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Chapter Text

It was 1:30 am, and Crowley was sitting in bed in utter darkness, wide awake. He’d been feeling queasy all evening and had gone to bed at 11 p.m. only to wake up two hours later from sudden stomach cramps. Aziraphale was away for the weekend for some kind of collectors’ convention. He had said Crowley could always call him, like he always did when he had to go out of town, but this was the first time Crowley might have to take him up on it.

Crowley had been staring at his phone for the last thirty minutes, going back and forth between calling and not calling his best friend. It was so late, and Aziraphale had a big day tomorrow. Not to mention his partner needed a lot of sleep and was almost just as prone to headaches as Crowley was. But the pain was getting unbearable, and Crowley didn’t know what to do with himself any longer. There was no way he would make it through the entire night without attempting to tear his cramping stomach from his body.

He picked up his phone for the thirtieth time tonight, but immediately dropped it on top of the duvet as another sharp flash of pain shot through him. Crowley forced out a deep breath. His breathing was erratic. Hot flashes made him feel like he was being boiled alive. He was pretty sure he was spiralling into a panic. Aziraphale would know what to do. He always did. 

When the pain eased to a bearable level that didn’t make Crowley want to curl up into a ball and die, he mustered up his courage and called Aziraphale.

Tears welled up in his eyes as soon as the dial tone droned into the deafening silence of their bedroom. He and Aziraphale spent nights apart on occasion, and Crowley had never felt lonely on his own before. But tonight, while in this state of agony with no idea what was causing it, not having Aziraphale by his side was a kind of torture Crowley couldn’t withstand without at least hearing his voice.

Guilt tore through his chest as the phone rang, his eyes flickering to the digits burning accusingly at the corner of the screen. Parts of him hoped Aziraphale had his phone on silent. He usually did, and Crowley had been cross with him on a few separate occasions, asking him why the hell he had ever bought a phone if Crowley wouldn’t be able to reach him with it anyway?

But of course, the considerate bastard had turned on the sound now that he’d gone away for a few days. Crowley’s heart skipped with equal parts nerves and relief when the dial tone vanished. Aziraphale’s groggy voice seemed to crawl out of his phone, low and husky. “Crowley?”

Crowley’s lip began to quiver. Blast his treacherous body. “H-hey, angel. Sorry for—I’m sorry for calling so late.”

He heard a sleepy sniffle and the rustling of sheets. If he had to guess, Aziraphale had propped up his pillow against the headboard of his hotel bed.

“How’s the hotel?” Crowley asked coarsely.

“You know I love the Premier Inn,” Aziraphale replied, sounding a lot more awake already. Alert, even. “That’s not why you’re calling me at half one. What’s wrong, dearest? You sound awful.”

“Thanks, I miss you too.”

“Crowley.”

Another cramp tore through his abdomen. Crowley sucked in a breath through his teeth as he clutched at his stomach with his free hand. He breathed out with a stutter. 

“Darling, talk to me,” Aziraphale implored urgently. Worry dripped from his voice. Crowley hated that he was bothering him with this. But it was done now. Aziraphale was awake and worried, and Crowley couldn’t pretend for a second longer as another cramp surged through him.

“I’m in pain, angel.”

“Where?”

“Stomach, I think.”

“How bad is it? Scale from one to ten?”

“What’s ten?”

“That time they had to remove your ingrown toenail.”

Crowley pulled a face. “In that case, at least an eight.”

Aziraphale tutted with compassion. “Did you eat anything funny today?”

Crowley took another breath and analysed his pain. He shook his head even though Aziraphale couldn’t see him. “‘S not food poisoning. Feels different. Pain’s somewhere else.”

“Where is it?”

“I dunno. Like, at the side of my stomach?” Crowley groaned at the next cramp, the intensity of the pain somehow taken up a notch. “Fuck,” he whined. “It hurts, angel.” A tear slipped free from the corner of his eye. “It hurts so much. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I—”

“Okay, I hear you, Crowley. I’m here. Try to breathe for me. Focus on breathing towards your stomach. Tensing yourself up is only going to make the pain feel worse, all right?”

“I-I can’t do it. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. I’ll do it with you. In through your nose for three—two, three. Sigh out of your mouth for six—two, three, four, five, six. And again. In for three—”

Aziraphale led Crowley through many breaths, all while the pain kept coming and going. It was an ebb and flow of a relentless ocean tide, crashing into him only to pull away again, seemingly dragging his intestines out from his navel.

Even though the pain hadn’t lessened in the slightest, Aziraphale had successfully managed to calm Crowley down from his panic attack. 

“I can’t do this without you here,” Crowley said, his voice breaking on a pathetic sob.

“I’m so sorry, my love. I wish I could come home right now.”

It was ridiculous, the pain he felt constricting around his heart as he listened to Aziraphale talk. Even though it felt like someone was teaching themselves how to tie a sailor’s knot using his intestines, it was the reality of having to endure his pain without Aziraphale there to comfort him that made Crowley’s tears finally run down his cheeks.

“When will you come home?” he asked pathetically, already knowing the answer.

Aziraphale supplied it anyway. “Tomorrow evening. I have one more event I need to attend in the afternoon, then I promise I will come straight home.”

Crowley’s guilt did another lap around his chest. “What about your collector friends? Don’t they wanna do—do—fucking shit fuck.” More pain. He tried to breathe through it until the worst had passed. “Don’t they wanna do drinks?” he forced out.

“Perhaps. But I want to come home. I’d only be worrying about you otherwise, anyway.”

More tears slipped down Crowley’s nose. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, my darling. This is not your fault. I’m sorry that it is today of all days that I’m away from home.”

“‘S also not your fault,” Crowley croaked.

Aziraphale’s quiet, gentle laugh brushed against Crowley’s ear. His heart ached some more.

“No,” Aziraphale said softly. “I don’t suppose it is.”

They were silent for a long time, no sounds being passed between them except for Crowley’s laboured breathing.

“How’s the pain now?” Aziraphale asked after a while, just when Crowley began to wonder if maybe he’d fallen asleep.

It felt like a giant had reached into his body and wrapped its enormous fingers around all his lower organs, squeezing them into a ball of highly compressed mush. The pressure made his entire stomach feel tighter than if he had just been catapulted into the vacuum of space, like he was moments away from imploding.

“Bad,” Crowley summarised. He checked his phone. 2:45 a.m. “You should go back to sleep,” he said to Aziraphale.

“Are you getting sleepy?” his partner asked.

The truth was, Crowley was exhausted. But he wouldn’t be able to sleep, not before these cramps went away. “It’s getting really late,” he said instead. “You have another big day tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I asked you,” came Aziraphale’s pointed voice. “Will you be able to sleep?”

Crowley sighed. “No.”

“Then I will stay on the line. End of discussion.”

Crowley eased himself down onto the mattress and pulled his knees up against his chest. For just one blissful moment, the change in position brought some relief. Then another cramp hit. “Too tired to argue anyway,” he mumbled when it had gone, the wind fully knocked out of him.

“Mhm,” Aziraphale hummed sympathetically. “Did I tell you I ran into Maggie today? I saw her come out of a local record shop!”

All Crowley could manage was a hum to spur him on. Talking no longer seemed to be on the table for him. 

“I told her, what are the odds!” Aziraphale continued brightly. He was very obviously trying to distract Crowley. He appreciated the effort.

Aziraphale told him stories until the early hours of the morning. By the time the sun began to rise, Crowley’s eyes had drifted closed. For now, he got some respite from the pain.

Chapter Text

By the time Crowley came home from work, Aziraphale had already started on their dinner. The aromatic smells of onion and garlic wafted towards him from the kitchen. They did not make his mouth water. If anything, it made him want to flee their house altogether. He’d had to work overtime to prepare for tomorrow’s meeting with some high-profile execs and had worked himself into complete exhaustion. He could not get it wrong tomorrow. One mistake could ruin his chances to move up the ladder forever. After an entire day triple-checking every single word in his presentation, Crowley was running on fumes. The last thing he fancied right now was a heavy meal. All he wanted was to dive into bed.

But Aziraphale had put his time and effort into the dish after working all day in the bookshop, so Crowley toughened up and set the table.

Despite his best efforts though, Aziraphale inevitably noticed that something was up. He finished his last bite of potatoes and neatly placed his cutlery onto his empty plate. “What’s on your mind, dear?” he asked gently.

Crowley blinked himself awake from his thoughts, realising he’d been staring at his plate, his food still untouched. “Hm?”

“You’ve hardly eaten anything.” Worried lines dug into Aziraphale’s brow. “Are you feeling all right?”

Crowley waved his worries away. “Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine. Busy day ‘s all. Not that hungry.”

Aziraphale gave him a sympathetic pout. “You poor thing. I’ll put your leftovers into some of the Tupperware. It will be in the fridge for when you get your appetite back.” He got up and rounded the table to give Crowley’s shoulder a brief, fond squeeze. “I think an early night is in order, hm?”

Crowley’s stomach protested at the mere thought of the food. He had a sinking feeling his appetite was not going to return any time soon, and gave a weary sigh. “Yeah.”

***

Crowley didn’t need to check his phone to know it was the middle of the night. The dark void around him when he opened his eyes told him enough. Ok, and maybe Aziraphale’s ancient digital alarm clock angrily blinked its red digits at him.

It wasn’t his fault he was awake at 3:33 a.m. It was his bloody stomach again. He should’ve seen the cramps coming. That little rumbling sensation he’d felt after dinner had been a warning he should have heeded. Not that there was anything he could have done about it, but still.

He hoped a visit to the toilet would be enough to settle his aching stomach and gingerly stripped back the far edge of their duvet. Unlike Crowley, Aziraphale was a light sleeper once he finally managed to drift off. Even though Crowley all but fell into a coma the second his head hit the pillow, he did occasionally have to pee in the middle of the night. Growing older came with many perks, but his weakening bladder was definitely a disadvantage of his middle-aged body. In any case, it meant he’d become quite practised at slipping out of bed without disturbing Aziraphale.

