#I still use sketchbooks waddup

[cryptidkieren]

come around (3/6)

waddup guys!! this one took forever but its 4000 WORDS so i hope that explains my absence :)

ao3 link 

-----

“What about this one, angel?”

Aziraphale looked up from the soft yellow cardigan he was holding, people scurrying around them with their own shopping. He wished he hadn’t.

Crowley held aloft a maroon sweatshirt with what looked to be a drawing of Jesus… sneezing into his elbow?

“I don’t get it.”

The mischievous smirk on the demon’s face instantly disappeared. The bustle of the shopping center around them seem to grow louder in the silence that hung between the two supernatural beings. “What d'you mean, you don't get it?”

“I mean,” Aziaphale wrinkled his nose as he neatly folded the cardigan back into place, turning back to face his companion. “That I don’t know why a sweater of Jesus Christ sneezing is an appropriate gift for the son of Satan.”

Crowley, for whatever reason, seemed to be absolutely baffled. “I- What- Sneezing? For all the bloody-”

The angel stifled a laugh and plucked the sweatshirt out of the sputtering demon’s hands. He hummed as he looked it over, inspecting it for any mistakes in the stitching, as Crowley attempted to pull himself together.

Just as Crowley opened his mouth, most likely to criticize him for still culturally living in the 19th century, Aziraphale interrupted with a cheery “Actually, I think we should get it!” The angel quickly placed the garment into their basket as he watched, looking positively bewildered.

Aziraphale chuckled at Crowley’s expression; he was a bit of a bastard, after all.

“I cannot believe you, angel,” Crowley sighed, rubbing his temples rather vigorously as they continued their hunt through the department store. The angel only smiled serenely in response.

The festive season onslaught was in full swing by that point, people rushing about trying to finish up their Christmas shopping and attempting to dodge the snowdrifts that had piled up throughout the previous days. Loud, cheery holiday music blared in every store, while vendors on the sidewalk sold hot chocolate and warm pretzels to passersby.

It was Aziraphale’s favorite time of year, and Crowley’s least.

While the angel adored the general sense of goodwill and cheer that permeated the air during the holiday season, Crowley always saw it as more work. Every year without fail, Hell expected him to tempt and irritate humans more and more than the previous year.

He also hated Christmas music with the passion of a dying star.

The two unearthly beings had been through numerous shops in downtown London that day, trying to find the perfect gifts for their human friends. They wanted to do it the “proper way,” or Aziraphale wanted to, at least, since they had never bothered to before.

They had been in their current store for around 15 minutes, Crowley picking up joke gifts with all the seriousness of a clown while the angel reprimanded him fondly. At one point, the demon had eyed an over-the-top festive ugly sweater with growing mischief. Aziraphale only shook his head and steered him away, knowing the sweater would end up in Anathema’s pile of gifts at some point.

The angel perused the selection of sketchbooks the shop was selling, noting with a touch of disdain the ones made to look like antique tomes, as Crowley trailed behind him. He paused, however, when he saw something that caught his eye. It was a glittery notebook with a curly-headed dog on the front. The dog was sitting happily, tongue lolled out in a canine grin. It wore a black collar with a skull and crossbones, a human skull resting at its feet. ‘Bad to the Bone’ curled around the image in a pretty cursive script.

“I think you’d like this one, Crowley!”

The distinct lack of a sarcastic response made Aziraphale pause, turning to see what could have distracted his companion so thoroughly from him.

“Crowley?”

Crowley, however, was nowhere in sight.

Scanning the immediate area revealed nothing as to where the demon could have gotten off to. Dread steadily crept up Aziraphale’s spine as he dropped the notebook and quickly headed to the front door of the shop.

It seemed that the temperature had dropped since he had last been outside, the wind whipping snow around his ankles and blowing flakes down the stark road. The streets had emptied as the hour grew later, leaving Aziraphale alone on the sidewalk, with only the parked Bentley to keep him company. The angel stood there, freezing and panicked, torn on which direction to start searching.

A noise from the alley next to the shop caught his attention. It was a sort of wet sound, like slicing through meat, accompanied by what sounded like a muffled cry of pain. Vicious laughter followed, a sound that was as familiar as it was horrifying.

Of course the angel followed it.

