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Disclaimer: Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn’t still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.
……….
I Would Never Hurt You
……….
Aziraphale was worried. More worried than he cared to let on.
He had just been attacked near St. James Park by a number of rogue angels. Apparently, they didn’t get the memo that he and Crowley were off limits. He had managed to kill two of the angels and escape from the other three, but he had been injured pretty severely.
The main bone in his wing was broken, and there was a large tear through it, which was currently dripping blood down his pristine white coat as he stumbled toward the bookshop. He was pretty sure his arm was broken, though he could feel his Grace healing that as he moved. He also had a deep gash across his chest where one of the angels had tried to stab him with a sword.
As he stumbled into the bookshop, flipping the closed sign in the window, Aziraphale realized that he was, for lack of a better word, fucked. His Grace could heal a broken arm, but injuries made with celestial weapons, like the tear in his wing and the cut across his chest, were practically impossible to heal by yourself.
The only way he wouldn’t bleed to death was if he got Crowley over to the bookshop ASAP to heal him.
Crowley.
Aziraphale cringed as he remembered how the angels had threatened Crowley as they were fighting him.
“When we’re through with you, we’ll go find your evil boyfriend and do him in too, our treat. That way, the two of you never interfere with the Great Plan again…”
“Just wait until we get our hands on that demon you’re always fraternizing with. He’ll be joining you in Hell shortly…”
“I’m going to make sure that Crowley gets killed by my sword…”
Aziraphale couldn’t even imagine life without Crowley anymore, and since he couldn’t reach his phone and had no way to warn the demon about the danger he was in…
Aziraphale’s legs gave out and he collapsed on the floor a few feet from the backroom. He had meant to make it to the couch in the back, but clearly his body had other ideas. He managed to prop himself against the wall, drawing his knees to his bleeding chest and wrapping his arms around them. Crowley had to be safe. He had to survive. If he didn’t… Aziraphale found that he didn’t really care about surviving of Crowley died.
He felt his strength leaving him as his back slumped and he slipped farther down the wall. His eyes started drooping, and his last conscious thought was a prayer to… well, anyone, that Crowley was safe and would find him before he died.
……….
Crowley was worried, and more than a little pissed off.
He had been walking toward Aziraphale’s bookshop when he had been attacked by three idiotic angels that thought they would be praised for killed him and Aziraphale. He had easily killed the angels, hardly receiving a scratch. Honestly, he had spent the better part of six millennia looking over his shoulder, three angry angels with swords were no match for him.
He was worried though, because one of the angels mentioned that they had bee a group of five, but the “traitorous angel” had killed the other two and escaped before they could “finish him off.”
Crowley had a feeling that they had been referring to Aziraphale.
He doubled the pace that he had been walking at earlier, practically sprinting down the street toward the shop, praying (yes, praying, something he had been steadfast in avoiding since his Fall) that Aziraphale would be alive when he got there.
He threw himself through the door when he reached the shop, letting it slam shut behind him. When he saw Aziraphale, he felt a panic that he only ever felt when the angel was in danger.
Seeing Aziraphale curled up in a ball, bleeding from a wound across the chest was enough to make Crowley feel sick. If Aziraphale died…
Crowley shivered and made his way over to his friend, carefully lifting him off the floor and carrying him upstairs to his dusty bedroom, allowing his demonic strength to help with the task. He snapped his fingers (which was a difficult thing to do with your arms full of unconscious angel) to clear the dust off the bed before carefully laying Aziraphale onto it.
Crowley brushed a hand over the bleeding gash in Aziraphale’s chest, which ran from one side to the other, and jumped back when the angel flinched.
Yes, this kind of wound needed to be healed by someone other than Aziraphale. Luckily, Crowley had the power to do it.
Crowley let his power well up and coil in his arm before opening Aziraphale’s torn shirt and drifting his hand across the wound. He allowed himself a tight smile as the flesh stitched together under his touch.
It was then that he realized that there was blood on his left hand even though he hadn’t touched the wound. Which meant that it got there when he had been carrying Aziraphale up to the bedroom. It could have only come from the back of Aziraphale’s coat, so he probably had a wound in his wing.
And if Crowley was going to heal it, he needed Aziraphale to wake up and materialize his wings.
Crowley frowned, becoming increasingly worried for his friend. He carefully removed Aziraphale’s bloody coat, waistcoat, shirt, and bowtie; pulling the bedsheets up and covering the angel’s bare torso. He carefully placed a pillow under Aziraphale’s head and moved to the other side of the queen-sized bed. He sat down, resting his back against the headboard and looking down at his unconscious friend. If Aziraphale didn’t wake up soon, he would bleed out, and Crowley couldn’t cope with the idea of living the rest of his life without the angel.