His heart raced as he forced himself out of their warm nest, the floor an Antarctic ice sheet against his bare feet. Despite the goosebumps travelling down his arms, Crowley felt heat searing across his skin. His intestines contracted every few steps, sending shooting pain through his abdomen. He shuffled towards the loo, his teeth chattering, vision blurring, and sought support from the walls. What the hell was happening to him?

It had been a month since Aziraphale had been away for his convention, and Crowley hadn’t had any pain since. They’d both come to the conclusion that Crowley might’ve eaten something off after all, and that had been that. But now the cramps were back, and Crowley was sure he’d consumed nothing but ordinary foods today.

The trek to the bathroom turned out to be futile. He’d emptied his bladder, yes, but his bladder was hardly the issue here. Even though it felt like his bowels were clawing their way through his abdominal cavity, his unsuccessful trip to the toilet proved that his bowel movement was, in fact, very much non-existent.

Crowley soldiered on back to the bedroom, feeling just as awful as before, if not worse. He crawled into bed and was unable to stifle a groan. He quickly turned his head towards Aziraphale, but his partner hadn’t woken, soft huffs of air blowing from his lips with every exhale.

Crowley turned onto his side and curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his legs as his insides tightened one cramp after the other.

The timing was truly awful. He was bloody nervous about his presentation tomorrow and really couldn’t miss it. Crowley didn’t need as many hours of beauty sleep as Aziraphale to feel well-rested, but as the minutes ticked by, even he was starting to dread his state of mind tomorrow. So much so that he couldn’t stop imagining all the ways in which the meeting could go wrong. All the ways in which he could mess it up. The cramps kept coming as the digits on Aziraphale’s alarm clock slowly crept up. That was another minute of sleep he’d just lost. And another. And another. Crowley’s breathing grew shallow until he was panting like an anxious dog. After an hour of suppressing his misery, he could no longer hold back his whimpers.

He squeezed his eyes shut and rocked back and forth, trying to find any way to give himself even the smallest bit of relief.

There was movement next to him in the bed. The sheets momentarily pulled taut as Aziraphale turned onto his side.

“Crowley?” his partner’s voice pierced the silence, laden with concern. “Crowley, what’s wrong?”

Crowley sucked in a strained breath. “I don’t know.”

“Is it your stomach again?”

Crowley forced out an affirmative squeak.

Aziraphale pushed himself up from the bed. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“N-No. Angel, don’t—don’t be—don’t be ridiculous,” Crowley panted.

“You’re in crippling pain!”

“It’ll—it’ll pass.”

Aziraphale reached for his phone nonetheless, mouth set in an unyielding line. “We’re not risking it. It might be acute appendicitis.”

“If it were, last time would’ve already killed me.”

Blinding light filled their room as Aziraphale unlocked his phone, his face illuminated with artificial blue light. “Don’t say things like that,” he murmured as he squinted against the light, his attention on the tiny keyboard on his screen as he typed something into a search bar.

“What’re you doing?” Crowley breathed, forcing himself upright to look over Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Aziraphale jolted and moved his phone out of Crowley’s reach. “Don’t get up! Be careful!”

“‘S fine. Went to the loo without dying.”

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale begged, his face scrunched together with worry. “Please take this seriously.”

Even if Crowley had wanted to dismiss Aziraphale’s concern, he was rendered completely unable to as another cramp hit him like a wrecking ball to the gut. He whimpered and slithered back down onto the mattress, clutching his stomach as he folded in on himself again.

“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale fretted. “Tell me what I can do for you, please.”

“Don’t know,” Crowley rasped. “Hurts.”

“I really think we should call someone. A doctor, at least.”

Crowley moaned in protest. “It passed last time, too. Please, Aziraphale, no fuss.”

Aziraphale sighed and shuffled closer. A warm, soft hand landed gently on the side of Crowley’s head. It began tenderly stroking his hair. “Okay, no fuss. But if this hasn’t passed by the morning, or if this happens again, we’re calling the doctor.”

Crowley gave a weak hum. He wriggled towards his partner and rested his forehead against his plush thigh. “I don’t want to do the presentation tomorrow,” he admitted quietly into the fabric of Aziraphale’s tartan pyjamas.

Aziraphale brushed some of Crowley’s hair behind his ear. “Then you cancel it, love. You’re going to stay home and rest tomorrow, partner’s orders.”

Crowley swallowed roughly and nodded. He’d never actually wanted that promotion, anyway.

Chapter Text

When it happened again a few weeks later, Crowley stayed true to his word and made an appointment with his GP. After he’d told her about his symptoms, the lack of bowel movement, the cramps, his doctor concluded he needed to drink more water and include more fibre in his diet. Glad he finally had a game plan, not to mention something to assuage Aziraphale’s worrying, Crowley downloaded an app onto his phone to track his water intake and bought ridiculously overpriced containers of seeds to dunk into his breakfast every morning.

For a while, it seemed to work. Crowley had never been this hydrated in his life, and it actually felt good to take control over his life like this, especially since work had been nothing short of an absolute nightmare.

His superiors had not been amused when he’d cancelled his presentation the morning of. While he liked to uphold an image of aloofness at work, deep down, all Crowley craved was approval. Paradoxically, though, the promotion was the last thing he’d wanted. It would’ve meant more work, longer hours, and less time at home with Aziraphale.

Apparently, straight-up cancelling his presentation, thus nuking not just his chance at a promotion but also his relationship with his bosses, turned out not to be the best course of action. Crowley had been getting nasty looks both behind his back and to his face. Gossip spread through the office like wildfire, and soon enough his reputation had been damaged to the point that nobody talked to him anymore. He was seriously considering just finding another job. Maybe that was what he needed: a fresh start. A workplace without any Hasturs and Ligurs to make his life a living hell.

***

It was 6 a.m. on a Saturday. Crowley should have been as deeply unconscious as a corpse rotting six feet underground. Instead, he sat on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, frantically breathing towards his stomach like he was in active labour. Fucking cramps again. Luckily, he hadn’t woken Aziraphale this time. A small, guilty part of him, however, secretly hoped his partner would wake up. He didn’t even have to do anything, just sit with Crowley while he waited for his agony to pass. But Crowley couldn’t bother him, not again.

Unfortunately, it seemed Aziraphale was developing a sixth sense for Crowley’s flare-ups. The soft patter of his footsteps sounded through the hall before a robed figure appeared in the door opening to the living room. While the look on Aziraphale’s face was mainly pity, there was a mild despondency in the sharp breath he exhaled as he came to sit next to Crowley.

“I wish you would wake me when you’re in pain,” Aziraphale said simply, placing a comforting hand on Crowley’s leg.

“‘S no point in both of us suffering,” Crowley argued, wincing as more pain steamrolled through him.

Aziraphale reached around him and adjusted the blanket so it wrapped more snugly around Crowley’s shoulders, then let his hand lower to Crowley’s back, gently rubbing up and down. “What if me sitting with you helps with your pain?”

“Unless you have magical healing hands, I don’t see that happening,” Crowley sneered. “Sorry,” he added immediately. “I didn’t mean—I don’t want to—”

Aziraphale gave his back a final stroke and placed his hand on Crowley’s leg again, grounding him and releasing some of the tension in his heart. “I know, dearest. It’s okay.”

Crowley deflated with a big sigh and gave in to gravity, letting his torso slump forward. He caught himself by propping his elbows up on his knees and buried his face in his hands. “This fucking sucks,” he said through gritted teeth, weathering yet another cramp.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” Aziraphale murmured sweetly, squeezing his thigh. “And it was going so well, too, for a while.”

Crowley grunted.

“Have you been drinking enough water?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been eating fibrous food?”

“Yes.”

“How about exercise? Have you been going on walks during your lunch breaks like you promised?”

“I’m doing everything I can, angel!” Crowley snapped. Frustration churned in his stomach. Just one more unpleasant sensation to add to the mix. This time, he didn’t apologise. This was no time for Aziraphale to be attacking him like that. Like he was questioning Crowley’s commitment. Like he was pointing out Crowley’s failure.

Aziraphale recoiled and took his hand back into his own lap. “I know,” he uttered hoarsely. “I know, darling. But you must see this isn’t normal. This isn’t healthy, Crowley. Something is seriously wrong. I am so terribly worried about you, dearest.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Aziraphale! I’m doing everything she told me to do.”

“Maybe—”

“Maybes aren’t gonna help me! Maybe you need to trust that I’ve changed every fucking habit without any fucking luck.” Crowley balled his hands into fists and ground his teeth. His chest felt tight, and it had nothing to do with his cramps. “You’re supposed to be my partner, not my nurse or—or—or my warden! I need your support, not…not your policing!”

“I’m really trying, Crowley,” Aziraphale said weakly, the tremor audible in his voice. Still, Crowley remained hunched over, refusing to look at him. He wanted to stay angry, needed to stay angry. If he looked at his partner, his anger would melt away. “I don’t know what else to do for you,” Aziraphale continued softly. “I feel so powerless. I hate that I don’t know how to help you, so I cling to the only thing that makes me feel useful. I’m sorry. I know you’re not choosing to feel like this.”

“Bloody obviously,” Crowley grumbled. His foul mood thawed out at hearing Aziraphale’s honesty. No matter how much he wanted to stay angry, to stay in control of something he was feeling, he realised they were in this together, whether he liked it or not. He couldn’t shut Aziraphale out, not when they had promised to share their lives with each other.

His defences lowered. It was probably for the best, since it made him extremely tense, and therefore more in pain. He straightened up a little and looked up at Aziraphale through his eyelashes, hesitant to face him after the way he’d just treated him.