What he found made Aziraphale’s blood boil and his Grace to erupt out of him in incandescent waves of light, violently enough that it almost discorporated his human body.

There was Crowley, tossed into the snow and bleeding from a large gash on his chest. His glasses lay broken by his feet, a cut across his nose oozing dark blood down his face. A bloodied hand was raised in front of him, as if to shield himself from an incoming blow.

The demon looked terrified. He looked as if he knew he was moments from death.

Above him stood Hastur and a squat, mean looking demon unknown to Aziraphale. Hastur looked as grotesque as ever, though both demons had curled in on themselves in fear as the angel’s fury reached them.

One of Hastur’s arms was covered in what looked to be a thick latex glove that reached his elbow, not unlike the ones used to handle dangerous chemicals. His protected hand held a golden dagger that radiated a soft white light, undimmed by the black ichor dripping off the blade. Aziraphale felt his breath falter for a moment.

He knew that weapon. It belonged to Uriel, though it hadn’t been wielded in millennia.

He also knew it was made of the best celestial steel Heaven could offer.

Celestial steel that, of course, could destroy demons permanently, as it was forged using holy water.

Aziraphale felt the tenuous control on his anger snap. His wings exploded out behind him, white feathers swirling with the untouched snow by their feet. They spanned so large that they completely blocked the entrance to the alley, making the glow of his Grace even more blinding in the dim light. When he spoke, it was as if a thousand other voices echoed his words.

“Hastur, Duke of Hell, how came you by this Heavenly blade?”

The two standing demons were quick to cower away from him. After a moment, Hastur dared to sneer up at the enraged angel.

“It was a gift, from the Archangels Gabriel and Uriel. They only allowed my possession of it for killing the demon Crowley and,” the demon paused then, straightening a bit when nothing happened to him. He licked his lips, a disgusting smile stealing its way onto his face. The demon next to him seemed to have gained confidence along with Hastur, grinning maliciously up at the angel.

“And they were hoping that by killing your boyfriend, you would go running back into their arms like a child. I believe they planned to make an example of you, Heavenly scum.” Hastur laughed wickedly, along with his little cronie.

While the two demons laughed themselves silly, Aziraphale stole a glance at Crowley, who was still sprawled in the quickly blackening snow. He was pale, a hand clutching at his bloody chest, while his golden eyes were wide in fear and… awe? He must’ve hit his head on something, because that couldn’t be right.

“Silence!” Aziraphale’s voice boomed around them, immediately putting an end to the two demons’ merriment. They were back to looking petrified, at least. “You forget yourself, Duke of Hell. One angel can destroy twenty demons without a thought. What could a Principality do?”

“Y-You can’t!” cried the undersized demon, wagging a trembling finger at the angel. Hastur was frantically trying to quiet him. “We have o-orders from Lord Beelzebub themself! The demon C-Crowley must die!”

With that, the demon ripped the celestial blade from Hastur’s grip. Aziraphale watched in frozen horror as he screamed, the skin of his palm already steaming and bubbling from coming into direct contact with an object from Heaven.

The angel snapped out of it when the demon raised a trembling arm above Crowley, poised to strike a killing blow. Time seemed to slow to a stop around them as Crowley’s life hung in the balance.

“NO!!”

A blinding flash of light and a bang that seemed to shake the very Earth. Uriel’s blade clattered to the pavement, a smouldering pile of black ash where the short demon previously was. Aziraphale’s outstretched hand (when did that get there?) trembled in the air. His breath wheezed out of him as he realized what he had done.

In all his many years, the angel had never killed anything, let alone destroy something so completely-

‘He was going to kill Crowley.’

And just like that, all of his guilt slipped away like water down a riverbed. His breathing evened out and his arm stopped wavering, dropping back to his side with a sense of finality.

Hastur, who had started screaming incoherently when he saw what had become of his partner (again), snapped his attention back to the suddenly calm angel. He looked even more terrified than before, and rightly so.

Aziraphale slowly approached the demon, who frantically tried to get away. Miraculously, his feet appeared to have been stuck fast to the ground, making his escape impossible. The angel rose himself the few inches difference between them to stare directly into Hastur’s soulless black eyes. His own were reflected back at him, burning an otherworldly blue.