He reached down and lightly ran his hand through Aziraphale’s messy curls, smiling when the angel unconsciously leaned into the touch. Crowley let his hand drift down to Aziraphale’s cheek, letting his thumb brush across his cheekbone.
He had known for centuries, millennia, even, that he loved Aziraphale. He loved him more than anything else in the world. He would gladly lay down his life for the angel. And yet, here he was, with Aziraphale in critical condition and nothing he could do about it.
He moved his hand back up to Aziraphale’s hair, idly stroking it while he waited. If the angel pulled through, Crowley promised himself that he would admit his feelings. He couldn’t go through something like this again without Aziraphale knowing exactly how he felt. He was done being a coward.
As Crowley let his thumb stroke over a dark blond eyebrow, Aziraphale woke with a start, bolting up and with a gasp of pain.
“Wh – what’s happening?” Aziraphale stuttered, letting the sheets pool around his waist.
Crowley cleared his throat to let his presence be known, causing Aziraphale to jump and promptly tumble off the bed in a jumble of limbs and sheets.
Crowley struggled to bite back a laugh as Aziraphale grunted and stood from the heap he had landed it.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale muttered. Then, realizing that he had nothing on but his trousers, he yelped and pulled the sheets off the floor to wrap around himself. “What… what’s going on?” he cautiously sat on the edge of the bed.
“You were attacked by a group of angels. From what I gathered, you killed two of them and escaped from the other three. They came after me and I killed the rest, but they let it slip that they had injured you. I ran here and found you curled up in the shop bleeding from your chest, so I carried you up here and healed you. I think you also have a wounded wing, but I can’t heal that unless you materialize them.” Crowley explained calmly.
“Where is my shirt?” Aziraphale asked.
“You were bleeding from a wound in your chest, Aziraphale. I took it off. It was ripped and bloody anyway.” Crowley answered.
Aziraphale twitched, a look of pain on his face.
“I really need to heal your wing, angel.” Crowley muttered, standing from where he had been sitting on the bed.
“Yes… yes, of course.” Aziraphale muttered.
“Sit on the edge of the bed and face away.” Crowley commanded. Aziraphale complied, once again letting the sheet pool around his waist. “You’re going to need to materialize your wings, angel.”
Aziraphale tensed up before letting his wings unfurl and stretch across the room.
Crowley gasped as he assessed the damage, noticing that the bone of his right wing was snapped near where it connected with Aziraphale’s back. Several primary feathers were ripped out, leaving blood spots on the cartilage. There was a gash through the secondaries that left some of the feathers sliced in half. It left a sizable gap where feathers should have been.
“Is it bad?” Aziraphale asked quietly.
“Yes,” Crowley muttered, “but it’s nothing that I can’t handle. It’s going to hurt; the bone is broken.”
Aziraphale gave a sad sigh, his back tensing in preparation for the pain he was about to experience. He could feel blood still leaking down his bare back.
“Aziraphale…” Crowley let his fingers ghost over the patch of skin between Aziraphale’s wings – the most sensitive spot on an angel or a demon. He pulled back when the angel flinched, moving just enough so that he could look into Aziraphale’s eyes. “I would never hurt you. I would rather be tortured for the next six millennia than see you hurt. This is only out of necessity.”
“I know, Crowley. I’m just… freaked out because of the attack.” Aziraphale muttered. He reached out and grasped the demon’s hand. “I trust you.” He whispered.
Crowley gave him a tight smile, squeezing the angel’s hand, before turning back to the injured wing. He lightly placed his left hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder to give him a bit of comfort, before once again letting his power settle in his right arm and reaching out to heal the injury.
As soon as Crowley touched his wing, Aziraphale gave a pained gasp and reached up to cling to the hand on his shoulder.
Crowley grimaced at the pain he was causing his friend, trying to get it over with as fast as possible. He wished he could have done it while the angel was still unconscious like he had with the cut on his chest. If only he’d had access to his wings…
As the bone in Aziraphale’s wing righted itself, and the missing feathers grew back, silent tears started rolling down the angel’s face. Being healed hurt, especially when the injury was caused by a celestial weapon.
When Crowley was finished, he reached up and tipped Aziraphale’s head back into his chest, wiping away the angel’s tears with his thumb before running his fingers through his blond curls.
Aziraphale sighed contently and closed his eyes, folding his wings away so he could fully lean back against his friend. “Thank you, Crowley.” He muttered.
“I would never let you suffer, angel. Not if I can help it.” Crowley replied, squeezing the hand that was still holding onto his own. “Are you okay now?”
“I’m fine, my dear.” Aziraphale hummed.
Crowley let his hand in Aziraphale’s hair to drift down to the base of his neck, playing with the soft hairs that grew there. This elicited another happy sigh from the angel.