Aziraphale tilted his head at him, eyebrows drawing together with empathy. Crowley really didn’t deserve him. His partner reached out and offered Crowley his hand, palm up in invitation.

Crowley sighed and let their palms come together. Aziraphale’s hand was warm and familiar. It was Crowley’s safety net, his anchor. Always had been.

Aziraphale folded both his hands around Crowley’s and gently stroked his clammy skin with the pad of his thumb. “I just want to be there for you,” he said quietly, gaze focused on their hands.

Crowley wanted to tell him that he understood. That he was sorry for lashing out. Wanted to make Aziraphale stop worrying. His body had other ideas. His fingers flexed of their own accord as his intestines spasmed uncontrollably. His whole body grew tighter than a snare trap, and a moan slipped from his lips.

His hand was released in favour of an arm being curled around his back, holding him steady against Aziraphale’s side.

Crowley gasped for air as he doubled over, resisting the urge to claw at his stomach with his nails. “Aziraphale,” he whimpered.

Aziraphale shushed him gently and carefully nudged him back upright. “Breathe, my darling,” he murmured. “Breathe and try to relax your stomach.” He kept muttering soothing reassurances, repeating, “I know, my love,” whenever Crowley’s whimpers grew stronger.

“Why don’t I go heat up our wheat bag?” Aziraphale suggested softly when another one of Crowley’s cramps had subsided. “Since it helps me with the tension in my shoulders, maybe it will help you relax your stomach.”

The muscles in Crowley’s body tightened up even further. His eyes began to burn. “Please don’t go,” he croaked, an absolutely pathetic display of a human being. Begging his safe person to stay by his side like a toddler with a tummy ache. He blinked heavily, willing the tears to disappear, but their fall was inevitable. “Please,” he sniffled.

“Okay, dearest, okay. But I really think it will help.”

Crowley shook his head and gulped. “Just—” His breath hitched as he was hit with another cramp. “—Just a few more minutes.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale surrendered. “We’re going to breathe for a few minutes, and then I’m going to fetch you the wheat bag.”

His voice left no room for discussion. This was what would be best for him right now, and he wouldn’t accept any more objections. With Crowley unable to think clearly, Aziraphale had made the decision for him. He was acting in Crowley’s best interest. He was being the only thing Crowley needed him to be. He was being his partner.

Chapter Text

Navigating office culture when everyone hated your guts was unpleasant on any given day. Throw in a throbbing headache, and you had yourself another day in hell.

Crowley had been sensitive to headaches all his life. It was the curse of being an overthinker, he supposed. Recently, though, he found himself popping painkillers more and more frequently. And most times, they didn’t even help. They’d had to buy a second wheat bag just so he and Aziraphale could ease their muscle tension at the same time. It was an odd way to bond, sitting on the sofa together, bags that smelled like the inside of a decrepit old barn after a record-breaking heatwave draped across their shoulders. But it became just another experience they could share. Just one more thing they had in common.

As Crowley made his way back to the office after his lunch break, having spent the thirty minutes walking around the drab, concrete business area, he was glad he at least had his fancy sunglasses. He’d bought the dark-tinted shades just to complete his look, once. Now, though, he couldn’t imagine having survived a single day without them. Even when the sun was hidden by the clouds, the semi-brightness of the day could be enough to make Crowley feel like he was getting shock therapy administered directly to his brain. Even with his sunglasses, he could feel electricity zap through him on a bad headache day like today. Frustratingly, the only thing Crowley could do was give it time, and rest.

So it really was very unfortunate that he still had four and a half hours of work to go. Just the thought of having to sit in his office chair for that long, his long legs cramped under his desk because his boss refused to buy ergonomic furniture, made him want to bash his head in. It would probably hurt less than his current headache. He didn’t want to use his annual leave, either. If he did that every time he had a headache, he would’ve smashed through it before the end of the first fiscal quarter.

Miraculously, Crowley’s headache hadn’t worsened when he finally arrived home. It may even have lessened a little bit. He considered it a massive win. He’d spent most of his afternoon imagining all the ways he could get rid of Hastur and Ligur—a bit dramatic, yes, but if you knew them, you’d know it was a huge achievement he’d left it at the thinking about it phase—and got quite the kick out of it. Maybe he should try that more often.

Crowley was supposed to cook dinner tonight, but he’d texted Aziraphale and proposed to get takeaway instead, since he really didn’t have the energy to cook a meal after the day he’d had. Unsurprisingly, Aziraphale had enthusiastically agreed. He’d let Aziraphale choose, a deep part in him still felt guilty for not cooking dinner the way he’d promised, and so naturally, they were having sushi tonight.

Aziraphale had already set the table and was waiting for him, eyes shining with excitement. Crowley dumped his bag by the door and greeted him with a kiss on his cheek. They might be in a queerplatonic relationship, but that didn’t mean they didn’t enjoy occasionally showing each other some physical affection.

“The food should be here any minute,” Aziraphale said brightly, tapping his fingertips against each other and squeezing his lips together with anticipation.

Crowley flopped down in the seat opposite him and sprawled his limbs as far as he could. Finally, room to breathe. “Great,” he replied.

Aziraphale’s eyes wandered across his face. “Feeling hungry?” he asked tentatively.

Crowley offered him a soft, genuine smile. “Yep.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed with relief, “I’m so glad!”

***

The sushi had been a big mistake. That, or his headache from earlier had been a migraine in disguise. Either way, it was once again the middle of the night and Crowley was sitting up, pillow propped up between his back and the headboard. It was no longer a surprise he woke up to pain in his stomach. However, the cramps were mild this time. It was something else, tonight. Something new.

Crowley was feeling extremely bloody nauseous. He never got nauseous, not even with his worst headaches. At least, not like this. Not in a way that woke him up from a deep slumber.

He tried to go back to sleep, but every time he lay down, he’d barely dozed off or he was forced to sit up again lest the nausea became too overwhelming. It stuck at the back of his throat, heavy and thick like marmite, making him feel like he couldn’t breathe properly. It had only been two weeks since his last flare-up, which even Crowley couldn’t deny was fucking concerning.

After two fruitless trips to the bathroom and two long hours of blinking himself awake, when a jolting cramp didn’t do it for him, Crowley decided he was left no other choice. He slipped out of bed and shuffled towards the bathroom.

The tiles were even colder than the bedroom floor. Aziraphale had insisted on natural stone. Which was great, it looked gorgeous when the sun filtered in through the little window. At night, though, it was like stepping into an industrial freezer.

He crouched before the toilet and gulped. It had been so many years since he’d had to do this; he couldn’t even remember the last time. He let his flushed forehead fall onto the cold lid, feeling miserable and very sorry for himself. His insides protested with another cramp, telling him to hurry up. The feeling at the back of his throat became more insistent, growing like a fungus in the forest.

He lifted the toilet lid and seat and hung his head over the porcelain rim. The penetrative smell of chlorine that rose from the basin infiltrated his nose, only exacerbating his nausea. He waited, and waited. He really shouldn’t have been surprised that his body wasn’t going to give him what he wanted without a bit of a struggle. As always, it was up to him to fix it.

Crowley took one fortifying breath to muster up the courage for what he was about to do, and stuck his finger in his throat. It immediately triggered his gag reflex. He retched and gasped for air, but other than a huge build-up of saliva and slime dribbling down his chin, nothing happened. All he could feel was a little extra churning at the bottom of his stomach. He spit into the bowl. He would have to try again. 

After the second attempt, his stomach heaved. This time, shortly after Crowley’s initial retching, he could feel something make its way back up his throat. There was a lurch he could feel in the depths of his bones, and then a warm stream of bitter bile poured from his mouth. The toilet water got muddled with green-yellowish slime, small bits of dark nori the only hint of last night’s dinner. The splashing sound that echoed through the empty bathroom as his sick hit the water was horrendous, but it was nothing compared to the smell, pungently acrid like a burning pool of sulphur.

Crowley was still crouched before the toilet, panting, when the door to the bathroom opened tentatively.

Aziraphale appeared, eyes tiny as they squinted against the bathroom spotlights, open robe loosely hanging around the curves of his tartan-clad stomach. “I thought I heard you in here,” he said softly.

Crowley let his arse fall back onto the chilly tiles, one hand still clutching the side of the toilet, and groaned in response.

“Is there going to be more?” Aziraphale asked gently.

Crowley swallowed the remnants of bile that coated his tongue and winced as they slid down his burning throat. “No,” he rasped.

There was the tranquil sound of the tap running. Then Aziraphale kneeled down beside him and handed him a glass of water. He tenderly rubbed Crowley’s back while he rinsed his throat with the lukewarm fluid. Cold sweat stung on his lower back, and a violent shiver racked his body as if he’d run into an electric fence. An exhausted sob escaped his lips. He slumped against Aziraphale, body quietly shaking as more of his frustration found its way out through silent tears.

Aziraphale took the glass from him and set it aside. Then he pulled Crowley against his chest and wrapped his strong arms around him, his palpable affection like sunlight streaming into Crowley’s veins. “Oh, darling,” he murmured, stroking his hair. “My darling, darling Crowley.”

Crowley took a shuddering breath and nuzzled into Aziraphale’s warmth, burying his nose in the flash of skin above his collar. His scent, musky with a hint of home, tickled at his nose, soothing him further. “Don’t think I’ve vomited in twenty years,” Crowley said wetly. “‘S bloody awful.”

“You should’ve woken me up, dearest.”

“Hnngh.”

“You should have.”

Crowley sucked in air through his teeth as a sudden cramp surged through his abdomen. “Don’t—Don’t wanna worry you all the time,” he said through hissing breaths.

“I will worry about you regardless,” Aziraphale countered. “You must know that by now.”

All Crowley could manage in response was a grunt.