The demon twitched as the angel’s Grace enveloped him completely, forcing little choked off sounds of pain from his throat. Aziraphale gripped Hastur’s white blond hair in a tight fist, burning the side of his face where they came into contact.

“You’ll tell everyone down there that no one shall harm what is mine. I am the angel who walked through Hellfire and never Fell, so please think before you act against me.” Aziraphale pulled Hastur closer, making the demon cry out in agony as the angel’s wrist pressed more firmly to his cheekbone. “Do you understand me, Duke of Hell? If any future suffering comes to Crowley from Hell, I’ll hunt you down first.”

“I do!” he croaked, squirming to get away from Aziraphale. The skin where they connected was bubbling up, smoke rising from the prolonged exposure. “I’ll tell them! I swear!”

“Good.” With that, he released the grip he had on Hastur, flicking his fingers to unstick his feet. The demon scrambled away from him, disappearing not a moment later.

Aziraphale floated softly back to firmer ground as he reigned in his Grace and wings, releasing a noisy breath. A pained whimper from the gutter had him scrambling towards Crowley, ignoring the sharp sting of falling so quickly to his knees on cement. The edge of panic that had kept its place in the back of his mind finally took control, making his hands shake with adrenaline and fear.

“Crowley- Oh-” The angels hands fluttered over the still bleeding wound. “Let me-”

“No,” Crowley rasped, coughing wetly to the side. A few drops of black blood stained the previously untouched snow. He caught both of the angel’s hands firmly in his own. “No, Aziraphale, don’t heal me like that. I wouldn’t survive it.”

Aziraphale was bewildered. The demon had never denied a healing opportunity from him before. Then again, nothing the angel had ever healed for him had been this serious. “What- What do you mean? I’ve healed you plenty before!”

The demon grinned up at him tiredly, white teeth stained black. “Your Grace, angel, it would kill me. It’s t-too big of a wound-” He turned to cough again, blood spilling over his lips.

His resolve hardened then. Aziraphale quickly hooked his arms under the demon, ignoring his weak protests, and gently lifted him into his arms. “Fine, but we’re not staying here. They could come back at any moment.”

“Wh-” Crowley swallowed thickly, his arms wrapped limply around the angel’s neck. “What a-about the sword?”

Aziraphale glanced at Uriel’s blade, still laying on the ground. The hilt had fallen into the ashes of the demon he killed, smearing them into the creases of the ancient binding around it. They would probably never come out, since miracles couldn’t work on Heavenly objects.

“I’m afraid I have to set you back down for this, darling,” Aziraphale said regretfully. He wanted nothing more than to run away right then, get as far away from that alley as possible with Crowley. But he had to send the blade back to its owner, lest it fall into the wrong hands. Again.

He also wanted to send a message, granted it was a nonverbal one.

“No no, it’s fine, I’ll just bleed q-quietly over here, n-no trouble,” the demon snarked as he was gently set to lean against one of the walls of the alley. Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly before getting to work.

Using the fallen demon’s ashes, Aziraphale quickly sketched out a messy sigil on a cleared area of the ground. It was reminiscent of the communicating sigil he drew all those months ago, with a few minor details switched around. Instead of being able to send messages, it would allow the celestial dagger to be sent straight to Uriel and whoever else was with her.

Sort of like a Heavenly mail chute.

The blade disappeared in a flash of light and the ash drawn circle blew away, leaving nothing behind but Crowley’s blood in the snow.

Aziraphale quickly gathered his demon (yes, his demon, God damn it; he had made his intentions perfectly clear, just then) and fled to the Bentley.

He only prayed no other forces were after them that day.

-----

Getting Crowley back to his flat was difficult, as any sharp turns the angel made caused him to groan in misery from the back seat. Aziraphale had never driven a day in his life, either, so that made the panic in his chest double as the speedometer steadily rose.

They screeched to a stop in front of Crowley’s stark building, the smell of burning rubber following them up the front steps. Aziraphale made it so no one would pay any attention to them in the lobby, because what was another miracle at that point?

The lift ride to Crowley’s floor seemed to go on for eternity. The demon had refused to lean against the wall for support, instead choosing to cling to Aziraphale as they rose through the building. The angel tried to ignore the wetness seeping through his shirt and jacket as he gripped Crowley closer to him.