“I’m glad, angel. I… I don’t know what I would do if you… well, if I hadn’t healed you.” Crowley muttered.
Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “I know, dear.”
“Actually…” Crowley let his hand trailed down between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades before stepping back and making his way around the bed. He sat down cross-legged, facing his friend.
“Aziraphale, I care about you so much. More than you could possibly know. When you said… well, when you told me that it was over and we weren’t friends anymore at the bandstand the other day, I felt my heart break. And when I couldn’t find you in the shop fire, when I thought you were dead… Aziraphale, I can’t live without you.” He reached forward and tentatively took the angel’s hand in his own.
“I know, dear.” Aziraphale repeated, flinching at the reminder of the hurt he had caused his friend. He leaned forward, reaching up to brush his hand along Crowley’s jaw. “I couldn’t live without you either.” He leaned forward so their foreheads were pressed together. “I’m so sorry for all the things I said…”
Crowley breathed shakily, running his free hand over Aziraphale’s hair. “I was so worried, angel…” Crowley started to explain, trailing off when he found that he was unable to express how he’d felt when he thought Aziraphale would never wake up.
“Shh. It’s okay, Crowley. I’m okay.” Aziraphale shushed him, scooting forward so he could gather Crowley in his arms. The demon pressed his face into Aziraphale’s bare shoulder, wrapping his long arms around his back and letting his fingers trail across the patch of skin between his wings. Aziraphale shuddered when Crowley touched that spot, moving his hand to do the same.
When Aziraphale’s fingers touched that sensitive spot of skin, even through Crowley’s layers of clothes, the demon flinched. He was unused to this level of intimacy with anyone. But he trusted Aziraphale, so he relaxed into the touch, allowing himself to breathe in the scent of the angel (book, old cologne, and a hint of cinnamon. And blood, but that wasn’t typically something that Crowley would smell on him).
“I would never hurt you.” Aziraphale mimicked Crowley’s words from earlier.
“I know.” Crowley replied.
“I know I’ve hurt you in the past, Crowley. Just a few days ago I told you that we were on opposite sides, we weren’t friends, and I didn’t even like you. But I was lying. I wanted to be loyal to Heaven, I was praying that I was wrong, and that they wanted the war to be stopped. But I was wrong. I was wrong to trust in them over you. I know better now.” He leaned back just enough to look into Crowley’s eyes. “I’ve learned that you’ve been more loyal to me than they ever have. You’ve been there for me more than Heaven ever has. You have loved me unconditionally, and I’ve never afforded you the same courtesy. I’ve always loved you, Crowley, but I’ve never allowed myself to admit it. I was terrified that I would Fall. But I know now that I could never be condemned for love. And even if I did Fall, it would be worth it. It would always be worth it for you.” Aziraphale reached down to wipe a tear off Crowley’s cheek.
“You mean so much to me, Crowley. You’re just so… good. I know you don’t like it when I compliment you, dear, but it’s true. You’re a better person than anyone in Heaven ever could be.” He brushed his hand through Crowley’s fiery hair. “I love you. I love you so much, I don’t think it’s possible for me to express it. I’m not even sure that the word ‘love’ even encompasses what I feel for you. You are everything to me, and I’m so sorry that it had taken me this long to say that.” He leaned forward and kissed Crowley’s forehead, which made another tear fall from the demon’s eye. “I am so sorry for the way I’ve treated you over the last six millennia. As if you were a burden rather than a gift. But you mean so much to me dear… I’m just so sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize, Aziraphale. I completely understand.” He muttered through his tears. “But, for what it’s worth… I forgive you. And you’re right…” Crowley straightened from where he was still pressed against Aziraphale’s chest, looking the angel in the eyes. “I do love you unconditionally. I will always love you unconditionally.” He leaned forward and kissed Aziraphale, something he had wanted to do for six millennia.
Aziraphale kissed him back eagerly, threading one hand into Crowley’s hair and letting the other trail across the demon’s back.
Crowley pulled back after a minute, allowing their foreheads to rest together again. “I think you should rest, angel. You were badly injured, and sleep is a good way to let your body heal. I know I healed you, but some rest would still be good for you.”
“Only if you stay with me, dear.” Aziraphale muttered.
“Of course, angel.” Crowley flipped the covers down and stretched out, allowing Aziraphale to do the same before he covered them both with the blankets. Before the angel could settle in, Crowley wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer.
Aziraphale pressed his face into Crowley’s chest, feeling safer than he had in… well, ever. Aziraphale was never someone who particularly enjoyed sleep, he rarely participated in the action, but that night he slept so soundly that he didn’t even feel Crowley press a kiss into his hair.
And he barely heard the demon whisper “I love you” as he drifted off to sleep.