Aziraphale clutched him tighter against his soft body and pressed a kiss to his hair. “Please let me take care of you,” he said softly.

Silence filled the bathroom once more. Crowley didn’t know how to respond. Growing up, he’d prided himself on his self-sufficiency, his independence. Since meeting Aziraphale, he’d slowly learnt that he was allowed to be soft sometimes. It was okay to need help, to be taken care of. And now, ever since he’d developed all these horrible, mysterious symptoms, he craved it more than he ever had before.

And yet, even with Aziraphale all but pleading for him to let him, Crowley couldn’t let his old habits go. He hated that he needed help. Despised that he was causing his partner so much trouble. He was a millstone round Aziraphale’s neck, dragging him down to the bottom of the ocean with him. Aziraphale deserved better than to worry about him whenever he was in pain. His angel would never get a moment’s rest.

“I’m going to schedule another appointment with the doctor for you,” Aziraphale said after a considerable amount of silence. “This cannot go on like this.”

Crowley felt too weak to disagree. Aziraphale was right, anyway. This wasn’t just a lack of fibre or exercise. His body was trying to tell him something. If only he knew what.

Chapter Text

“I don’t want to go,” Crowley said to Aziraphale, about an hour before his appointment with the GP.

Aziraphale looked up from his book. He’d been reading a mighty interesting story, and it took a while for his brain to catch on. “To the doctor?” he asked. Although Crowley had announced it with his arms crossed, his face blank, Aziraphale could sense there was more going on beneath the surface. There usually was where Crowley was concerned.

Crowley had got up from the sofa while Aziraphale was reading and was now pacing around the living room. Perhaps he’d been struggling with this for longer than Aziraphale realised.

“I don’t know what else to tell her,” Crowley said. “Nothing’s changed since last time.”

“Yes, it has,” Aziraphale replied. “You’ve never been nauseous before. And your cramps are returning more regularly.”

“She’s just gonna tell me to get more exercise again. Or eat more blasted kiwis.”

Aziraphale got up from his chair and approached Crowley like he would an agitated animal, hands before him to show he didn’t pose a threat. “I don’t think that’s true, dearest.”

Crowley gave an obstinate sniff.

“What if I come with you?” Aziraphale suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Crowley barked. “I am fifty years old, Aziraphale. I can go to a doctor’s appointment without someone holding my hand.”

Apparently, you can’t.

“You’ll be less stressed if I come with you,” Aziraphale said instead, putting a lightness to his voice so Crowley didn’t feel like he was accusing him of something. “And my parents used to accompany each other all the time. Really, Crowley, it is the most normal thing in the world. When I had to get a scan at the hospital that one time, you were there too, weren’t you?”

“That’s different.”

“I don’t see how. Besides, I can help advocate for you.” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “You know how persuasive I can be.”

Finally, Crowley’s shoulders relaxed. “Alright, fine” he sighed. “But if she as much as brings up the kiwis I’m changing doctors.”

Aziraphale gave his arm a little pat. “That seems fair enough.”

***

“Have you been experiencing any stress recently?” the doctor asked. Just as Aziraphale had expected, she was equally as concerned that her advice wasn’t working.

“Not really,” Crowley replied.

Aziraphale looked to his side. Crowley sat in the chair opposite the GP, feigning an air of nonchalance, his tailbone almost touching the seat cushion. His ankle rested over his thigh and his other foot was restlessly tapping the floor. He’d taken off his sunglasses, which revealed that he did, in fact, respect his doctor, so there was no hiding the thick, black circles under his eyes. His skin was ashen, and his cheekbones looked even sharper than before, as if someone had applied a bit too much contour.

“If I—If I may,” Aziraphale interjected hesitantly. “Crowley has been having some very unpleasant experiences at work lately. He cancelled a presentation that cost him his promotion, and his colleagues and superiors have been giving him the cold shoulder ever since.”

“Didn’t want the promotion, anyway,” Crowley grumbled.

“Why didn’t you want the promotion, Crowley?” the doctor asked, her tone of voice suggesting that this wasn’t an innocent question just to get to know him a little better.

“Already work my arse off,” Crowley answered. “They already don’t appreciate everything I do right now. Why would I want even more work, without any of the rewards except a minimal pay raise.”

“Do you not like your job?”

“No one does.”

“I do,” Aziraphale chirped.

“You’re the exception, angel,” Crowley grunted.

“I don’t think he necessarily is,” the doctor said. “How long have you been feeling this way, Crowley?”

“How long have I hated my work? Since forever.”

The doctor nodded thoughtfully. It was silent for a long time, only the clacking of the keyboard filling the heavy air as she entered her extensive notes into her computer.

When she’d finished, she cleared her throat and angled herself back towards them, looking intently at Crowley. “I think you’re overworked, Crowley. You’ve been stressed for such a long time, it’s starting to affect your body.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Crowley scoffed. “I’m always stressed to some degree. I’ve never known a life without it!”

The doctor gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid that is the problem.” She glanced at her screen. “Last time you were here, you told me you get headaches, right?”

“Yup.”

“Can you tell me the last time you didn’t have a headache?”

Crowley pursed his lips. “…Does a slight pressure count?”

“Let’s say that it does.”

“A few months, then. Maybe half a year.”

“Half a year?” Aziraphale repeated indignantly. “Your head’s been hurting every day for the past six months?”

Crowley shrugged. “Some days it barely counts. ‘S usually just a little pressure against my skull, nothing serious.”

Aziraphale bristled and sharply turned towards him. “Nothing serious? Crowley, listen to yourself!”

“All right,” the doctor said gently. “I understand it’s very disconcerting to hear, Aziraphale. What have you noticed about Crowley recently?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said quietly, quickly recomposing himself. He turned back to face the doctor and took an inconspicuous breath to calm himself. “Well, I suppose the stomach cramps were the first sign something was going on. The nausea was a new and rather concerning development. I, err, I did also notice he’s been short with me a lot. Crowley likes to grumble and complain, but he never actually snaps at me. He’s been quite quick-tempered, lately.”

“I have?” Crowley asked quietly.

“Oh, but I don’t hold it against you,” Aziraphale said kindly as a few puzzle pieces fell into place. “Knowing now that you were in even more pain than you let on, well, it’s a wonder you’re still as attentive and gentle as you are.”

“I’m not gentle,” Crowley groused.

Aziraphale took his hand. “Of course not.”

Crowley absentmindedly drew circles into Aziraphale’s skin with his thumb, tracing the lines of his knuckles with slow movements. Aziraphale smiled to himself but didn’t comment on Crowley’s instinctive, characteristic display of gentle affection.

The doctor gave them a smile. “I know it’s easier said than done, Crowley, but I would advise you to find a way to eliminate as much stress from your life as possible. If you think you might struggle with how to go about that, I can find you help. I can also prescribe you something against the pain from the cramps if you’d like.”

“Yep, the pills please,” Crowley answered curtly.

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. He supposed it was a start. He knew he couldn’t force Crowley into anything he didn’t want. It was going to take time.

***

Back home, Crowley had sunk into a chair at the dinner table to scroll on his phone. They were going on a trip to the seaside in a few months. Although it’d been Aziraphale’s idea, Crowley seemed to be looking forward to it even more. He spent countless hours scouring the internet for the perfect, quaint little B&B and showed Aziraphale each cottage he found acceptable. Aziraphale liked them all just fine. It didn’t really matter to him where they were staying, so long as they were staying there together. It would be a nice break from everything, and the weather was looking promising for the time of year.

He came to stand next to Crowley and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m awfully proud of you, dearest.”

Crowley all but squirmed under the sincere compliment, but he didn’t tell Aziraphale to stop.

Aziraphale was aware that he might have been somewhat of a helicopter partner for the last few months. One of his love languages was physical touch, and even though it wasn’t Crowley’s main way of showing affection, he had never minded it. But even Aziraphale had noticed about himself that he’d been reaching out an awful lot ever since he got that first phone call in the middle of the night. Seeing Crowley suffer was torture. He felt such vicarious pain for his dearest friend, and it made him feel so powerless, knowing there was nothing he could do to ease his pain. Aziraphale wished he could take some of it away from Crowley and bear it himself. He would do it in a heartbeat. But since he couldn’t, the only outlet he had for his worries about his partner whom he loved and cared for so terribly deeply were the little touches and a plethora of endearments. Aziraphale had always loved to call Crowley sweet little pet names. It was just one more way to show Crowley how deeply he cared for him. Since his partner’s health had started to decline, however, the frequency with which he addressed Crowley with an endearment had grown tenfold. Nowadays, they could hardly have a conversation without Aziraphale bombarding him with a sea of darlings and dearests.

But Crowley hadn’t protested once. Even though he’d said he didn’t want Aziraphale to fuss over him, Aziraphale could tell Crowley needed it too. His best friend leaned into every touch Aziraphale offered, and sometimes, Aziraphale was sure he could see something twitch on those stoic lips when he called him my love, a fond smile Crowley probably didn’t want to allow to grow on his lips.

Yes, Aziraphale knew with absolute certainty Crowley craved to be taken care of just as much as Aziraphale craved to be the caregiver. He was just too proud to admit it out loud.

“I know you’ve felt resistant to asking for help,” Aziraphale continued, “but I am ever so glad you talked to that lovely doctor again today. It’ll make such a difference to know you have a plan next time those nasty cramps give you such trouble.”

Crowley kept his gaze on his phone. “Yeah.”

“Did the pharmacy have the medicine in stock?”

Crowley gave a passive hum.

Ah, the poor thing was probably exhausted after all the stress he’d endured for his appointment. Oh dear, Aziraphale was helicoptering again, wasn’t he? He needed to accept that Crowley needed space sometimes.

He removed his hand from Crowley’s shoulder and began to move away, but his heart jumped when Crowley grabbed onto his wrist. He turned his head towards Aziraphale, glistening eyes silently pleading for him to stay.