When the lift stopped, the small jolt forcing a pained gasp out of the demon, Aziraphale quickly got them into the dark flat. He gently led the demon back to the bedroom, knowing that the unused couch in the living area was as uncomfortable as it was expensive.

“There we go, that’s a dear,” the angel muttered mindlessly, trying his best not to hurt Crowley further as he was set onto the soft mattress. He stared at the demon, fretting on how to help him, when he heard a breathless laugh.

“Calm down, angel,” Crowley said as he smiled up at him, exhausted golden eyes half lidded. “I-I’ll be alright. Don’t worry your p-pretty head about it.”

Aziraphale glared at him, snapping his fingers loudly to miracle away the demon’s unsaveable shirt and jacket. “I will not ‘calm down,’ Crowley! They sliced you open!”

“Alright,” the demon breathed, his eyebrows attempting to join his hairline. “Alright, Aziraphale, it’s o-okay. I’m okay, thanks to you.” He took one of the angel’s hands into his own, so gently that the angel almost started crying right then.

He sniffed instead, swallowing his tears back as he held onto the demon’s hand. “I-I have to help you, my dear. You’ll bleed out if I don’t do something about this, and then you’ll be discorporated.” The angel pushed back Crowley’s disheveled hair from his forehead, keeping his touch light, trying not to startle him with the affectionate gesture.

Crowley, however, appeared to have stopped breathing for a moment, his eyes wide and astonished. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Aziraphale blinked, surprised at how easy it was. Usually, the demon fought him every inch of the way when it came to healing him.

“Yeah, do your thing, angel,” the demon said, smiling weakly as a touch of redness crept onto his cheeks. “I trust you.”

Aziraphale felt as if his heart was going to burst. Not wasting any more time, he held his hands over Crowley’s mangled chest and called for his Grace to heal him. He was so absorbed already in what he was doing that when Crowley screamed bloody murder, the angel fell onto his arse.

Scrambling back to his feet, he hovered over the demon, not touching him but trying to help nonetheless. “A-Are you-”

“Keep going!” Crowley grunted and reached for those fluttering hands. “You can’t s-stop, Aziraphale, or it hurts more.”

The angel nodded briskly, readying himself before allowing his Grace out once more. The demon started screaming again instantly. His back arched to a painful looking height as the muscles and tendons knit themselves back together, his blood flowing backwards into his body.

It only took a moment, but it felt like it lasted for an age. When the open wound looked no worse than a shallow cut, Aziraphale retreated so quickly his back hit the far wall, the glow of his Grace dimming to nothing. Crowley dropped back to the bed like a puppet with its strings cut, panting and trembling minutely.

The angel felt his heart shatter, knowing he had to do it, but not liking it one bit. “C-Crowley?”

It took a moment, but the demon eventually answered. He sounded wretched, like he had been tortured for days instead of being healed. “Yeah?”

“Can I- Is it-”

A sigh and a flopped arm interrupted his babbling. “Just get over here, angel.”

Aziraphale let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Double checking that all of his Grace was firmly tucked back into himself, he quickly approached Crowley. The demon was sweating heavily, his golden eyes had a hazy sheen over them, and he was still bleeding from another slice on his arm.

But he was alive. Aziraphale hadn’t killed him, his body hadn’t discorporated, he was alive-

“Hey hey, angel, it’s alright, everything’s okay,” Crowley said gently, if a bit anxious. The demon reached up to gently wipe at one of his cheeks. “There’s no need to cry, love, I’m fine.”

Aziraphale realised then that the tears had finally escaped as all the adrenaline in his system lessened. He sobbed with his next breath, holding the demon’s hand to his cheek. The angel fixed him with a stern, if watery, glare. “Never do that again, Crowley. I mean it.”

The demon chuckled weakly. “I swear I won’t allow Hastur and whatever goon he’s toting about get the drop on me again.” His thumb brushed against Aziraphale’s cheek, catching the tear there. The angel smiled at him, feeling so soft and full of love for this man- demon- being, he was surprised Crowley himself didn’t feel it.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Aziraphale gently took the demon’s hand off his cheek. “Oh look at me, you’re the one who’s injured and yet you’re still consoling me for being overemotional.”

Crowley smirked up at him, looking fond. “Well, what else would you have me do, angel? Let you cry all over me like a tissue?”

