggle more with Crowley, he hadn’t objected too much to the idea. “And my burn from the book is healing quite nicely, too. Thanks to your attentive care, no doubt.”
“Hrgh.” Casually, Crowley looped both arms around him and held him in a snug embrace. It felt very good. “What are we gonna do with that book, anyway? I know, I know. Destroying or damaging it is out of the question. I could go for a little defacing, just get rid of the cursed inscription. We can’t exactly just leave it lying around the bookshop for you to accidentally grab while looking for Agatha Christie.”
“I suppose we can’t,” Aziraphale said, rather reluctant. “But I can’t let you deface it, either.”
Crowley sighed.
“Well, not without knowing whether that would even break the curse! Curses aren’t exactly my specialty. Might need to contact an occultist, perhaps Ms. Device.” Biting his lip, Aziraphale considered the problem. Yes, that was likely a good solution, if not an immediate one. “Perhaps I ought to get a nice safe, and put it in there for now.”
“Oh, I’ve got a safe. The blessed—sorry, cursed—book can sit next to my empty holy water thermos.” After kissing Aziraphale’s cheek once more, Crowley let go and hopped up. “Wanna swing by my flat, drop the book off, pick up some houseplants? Then we could go feed the ducks, have some dinner at the Ritz…”
“That sounds wonderful, my dear!” Warm with excitement, Aziraphale rose and collected his jacket, which Crowley had been kind enough to de-wrinkle for him earlier. “Um. You’d better carry the cursed book, though.”
Once Crowley tucked the book under one arm, he and Aziraphale joined hands and proceeded outside to the Bentley. It was a rather chilly afternoon, but Aziraphale could always miracle up a few scarves should it prove necessary. He and Crowley would have a wonderful evening together, and when they’d had their fill of the outside world, they could return home together.