Aziraphale offered him a fond smile and walked up behind him. Perhaps Crowley didn’t mind the helicoptering too much after all. Aziraphale leaned forward and folded his arms over Crowley’s shoulders. He let his hands come to rest on his chest and softly hooked his chin over his collarbone.

“I’m so proud of you, Crowley,” he said again, voice barely more than a whisper since his mouth was right by Crowley’s ear. “You’re doing so well.”

Crowley didn’t say anything. He leaned into Aziraphale’s embrace and released a long, weary sigh.

A little something fluttered in Aziraphale’s chest. While it was true the two of them cuddled together all the time—they had been together for ages, and felt terribly comfortable with one another—there was something different about this hug. Crowley reaching out for him, even just by grabbing onto his wrist, was his way of telling Aziraphale that he did need him close. He’d begged him to stay that one time he’d found him on the sofa, of course, but that had been different. Crowley had been feeling too poorly to keep his carefully constructed walls up. He’d been in agony, and so the vulnerable words had slipped through the otherwise impenetrable filter.

That’s what was different this time, Aziraphale realised. Crowley wasn’t in any ghastly pain, yet he had still let Aziraphale know, in his own way, that his being there was important to him. That was what Aziraphale could currently feel fluttering in his chest: Crowley’s vulnerability. He felt infinitely blessed that Crowley trusted him with it.

Aziraphale was brought out of his ponderings by the sound of Crowley taking a deep, steadying breath. He slowly blew it out again, letting the air flow audibly from his lips.

“Thanks, angel.”

Chapter Text

Crowley lifted his face to the sun, letting the gentle beams warm his tired features. He felt light today. Content. It was a nice day.

He and Aziraphale were on their Sunday stroll through the park. St James’s Park felt alive on a day like this, like it had a soul of its own. The grass seemed greener under the caress of the sunlight, people were playing live music in the distance, the cheerful notes drifting towards them on a gossamer breeze, and birds were chirping along in the trees.

They had been to a matinee show yesterday. It’d been Aziraphale’s idea, so Crowley could rest in the evening. He’d closed the bookshop specially for him and everything. The clever, thoughtful bastard. They’d cuddled up on the sofa and watched one of Aziraphale’s favourite films afterwards. Crowley’s stomach had behaved itself all week. While his headache had persisted through the entire work week, it had eased into a dull pressure that Crowley barely noticed by the end of Saturday morning. All in all, he’d been having a wonderful weekend.

“I’m happy today,” he realised out loud, the surprise audible in his voice.

Aziraphale turned away from the duck pond to offer him a beaming smile, but it faltered as his gaze fell on Crowley, who was not returning the smile. “That’s…good, isn’t it?” he asked carefully.

Crowley hummed. “You’d think so.”

“But…?”

Crowley examined all the strange feelings swirling within him, confusing him. “It feels…foreign.”

Aziraphale’s face scrunched together. “Oh, darling.” He took Crowley’s hand and intertwined their fingers.

Crowley clicked his tongue. “Just is what it is, right? ‘S not exactly easy to be happy when you’re constantly feeling like your body is punishing you for existing.”

A squeeze of his hand. “It’s not,” Aziraphale agreed softly. “I suppose it’s nice to know you’re still capable of it though? Of feeling something positive?”

Crowley gazed at his best friend. His cheeks were flushed from their walk, and hope sparkled in his bright eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess so.”

Until the pain came back, anyway. Then the contrast would make itself even more strongly known. Today made him remember what he’d lost all those months ago.

His existence had never been careless. He’d been struggling all his life, if not with work, with his own mind working against him for no good reason at all. But those moments had never been everlasting. Crowley remembered all the times he and Aziraphale had gone on little outings. It didn’t matter where they went, as long as they were together. They’d have so much fun.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed out loud properly. Full-body cackles used to take over his ability to speak on the daily, but ever since his pain had begun, the light had disappeared like the sun behind an infinite deck of clouds. His days had become heavy; they dragged on like Crowley had an invisible ball and chain tied around both his ankles. Nowadays, he considered it a good day when he was able to enjoy his quality time with Aziraphale in the evening without a monster of a headache making him unable to tolerate any light, sound, or touch.

“Um, angel?” Crowley spoke quietly into the gentle peace surrounding them.

Aziraphale looked up expectantly and gave his hand another squeeze.

“I don’t think I’m happy anymore.”

Chapter Text

After his doctor’s appointment, Crowley’s life carried on pretty much like it had before all the shit started. True, his daily headaches ended up on the ‘severe’ side of the spectrum more often than not, and, true, his stomach had been weirdly bloated the past week, but other than that, he’d been able to do his work just fine. He and Aziraphale had even gone out to dinner yesterday to celebrate the end of Crowley’s workweek. Crowley hadn’t eaten much, his stomach had felt too weird, but Aziraphale had unabashedly enjoyed himself.

It was Saturday morning and as usual, Crowley woke up to an empty bed. Aziraphale opened the bookshop at 7 a.m. on Saturdays and had left while Crowley was still asleep. According to Crowley’s eccentric, bookselling partner, opening the shop at seven meant he could close up at four. Which was utter bollocks, of course. All the other shops opened at nine and closed at six. Ultimately, this meant that Aziraphale spent the early hours of the morning reading his book in peace, and got to go home two hours before the official closing time agreed upon by the Whickber Street’s Shopkeepers and Street Traders Association. Not that Crowley was complaining. It usually meant they got to order takeaway before the evening rush.

As soon as Crowley opened his eyes, he knew it was going to be one of those days. For now, all he felt was a touch of discomfort in his lower stomach. Unfortunately, he’d had this sensation often enough to know it was only the predecessor of something much more unpleasant.

He fumbled about his bedside table until he found the pain meds his doctor had prescribed. He opened the box and cursed. Why was it that, no matter how many times he opened one of these bloody medicine boxes, he always opened it with the folded side of the blasted package leaflet facing him? Why was there no clear top and bottom to this fucking box? Why couldn’t they just slide the leaflet in alongside the strips of pills? Why did they have to fold the strips into the leaflet?

And why was he getting so incredibly upset over this?

Crowley lowered the box and took a deep breath, his eyes momentarily fluttering closed.

Ah, it wasn’t just his stomach that was feeling a bit queasy. Breathing was unpleasant too. Every intake of breath confronted him with the sickly feeling laying thickly at the back of his throat. Great. Fucking nausea again.

Crowley took the glass of water Aziraphale refreshed for him every morning and popped one of the little pills. He had no idea how long it would be until it took effect, so he lay back down and shut his eyes. Hopefully, the meds would settle his stomach before the uneasy rumblings could build into full-blown cramps.

***

Oh, god. Oh, god.

Crowley bolted upright and threw back the blankets. He was going to be sick.

His brain turned off as his heart started hammering against his chest. He acted completely on autopilot as he slipped on a pair of socks, grabbed his robe from its hook and stumbled towards the bathroom, only half awake and barely aware of the chill in the morning air. How he’d remembered to dress himself against the cold when his body was blasting him with warning signs was beyond him right now. All he knew was that he had to get moving.

Crowley threw open the bathroom door, feeling something climb up his oesophagus and race towards his throat like a missile with only one objective: the toilet bowl.

He dropped to his knees, slammed the lid and seat up against the wall with a clank and flung his head over the rim.

It was different from last time. It didn’t take Crowley any effort, for one. Last night’s dinner came streaming out his mouth like someone had opened the floodgates. He hadn’t eaten much at all, and yet Crowley felt like he was hurling into the porcelain for ages.

He gasped for air and just panted above the toilet for a moment. Every breath was heavy with the repulsive, sour smell of his undigested food. Crowley cleared his throat to try and get rid of the slime that stuck to his soft palate. Every time he swallowed, another layer in his throat seemed to burn away from the sheer acidity of his saliva.

A full gourmet dinner floated in the toilet amidst a sea of…blue? Crowley’s dinner hadn’t been blue.

A cramp tore through his abdomen.

Oh, fuck. It was the pill. It had only been partly digested, and now Crowley had thrown it up.

How much time had passed since he’d taken it? Had it had any time at all to do something? Could he take one again? Was there even a point? What if he was just going to be sick all over again?

Crowley couldn’t think with all the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He was sweating, his heart was racing, and his throat burned like hell. He hung his head under the tap and flooded his mouth with cool, fresh water. He gurgled it until every last hint of bitterness was washed away from the sore flesh inside his throat.

He dragged himself back to bed and climbed in, legs trembling, body reeling. He fumbled about the bedside table again, this time to find his phone. Crowley let out a groan as the bright light from the screen hit his sensitive eyes. It was 11 a.m. The shop had only been open for four hours.

His stomach flipped again, and more sharp pain shot through him as if he was being stabbed a million times. He could feel his heartbeat all the way down in his abdomen. How the fuck was that even possible?

He needed to call Aziraphale. Aziraphale could help. Aziraphale wanted to help.

Groaning while more pain torpedoed his overwhelmed senses, he dialled the number of the shop.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale’s bright voice rang out, “I’m afraid—”

“Angel.”

Aziraphale’s faux polite customer voice snapped out of existence. “Crowley,” he said urgently. “What’s wrong?”

Crowley opened his mouth to answer, but the only thing that came out was a miserable moan. Even though it felt like he’d thrown up the entirety of his stomach’s contents, the nausea hadn’t gone. It was making it really hard to speak. “Need—Need you here,” he panted.

“I’ll be home in two shakes, my love,” Aziraphale said, determination clear in the smooth tones of his voice. “Hang tight.”

***

Nerves fluttered in Crowley’s stomach when he heard Aziraphale come home. It was ridiculous, after all these years. It was just the vulnerability of it all, he supposed.