The angel snorted, rather inelegantly, as he scrubbed at his damp face. “You menace. I assume you keep a medical box somewhere?”

“Now why in the bloody Heaven would I do that?” Crowley raised an eyebrow at him, his smirk growing wider. “I’m a demon, Aziraphale, I can just wish my injuries away.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the dramatics. With a snap of his fingers, a fully stocked medical kit sat next to the demon’s hip. “You’ll have to sit up for this one, my dear.”

He helped Crowley up to rest against the headboard, the fluffy pillows almost swallowing him whole. The angel climbed onto the bed beside him, getting comfortable and opening up the first aid kit.

He tried to make quick work of stitching up Crowley’s arm, knowing the demon hated needles. He was interrupted, though, when Crowley made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

“I’m almost done, my dear,” Aziraphale hummed. In truth he was only halfway through the cut, going slower than he usually would to prevent as much bleeding as possible.

“What? No, that’s fine, wasn’t even thinking of it,” The demon huffed, looking to steel himself against whatever he wanted to say. The words came tumbling out anyway. “Back in the alley, what- what did you mean by ‘no one will harm what’s yours?’”

The angel paused, his heartbeat kicking up a couple notches as he scrambled to find something, anything to say. Embarrassment made his cheeks flush hotly, keeping his focus on his work as the demon tried to catch his eyes. “I- Well, I think I rather told them what I think when I chose you a-and humanity over Heaven. Earth is ours, and humanity has us to protect it against- well, against everything else.”

Aziraphale risked a peek at Crowley. He looked pensive, his bloody face making him seem like a real demon. The angel jumped slightly when he was caught staring at the demon. Crowley smirked at him, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Instead, he seemed... Well. It was like he had accepted something, though the angel couldn't fathom what.

“Let’s hope we’re a bit more competent on that front, eh?”

Aziraphale chuckled weakly as he turned back to his task. He made short work of the last few stitches before running off to the kitchen to get a bowl of water. Crowley still looked like a bloodbath, after all.

The demon slid down the sheets to lay fully on the matress once more. He didn’t seem to mind the constant touching as Aziraphale carefully cleaned and wrapped his wounds.

He did hiss halfheartedly, though, when Aziraphale was accidentally too rough on his split nose.

“Sorry,” the angel cringed, prodding gently at the cut. He carefully stuck a plaster on it, just to be safe. “It doesn’t seem like it’s broken, so there’s one upside.”

“Praise be,” Crowley deadpanned. His tired smirk drooped a bit at the edges, but it was there nonetheless. The sight made Aziraphale shake his head affectionately, his chest growing tight once more.

The angel sat back when he was finished patching up anything hurt on his companion. “That should do it, then.”

Crowley hummed softly in acknowledgement, his eyes already closed. Aziraphale stared down at him, a quick flash of horror tearing through him as he thought of how close the demon had come to death. A warm hand on his knee quickly brought him back to reality.

“R'lax, angel,” Crowley slurred. He hadn’t even bothered to open his eyes, the hand thrown on Aziraphale’s knee now slowly moving back and forth. It was quite soothing, honestly.

“Sleep now, darling, you’re exhausted. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

“F’got how scary you were. Still beau’ful, though,” Crowley muttered as he shifted about, getting comfortable. Of course, the angel immediately flushed to the tips of his ears.

“Wh-What was that, my dear?”

When all the demon said in response was a soft hum, his hand stilling, Azirphale let out a heavy sigh.

The angel risked a chance to run his own hand through Crowley’s fiery hair, smoothing it away from his steadily bruising face. He continued when the demon didn’t stir, effectively petting him at that point.

Though the angel himself was exhausted, for the first time in a few centuries, he refused to lie down beside Crowley (no matter how much he longed to).

Aziraphale took the remaining scraps of courage still within him and sat guard. He would wait, either for Crowley to wake or for the forces of Heaven and Hell to come for them. Either way, he would wait.

Nothing would harm Crowley ever again, not if Aziraphale had anything to say about it.

-----

[beginning] // [previous chapter] // [next chapter]

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #anthony janthony crowley #aj crowley #a.z. fell #im writin #fic: come around #in progress #aziraphale/crowley #5+1 fic #5+1 things