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Wessex, 537 AD
Aziraphale’s spirits toppled rather dramatically downhill as he stalked away from Crowley. Absurd. Absolutely absurd.
How could Crowley have suggested that Aziraphale neglect his assignments? Normally, when they were on the job in the same area, they spent a great deal of time together. Were it not for Crowley’s suggestion, they might have agreed to meet for drinks later.
But Aziraphale couldn’t even look forward to that now. It was a matter of principle. He and Crowley had quarreled, and now they’d have to avoid each other. And any brief encounters they had while working wouldn’t be enough to ease the loneliness that came with being the only full time agents on Earth.
What answer had Crowley even expected? Of course Aziraphale couldn’t simply ignore his duties and go home. Especially with a demon. It was entirely—
Something crashed into him, sending him sprawling in the grass. The armor didn’t lessen the impact even slightly. He gasped, clutching at his shoulder.
“Now, that was very rude!” he snapped, twisting towards whatever had knocked him down. Or whoever. “Crowley, I told you, I’m not—”
But when he turned, it wasn’t Crowley. It was a human on horseback, swinging a mace at his head.
The mace collided with his helmet, and everything went dark.
It stayed dark—or at least dimly lit—for some time. Occasional flashes of awareness struck. The sound of a sword against metal, a familiar voice shouting, the feeling of being lifted and carried.
When a bit more light finally crept in, it hurt. An insistent throbbing all through Aziraphale’s head, as if he was being bonked by the mace with each heartbeat. There had been a mace involved, hadn’t there? Everything was so foggy.
He was warm now, though. Quite achy all over, but warm. He didn’t seem to be in his armor. That was nice. Armor wasn’t very comfortable.
But why wasn’t he in his armor? If someone was trying to hit him with a mace, he ought to be wearing armor.
Aziraphale opened his eyes to flickering candlelight. Groaning, he turned away from the brightness. Oh, how that made his head hurt.
“Whoa. Easy, Aziraphale.” Footsteps pattered across the floor, and a hand touched the back of his wrist. “Don’t move too much, okay? You got banged up pretty good. Probably got a nasty headache.”
“Yes. Rather.” Even speaking was a bit difficult. But the ringing in his ears had already improved a bit, at least. “What… happened?”
“You had a run in with your own side. Human side, that is.” Crowley sat beside him, hand still resting on the back of his wrist. “They saw you leaving my territory, figured you were mine.”
Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of that. He cleared his throat, battling against the inexplicable pleasure. “Well, I’m certainly not. Yours, that is.”
“Yeah, yeah, ‘course not.”
Still dazed, Aziraphale looked around at the room. Stone walls covered in tapestries that looked as though they belonged to a different period of human development, which meant they’d most likely been miracled up. The rather intimidating serpents inhabiting many of the stitched scenes added to that likelihood.
“What are you doing, miracling up a whole castle?” Aziraphale asked, guessing. Crowley gave him a deeply irritated look. “Humans aren’t supposed to have this sort of castle yet, not locally.”
“Well, they shouldn’t have plate armor either, but you were wearing it too. Miracled, I presume?” Crowley asked with exaggerated drama. “Not that it did you much good against the mace.”
“Not really, no.” Reaching up, Aziraphale touched the side of his head. It was bandaged, his hair stiff with dried blood. Everything went into a spin, and he dropped his hand with a moan. “Oh dear. I don’t feel well.”
“Nnnh, yeah. Your corporation seems to be bouncing back pretty fast, concussion’s already going away.” Crowley smiled a little. He’d taken off his own armor as well, and red curls spilled across his shoulders. “Just don’t move around too much, and you should be okay.”
“I don’t feel very okay.” Although it certainly could have been much worse. He might have discorporated, and then he’d really be in trouble.
“Lemme get you a drink, yeah?” With a sigh, Crowley reached for a jug. He poured two cups of something, then gave a little side to side sway. “S’ good wine, from France. I imported it myself.”
“Lovely.” Aziraphale covered his eyes with one hand, trying to stop the room from spinning. It didn’t help much. “Oh…”
“Wine will help,” Crowley said with rather more confidence than was reasonable. He slid his hand very carefully under Aziraphale’s head and lifted, then touched the cool cup to his lips. “Go on. Drink up.”
Reluctant, Aziraphale sipped. It was indeed very good wine, although he still wasn’t certain whether it was a good idea to drink just after getting knocked out. Still, it tasted good.