Aziraphale closed the front door with even more care than if it’d been his most antique novel. The sound of footsteps drew closer, and Crowley didn’t know what to do with himself. Should he stay like this, looking towards the door and directly facing Aziraphale as he came in? But then it’d look like he’d been anxiously waiting for his arrival. Which he had, to be fair. And Aziraphale would know it.

The door to the bedroom opened before Crowley had made up his mind, and Aziraphale appeared, smiling at him so affectionately it made Crowley’s heart ache.

He walked towards Crowley’s side of the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress, facing him. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said softly, placing a hand on his leg.

“Hey,” Crowley murmured, small and weak.

“Stomach?”

“Hmn.”

“Did you try the pain medication?”

“Puked it out.”

Aziraphale pouted his lips in sympathy. “Nausea, too? You poor thing. Did it help, at least?”

Tears welled up in Crowley’s eyes. He sedately shook his head.

Aziraphale sucked his teeth, the pity all but radiating off his face. For once, Crowley didn’t mind it. He did feel very pitiful.

His partner turned away, bent over, and started untying his shoes. Crowley watched.

“Budge up, dear boy,” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley wriggled towards the middle of the mattress, giving Aziraphale space to lift his legs up onto the bed.

He finally realised why having Aziraphale with him during his most painful flare-ups felt like a matter of life and death. Without him, he felt unsafe. While his brain knew that he wasn’t in any danger, his body clearly didn’t. His nervous system kept sending him panicked signals, increasing the wrong hormones, only making his agitated state worse.

He needed Aziraphale to hold him. His body needed to know it was safe.

Crowley turned onto his other side, offering his back to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale understood wordlessly. He left a kiss on Crowley’s shoulder, then wrapped himself around him, slotting their bodies together. There wasn’t a single gap left between them, not a hair’s breadth through which fear or panic could creep in.

Finally, Crowley’s shivering subsided. He held on to Aziraphale’s arm, which was curled around his middle with just the right amount of pressure, and released a breath that seemed to come all the way from his toes.

The soothing predictability of Aziraphale’s deep, regular breaths against his neck helped calm down his erratic heart. Although it might have been wishful thinking, Crowley also felt like the cramps were becoming less painful. Maybe there really was truth to the whole ‘relaxing reduces pain’ thing Aziraphale was always going on about.

Despite the pain, the nausea, the fatigue, and just his overall malaise, Crowley felt treasured. He could have had this from the start, if only he hadn’t been so bloody stubborn. Just goes to show that you could live fifty years and still have unhealthy thought patterns you needed to dismantle. Maybe calling Aziraphale the second he needed him had been the first step in Crowley’s process.

They lay together for a while, the red digits on Aziraphale’s alarm clock the only indication that time was, in fact, passing. Crowley had closed his eyes in an attempt to escape his misery by disappearing into the safety of Aziraphale’s embrace, but the nausea grew too strong. He needed to sit up again.

He stirred, and Aziraphale released his hold on him. Crowley instantly felt like he’d been sucked into a cold void without the comfort of Aziraphale’s touch, but he had no other choice.

Aziraphale sat up with him and fluffed up the pillows behind their backs. “Nauseous?”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.

“Anything I can do for you?”

Crowley shook his head. “Don’t know.”

“When is the last time you’ve eaten?”

“Yesterday.”

“My dear, then we should really try to get some food in you. It might be exacerbating your nausea.”

Crowley groaned. “I really don’t have an appetite, angel.”

Aziraphale smoothed a hand down Crowley’s hair. “I know, but it’ll be good to try. How about some toast? That will be nice and neutral, hm?”

Crowley gave a nod, all while his nausea grew stronger at the mere mention of the food.

“All right,” Aziraphale said, voice bright with purpose, “back in a jiffy, love. Give me a shout if you need me, okay?”

“Mhm.”

Aziraphale soon returned with a slice of buttered toast and a big glass of ginger tea. He climbed back into bed and handed Crowley the plate.

The smell of burnt bread and creamy butter triggered a new wave of nausea. Crowley swallowed roughly and wrinkled his nose. “I dunno, angel…”

“We’ll try that again later, then.” Aziraphale switched the toast for the tea. “But you must try to at least drink something, dearest. You need fluids, especially after throwing up. We cannot risk you getting dehydrated.” He indicated the tea in Crowley’s hands with a dip of his chin. “Ginger should help alleviate the nausea. It’s an old herbal remedy. My mother used to make me fresh ginger tea whenever I felt poorly.”

Crowley sniffed the spicy, earthy liquid. His stomach churned some more. “Did it help?”

Aziraphale gingerly cupped his hand around the bottom of the glass, directing Crowley’s hands upwards. “Let’s find out, shall we? Small sips, dear, or it will upset your stomach.”

Crowley put the glass to his lips and slowly sipped at the tea. Everything in him protested as the liquid entered his body, as if he was willingly consuming poison, but over the course of many long minutes, he bravely finished the glass.

“Well done, darling,” Aziraphale praised him as he took the empty glass from him and put it away. “Would you like to try the toast?”

The words triggered a stinging burst of acid reflux. Crowley swallowed it down with a wince and shook his head.

“In that case, let me get you another cup of tea.” Aziraphale bustled off towards the kitchen, leaving Crowley in the dark bedroom, alone with his thoughts and misery.

He really didn’t want another blasted cup of tea, but he also didn’t want to get dehydrated. At least it gave Aziraphale the feeling he was being helpful, even if the only thing Crowley really needed from him was his presence.

After finishing his second glass, Crowley was able to successfully hold off a third by saying he really needed another lie-down.

They settled back into bed together. Enveloped in a cocoon of Aziraphale’s warmth and the safety of their bed, Crowley could close his eyes and embrace the sense of calm that washed over him. Now that he’d hydrated his body, all he had to do was ride out this lingering nausea until the ginger started doing its job.

His newfound sense of peace didn’t last long.

After half an hour at best, the queasiness returned. His nausea built, and built, and built, and a feeling of dread started looming over Crowley like he was watching a tsunami wave crashing towards shore. Despite feeling absolutely wretched, he tried with all his might to power through it. He really, really didn’t want to go through all of that nasty stuff again.

It was completely involuntary when he shot upright. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“What’s the matter?” Aziraphale asked anxiously, quickly scrambling up after him.

“I’m gonna throw up,” Crowley breathed.

Aziraphale swung his legs over the bed and guided Crowley towards the edge of the mattress with a hand on the small of his back. “Will you make it to the bathroom?”

He probably could if he tried, but the thought of those cold tiles and the smell of the toilet was enough to make him burst into an endless shivering. Aziraphale had read his body language before Crowley could even answer.

He picked up the big bowl he’d brought from the kitchen on his latest tea run and placed it in Crowley’s lap. “This will do just fine,” he said softly. He moved Crowley’s hair out of his face and started rubbing his back again.

Oh, god. He really didn’t want to do this. Not again. He didn’t know what he found more horrifying; that he was going to vomit again, or that Aziraphale was going to be right there to witness it. He would hear all the disgusting sounds about to pour from Crowley’s mouth. This is what his friend had signed up for though. For better or for worse, they were in this together.

Crowley hunched over the bowl. The second he stopped fighting it, his stomach lurched again. He didn’t expect to expel yet another flood wave into the bowl, but he’d underestimated just how sick his body was. The lack of food in his stomach was no problem, for he’d been drinking ginger tea! He retched once, then every last drop of the supposed herbal remedy came spewing out his mouth. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he heaved above the bowl, waiting for the inevitable second stream to come.

“Almost done, darling,” Aziraphale murmured sweetly, gently brushing the hair from Crowley’s eyes every time it flopped back down his forehead. “Just let it out.”

The second round was over with much quicker, but it left Crowley a sweaty, panting mess. His knuckles were white from gripping the bowl, and he trembled like a baby deer.

Aziraphale took the bowl from him. “I’m just going to throw this out, okay?” he asked. “I won’t be a minute.”

Crowley sucked in a breath and managed a feeble nod. He used the time Aziraphale was gone to get his bearings again. Despite Aziraphale’s careful ministrations, his hair clung to his face. It was soaked with tears and sweat, sweet and salty mixing on his skin like a river meeting the sea. Today had left him nothing more than a weak bundle of limbs attached to a heavy bag of sand. He was exhausted.

“All right, my lovely,” Aziraphale said as he re-entered the bedroom. “I’ve fetched you a new glass of water and I’ve brought a nice, warm flannel with me.”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale crossed the room. His partner settled himself directly at Crowley’s side again and offered him the glass.

Crowley managed a few tiny sips to get rid of the burning in his throat, but had to put the glass away when even the lukewarm water began to cause an aversive reaction.

“This really is the most unattractive thing imaginable,” Crowley muttered, his voice scraping out his throat.

“Well, then it’s a good thing we don’t bother with all that finicky attraction business,” Aziraphale replied primly, tenderly wiping Crowley’s skin with the warm flannel to clean up whatever fluids were trickling down his chin.

“It’s humiliating.”

Aziraphale turned the flannel inside out and draped it over the radiator. “It’s human. You have nothing to be embarrassed about, dearest.”

Crowley sniffled. It was a bad sign that he gave up the argument this easily, but he really didn’t have it in him to come up with a retort. It had been ages since he last had any food, and he was starting to feel it.

He let himself fall against Aziraphale’s side and put his head on his shoulder. “‘M so tired,” he whispered.

Aziraphale looped his arms around him and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “I know, sweetheart. Why don’t we try another nap, hm? We’ll let you sleep through the day, and pray you feel a bit better tomorrow, okay?”

Crowley produced a weak, almost needy sort of sound. “Give me a cuddle first?” he asked quietly, already burrowing his way deeper into Aziraphale’s arms, his fluffy jumper and soft belly providing the perfect cushioning for Crowley’s aching body.

Aziraphale squeezed him tightly. “Always, my love.”

Chapter Text

Over the next few months, Crowley kept struggling. While he wanted to leave his job more than anything, he didn’t have the energy to deal with job hunting right now. The thought of being unemployed was almost just as stressful, and so he stayed, bearing the snide remarks of his colleagues, the deadlines he could hardly meet, and the ever-growing responsibilities he was expected to keep up with despite his poor health. He fell into a vicious circle of feeling too poorly to make any drastic life changes, which led to him feeling even more poorly, and therefore even less able to do anything about it. Although the nausea episodes luckily remained few and far between, the stomach cramps became a more regular part of Crowley’s life, made worse by the fact that the painkillers only seemed to work half of the time.

The first sign that something had to give should have been that his skinny jeans no longer hugged tightly around his waist. Over the span of the last few months, Crowley had been forced to tighten his belt by several holes.

Then there was the fact that he woke up to a bruised hip whenever he’d slept on his side. The little bit of padding he’d had was completely gone, the only thing left to protect his skeleton from the outside world the thin stretch of pale skin. All it took was a slight inhale for him to be able to count his ribs, the bones poking out one by one, ready to be played like a xylophone.

Crowley had always had a slender build. He’d always had a healthy relationship with food, and his weight had been steady all his life to the point that he stopped weighing himself altogether. He and Aziraphale didn’t care about that sort of thing anyway. How many stones you weighed or the percentage of fat you had in your body were just more examples of the nonsensical things society was obsessed with. So the fact that even Aziraphale finally broached the subject with him was sign two that things were really getting worrisome.

They were in the bathroom getting ready for their Sunday walk when Aziraphale broke the comfortable, morning silence.

“Crowley, dearest,” he began tentatively, rinsing his razor under the bathroom tap.

Crowley paused brushing his teeth and turned his head, a tiny spittle of toothpaste trickling down his chin. “Hmpf?”

“I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve become rather…bony as of late.”

Crowley hummed in agreement.

“Do you think…That is to say, would you—Hm.” Aziraphale was clearly grappling with bringing this up in a delicate matter. Apparently, he struggled with this more than Crowley did.

He spit into the basin and rinsed his toothbrush. “Been losing weight like mad,” he agreed airily.

“When did you first notice?” Aziraphale asked, already looking more at ease now that Crowley had shown him the topic wasn’t off-limits.

Crowley took his tub of pomade out of the cabinet and began styling his hair. “Took me a while, to be honest. At first, I noticed that my jeans didn’t fit the way they used to. But I ascribed it to the elastic wearing out or something like that.”

“Ah, yes. I could see how that would be your initial assumption.”

“Yeah. But then I had to keep tightening my belt. And, well, you’ve seen me get out of the shower. You could play Toto’s Africa on my ribs.”

Aziraphale made a thoughtful noise. “I will take your word for it.”

Crowley put the final touch to his quiff and washed his hands. “How long’ve you been worrying about me?” He looked at Aziraphale through the mirror, but his partner glanced to the side, his hands coming together before his stomach.

“Ah, perhaps a little while,” he admitted quietly, peering down at his worrying hands. “I didn’t quite know how to talk to you about it.” A little colour entered his cheeks. “I know we like and accept each other exactly the way we are, and I’ve never thought you needed ‘more meat on your bones’ or whatever people tend to say to you—”

Crowley snorted. People did like to tell him that.

“—But I think we’ve reached the point where this has less to do with the way your body is built, and more with your body giving you more warning signs.”

Crowley dried his hands and turned towards his partner. “Hey,” he said softly, waiting until Aziraphale raised his gaze to meet his eyes. “I agree, angel.”

Aziraphale let a small smile grow on his lips and gave a slow nod. “Okay. Okay, good.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been so worried.” Crowley lay a hand over Aziraphale’s twisting fingers. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

A sharp exhale. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry, I simply got in my head about it. I would never want you to think that you’re not good enough just the way you are.”

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “I know.” He opened up his arms and let Aziraphale step into his embrace. Crowley held his angel close. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Aziraphale rested his cheek against Crowley’s shoulder and squeezed him back. “Nothing is more important to me than your wellbeing.”

“Not even books?”

“Not even books.”

Crowley chuckled and tightened his hold on Aziraphale even further. “Wow.”

***

For the first time in ages, Crowley was going to weigh himself. He hadn’t even known they had a scale, but Aziraphale had conjured it up from the back of their wardrobe, magician that he was.

“Right, here goes,” Crowley muttered, now stripped down to his underwear. He stepped onto the scale, the glass a little chilly under his feet.

A shockingly low number blinked back at him.

“Oh, fuck.”

Aziraphale came to stand next to him but politely didn’t look down. He gave Crowley a gentle, questioning look. One that said, ‘You may tell me, but only if you want to.’

“It’s bad, angel,” Crowley said, eyes transfixed by the number. He didn’t know exactly how much he’d weighed back when he was healthy, but he did know this was concerningly little for someone of his build. “You can look.”

Aziraphale put a warm, comforting hand on Crowley’s back and followed his gaze. The numbers on the scale jumped up. “Whoops,” he muttered sheepishly. He retrieved his hand and watched the number go down to Crowley’s weight.

“It’s bad, right?” Crowley repeated. “That’s bad.”

Aziraphale hummed. “It’s certainly not very…good.”

Crowley stepped off the scale and shivered as his bare feet hit the bathroom tiles. “I mean—I knew I was losing weight. But this is…this is mad.”

“This makes it more real, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale inquired gently as he offered Crowley his robe. “Seeing the actual number.”

“Damned right it does. Fuck.” Crowley didn’t take the robe and looked down at himself instead, skin now covered in goosebumps. Had he always had sticks for legs, or was that because of how much weight he’d lost too? He used to have proper thighs, didn’t he? He stretched an arm before him, turning it this way and that. His elbow could break a pane of safety glass with just how pointy it was. But he’d always had somewhat bony elbows, hadn’t he? Just how much had his body changed in the last year? And how had it taken him this long to notice?

He touched his hip. A dull ache spread through his tissue, even though his skin didn’t show any signs of bruising. Crowley couldn’t stop touching the protruding bone, feeling again and again how his sore body reacted to his fingertips.

The mirror before him showed what could only be called a husk of his former self. The muscles in his throat led to deep wells of dark shadows created by his protruding collarbone. The joints of his shoulders were defined to the point that it looked like Crowley’s skin had made a poor attempt at hiding a pair of snooker balls. He twisted around and examined his back. His shoulder blades looked wrong, too. They stuck out like something was supposed to be attached to them, almost like he was supposed to have a pair of wings. Under them were more dark lines hinting at several pairs of ribs, and his spine visibly ran all the way down to his tailbone. The only thing that seemed to have remained the same was the location of his freckles, dotted about his back like splatter from a paintbrush.

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked, affection blooming through the low timbre of his voice, the tenderness dancing between every syllable like dandelion seeds in the wind.

“…I don’t know,” Crowley answered truthfully, finally taking the robe from him. He wrapped it around himself, hiding the tangible evidence of his sickliness. “This is…kinda fucked up.”

Aziraphale stepped closer and delicately tied the belt of Crowley’s robe into a firm knot. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He smoothed a hand over the fuzzy fabric loosely covering Crowley’s chest. “Would you like to talk about possible solutions?”

Resistance ignited in Crowley’s chest. He knew they had to. He couldn’t go on like this much longer; the stress was literally eating him alive. Right now, though, he had no space in his head for game plans. The number kept flashing through his mind’s eye, and Crowley could feel himself become increasingly numb.

“Or would you like a hug?” Aziraphale continued. He tilted his head at him with such fondness Crowley could have burst into tears right then and there if not for the wall of ice the shock had put around his heart.

He gave a nod and was pulled into Aziraphale’s arms without delay. Crowley gratefully sunk into them.

“We’ll figure this thing out, my love,” Aziraphale murmured, stroking Crowley’s hair despite the shield of wax protecting it. “You’ll be okay again.”

Crowley held on to his partner like he was the very last thing keeping him from drowning and took a deep, shaky breath.

He was going to be okay. Aziraphale had said so, and Crowley trusted him with his life.

Chapter Text

Somehow, despite all of Crowley’s struggles, time had passed. Next Saturday, they would finally go on their trip to the seaside. They had booked a lovely B&B and had been counting down the days. Aziraphale had made itineraries with great enthusiasm and had proudly shown him how each day included several time slots labelled “Crowley’s nap time ♡”.

Crowley didn’t need several naps a day, but he did need breaks. Nowadays, he couldn’t even get through his normal workday without taking a walk around the office at least once every hour. And even then, he’d come home with a killer headache that put him in an awful mood. He furiously hoped it wouldn’t happen on their trip. Aziraphale deserved to have a lovely time without Crowley’s endless grumpiness. Hell, Crowley deserved to have a lovely time after everything he’d been through. A trip to the sea was exactly what he needed.

So why was he dreading it so much?

He paced around the house. It was another Saturday afternoon, and Aziraphale was at the bookshop. Even though Aziraphale followed his own opening times, he still wouldn’t be home for another two hours.

With no one around to keep him busy, Saturdays had inevitably become Crowley’s day of rest. It was a necessary evil, but it was boring as all fuck. Resting absolutely sucked. What the hell was he supposed to do all day? Lay in bed? Sit on the sofa? He got bored out of his mind halfway through a thirty-minute sitcom episode more often than not—The Golden Girls being the exception, of course, but you could only watch so many reruns before you started having utterly bizarre dreams about Betty White.

Being alone also meant there was no one around to distract him from his thoughts. It was a dangerous place to be. They ran away with him like a panicking horse, dragging Crowley behind them with no regard for where they might end up. Usually, this meant Crowley ended up in an infinite doom spiral, leaving him frozen on the sofa, stuck in his head.