“There, that’s it.” Crowley eased him down to the pillows, then brushed a hand against the back of his cheek. Aziraphale’s breath caught. Oh goodness, that felt unfairly good. “Hmm, you’re still kinda cold. Not really the most hospitable place, eh?”
“Oh, I’m actually rather—”
But Crowley was already spreading another blanket across him. Aziraphale surrendered to the fussing, much more pleased with it than he ought to be. An angel really should not let a demon do any of this.
It really was quite pleasant, though, and even warmer now. Aziraphale found himself almost sleepy, feeling as if he could doze off any second. And while he didn’t normally like sleep, it sounded rather appealing at the moment.
Although he didn’t want to waste his time with Crowley. There would be far too little of it, on their current assignments.
“I do appreciate the aid, by the way,” Aziraphale said, a little weakly. Crowley glanced at him, but just dipped a cloth in water rather than responding. “You didn’t have to rescue me, you know.”
“Oh, I know. And it wasn’t a rescue. Just, er.” Frowning intently, Crowley dabbed at the blood on the side of Aziraphale’s head. The careful, cleaning touches also felt very nice. “I couldn’t let the guy get away with running around in my territory. Had to chase the bugger off, s’ all.”
“Ah, I see. That’s very plausible.” Aziraphale let a rather large amount of sarcasm leak into his voice. Crowley pretended not to notice. “And then you carried me up to your own chambers?”
“Technically, my men and I carried you. I’m not as strong as a Principality, after all.”
“A distinction of paramount importance,” Aziraphale said, even more sarcastically. Crowley ignored that too. “Well, regardless of the reason, thank you. It was very kind.”
“Oh, shut it.” Teeth clenched, Crowley glared at him as he slowly and painstakingly cleaned all the blood from Aziraphale’s hair. “Demons aren’t kind. I’m not kind.”
“Ah yes. My mistake.” Aziraphale watched him for a bit, heart aching with affection. He’d rather like to stay here, for the remainder of his time in Wessex. It was something of a shame that he couldn’t, really.
In fact, their entire situation seemed rather a shame. It was absurd that they couldn’t simply spend as much time together as they liked. It would be so much nicer not to have to worry at all about being on Opposite Sides.
Aziraphale tried to push the thought away. Perhaps it was just the result of his head injury. Yes, that was all. A knock on the head, that’s it, no blasphemy to see here.
And if he’d been knocked on the head, perhaps it would be excusable to give in to one of the thoughts that simply kept circling him. Couldn’t resist, that was all.
“Crowley,” he said, putting on a mournful expression. “I’m still cold.”
“Wot, seriously?” Crowley frowned with total confusion. “Guess I could miracle up another blanket, or build up the fire…”
“Oh, no. I was thinking…” Aziraphale glanced around at their surroundings, blankets and pillows and canopy over the bed. “It’s an awfully big bed. And I’m sure I’d warm up straight away with some, um. Help.”
Crowley’s eyes widened. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses at the moment, and Aziraphale found himself a bit lost in just how beautiful those eyes are. Must be the effect of the bonk on the head.
“That’s not a sin or something?” Crowley asked, a smile twitching onto his face as he turned back the covers and slithered into place on Aziraphale’s uninjured side.
“Hardly! It’s just all a part of...” Aziraphale scrambled for an excuse. “Efficiency, that’s it. Because if I discorporated rather than accept your generous offer to help me warm up, it would be very inefficient. Can’t waste time with silly things like needing new bodies.”
“Right, my offer.” Smirking now, Crowley settled in place and draped an arm across his stomach. “But can demons be generous? Maybe I’m actually tempting you.”
Aziraphale wasn’t entirely certain either way on that score. He was certain that Crowley was unfairly handsome, though, and that he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the assignment curled up right here in his arms.
That couldn’t be, though. Far too soon, he’d have to go back out there, to the cold, wet, lonely lands. He’d have to leave all this warmth behind, and Crowley too. They were on Opposite Sides, after all.
For now, Aziraphale just snuggled closer and rested his aching head on Crowley’s thin shoulder. He closed his eyes, sinking into the warmth. “Well, I suppose that if you’re tempting me to stay warm and not discorporate, that’s still ultimately a good thing.”
Crowley snorted, but didn’t argue with him for the moment. He just wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, hugging him close. Perhaps he, too, just wanted to take advantage of this precious stolen time.