For once, he didn’t want to spend his Saturday doomscrolling on social media for hours. Aziraphale might be at the bookshop, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have time to talk. Aziraphale loved to look busy, giving customers the impression he was on a very important, I-really-cannot-be-interrupted kind of phone call.

Crowley had been hanging around all day and had reached peak lethargy, so he dragged himself to bed and decided to call Aziraphale from there. He was tired anyway, so it only made sense to have a chat whilst lying down.

“Hello, this is A.Z. F—”

“It’s me.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s eager voice burst from the phone, warm and sincere like a hug. “How lovely to hear your voice, darling. Is everything all right?”

Crowley pulled the duvet up to his chin and lay the phone next to his face on the pillow. “Yeah. Just tired. And bored. D’you have time to talk?”

“For you, always,” Aziraphale said. Crowley could hear the smile in his voice. Satan, he missed him. Absolutely ridiculous, that, since they’d seen each other just this morning. “What have you been up to today?” Aziraphale asked brightly.

A big yawn escaped Crowley’s lips. “Nothing, nada, zilch. Rest day, remember?”

“Ah, of course!” Aziraphale made a small, approving noise. “That’s very wise, especially since we leave for our big trip in less than a week!”

Something tight spread through Crowley’s chest. “…Right.”

This ‘big trip’ they were embarking on was nothing more than a cosy weekend in East Sussex, and yet, Crowley felt like he might as well have been mentally preparing himself for a trek through the Appalachian Mountains.

“Did I tell you I was supposed to have lunch with Nina the other day?” he began offhandedly. He continued before Aziraphale could confirm or deny. “I cancelled because I was afraid it’d be too crowded and my head already hurts so much and I was sure I’d get overstimulated and then that’d trigger my stomach and then I was spiralling into an anxiety attack and I was so sure it was gonna cause another nausea episode. I think I’m becoming agoraphobic, angel, because it’s absolutely mad that I can’t even visit Nina at her own bloody cafe anymore but fuck, my brain is constantly telling me I will feel bloody awful as soon as I leave the house and I actually believe it because I do feel bloody awful so much of the time and—”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted gently. “Darling, what are you trying to tell me?”

Crowley’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t quite known himself why he’d picked up the phone, but suddenly the reason presented itself to him with shattering clarity. His throat tightened, and a veil of tears began to obscure his vision. “I—I don’t think I can go on our trip.”

The reality of his admission crashed into him with the destructive force of a sledgehammer. It broke down every last one of his walls. All of a sudden, Crowley burst into tears. Months and months of bottled-up frustration and suffering flooded out of him with unrestrained, heartbroken wails.

“I just—” he stuttered between hitching breaths. “I just don’t think I can d-drive. I can’t—” He gasped for breath. “I can’t focus anymore, angel. And what if I get a flare-up at the B&B? What if the bathroom’s shit? What if there’s no privacy? What if the walls are so thin our neighbours hear me puke at night? What if there’s no microwave and there’s no way for me to try and relax my stomach with the wheat bag and so I’ll panic and the pain’ll get worse because it does when I’m tense I mean you know this you’re the one who’s always telling me to breathe but—”

“Indeed, my love,” Aziraphale’s voice brushed against his ear, soft as a feather. “Breathe, Crowley. I’m closing up the shop, and we can talk more about this when I’m home. But please know we won’t be going anywhere unless you’re one hundred percent sure it’s something you want, okay?”

Crowley took a shuddering breath. “Ok.”

***

Crowley broke down into another round of sobs as soon as Aziraphale walked into the bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked through his tears. “I’m so sorry.” He covered his face with his hands as his body began to shake. His tears spilt past his fingers, sliding down his nose and onto the pillow. The uncomfortable wet spot in the fabric grew and grew, sticking to Crowley’s clammy, snot-covered skin. “I really—I really want to go,” he cried, the sound of his voice muffled by his hands.

The mattress dipped beside him, and a warm, plump hand landed on his shoulder. “It’s all right, sweetheart,” Aziraphale said gently. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

The soothing words had the opposite effect on Crowley. His tears took on the intensity of a cascading waterfall. “We’ve been looking forward to this for so long,” he wept. Guilt wrapped its icy tendrils around his heart, squeezing all the hurt out and pumping it through his bloodstream. “I’m—I’m ruining everything.”

“Come here, Crowley,” Aziraphale implored. “Come here, my love.” He nudged Crowley up from the mattress and guided him into his arms.

Crowley numbly followed Aziraphale’s guiding hands and meekly climbed into his lap. He buried his face in the crook of his partner’s neck and wrapped his arms around him as another sob broke free from his lips.

Aziraphale held him firmly against his chest. “You’re not ruining anything,” he said emphatically. “Trips can be postponed, dearest. Taking care of your health cannot.”

“I hate that it’s affecting my life like this,” Crowley rasped, loudly sniffing his nose before his snot could drip onto Aziraphale’s skin. He felt a steady hand settle on his back, its warmth reaching all the way to the aching tears in his heart. Despite everything, it helped ground him. “I can’t even trust my own body anymore,” he continued, letting his racing thoughts topple out his mouth like dominos. “I have zero control. Every day, it’s just—just endless compromising. Doing the next best thing, and if that doesn’t work, the next next best thing, until I’m—until my entire fucking life is one big compromise. I’m so tired, angel. I’m so bloody exhausted. I don’t want to be surviving all the time. I want to—” A violent sob burst from his throat. “I want to live,” Crowley cried, his body starting to heave once more.

Aziraphale held him tightly and gently rocked him from side to side. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Crowley clutched onto Aziraphale with all that he had as he let his grief pour out of him.

His life wasn’t his own anymore. He wasn’t entirely sure when he’d lost it, but something else had taken control. Crowley wasn’t at the wheel anymore. He followed the whims of his fickle health, settling for whatever would make him hurt the least, regardless of whether it made him happy. It had been the driving force behind his decisions for too long. He hadn’t followed his true desires, hadn’t tried to take back control, and now it was too late. His health had interfered with what he treasured most: his life with Aziraphale.

“It’s been such a burden,” Crowley muttered when he’d calmed down enough to speak again. “I’ve been such a burden.”

“You have been nothing of the sort,” Aziraphale replied vehemently, squeezing his arms around him to accentuate his words. “I wish I could have taken more weight off your shoulders. The only thing I want is for you to find the joy in life again. Your happiness should not be a foreign thing, my darling Crowley.”

Crowley’s tears kept softly running down his cheeks as he listened to Aziraphale. He wanted to find his joy again, but how? It felt impossible. He felt like he was balancing on the edge of a cliff, a carefree life on the other side of the valley, unreachable and unrealistic unless someone reached out a hand from a secret rope bridge.

“You’re going to hand in your notice on Monday,” Aziraphale announced matter-of-factly, pulling back the metaphorical thicket to reveal a bridge of possibility had been there in front of Crowley all along.

Crowley sniffled and drew back to look Aziraphale in the eye. “What?”

Aziraphale gave a hum.

“I can’t—I really can’t just—”

“Crowley, listen to me,” Aziraphale said firmly all while tenderly wiping a lone tear from his cheek. “You are going to hand in your notice, we are making an appointment with your doctor, and we’re going to find you a therapist.”

“But—”

“No buts. I will come with you to every appointment if you need me to. We can take the bus if you don’t feel up to driving somewhere new. I will sit in the waiting room and then we can take the bus home together again. We could get a nice treat on the way. I will apply for a stall at those antique book markets I’ve been eyeing so we can make a little extra money on the side, and perhaps I can look into the literature lectures I’ve always wanted to host in the shop. We can invite different speakers and organise all sorts of events. You know I love arranging that sort of thing, and I can always ask Nina and Maggie for some help with the catering and such. You won’t have to worry about a thing. You can focus all your energy on getting better, and I won’t hear another word about it.” Aziraphale stared at him with proper sternness, all steadfast eyes and pinched mouth.

But Crowley wasn’t going to fight him on this, not this time. A blanket of peace smothered his panicking thoughts, overwhelming in its tranquillity as it erased every loud thought of having to go back to work. Crowley finally felt like he could breathe again, like a rope of chains was released from around his lungs. “I can quit work?” he asked quietly, lip quivering.

“Yes, darling,” Aziraphale said. The sharp lines in his face faded immediately when he realised Crowley wasn’t digging his heels in. “I will take care of us financially, so you can focus on taking care of yourself mentally and physically, okay? We can do it together, as a team.”

“As a team,” Crowley echoed weakly.

His head throbbed from all the crying. Despite the continuous stream of tears, his eyes felt as dry as the trees in a forest fire, and they burnt like it too. And yet, Crowley felt lighter than he had in months. The heavy woe in his heart drifted out through the open window, floating on the gentle breeze whispering into their bedroom, making the curtains flutter with hope. His suffering had almost managed to douse the flame of his optimism, but Aziraphale had been there by his side, carrying a container of petrol, making sure the spark was never lost.

Crowley threw his arms around Aziraphale’s neck again and nosed at the warm, familiar skin. “I love you.”

His partner curled his arms tightly around him in response and squeezed them even closer together. “You will come out of this the other end, my love, and I’ll be there every step of the way. We will manage just fine.”

“I wouldn’t have survived this past year without you, angel.”

Aziraphale cupped his hand around Crowley’s neck and gave a fond squeeze. “Don’t underestimate just how strong you are, dearest. You have shown such perseverance. I am so unbelievably proud of you. It’s time for you to rest now, my darling. No more surviving, hm?”

Crowley nodded, his rough stubble brushing past Aziraphale’s skin. He took a deep, controlled breath and slowly let it go, allowing the tension to seep out of his muscles. He nuzzled further into Aziraphale’s embrace and sniffled softly. “No more surviving.”