Happy Holidays, kujaku_myoo!

[goe_mod]

Title: New Ground
Recipient: kujaku_myoo
Rated: T
Pairings: Aziraphale & Crowley
Summary: While traveling together soon after forming the Arrangement, Crowley and Aziraphale are attacked by bandits. Aziraphale tries to get an injured Crowley to safety while they both grapple with the nature of their relationship.

Baghdad, 1030 AD

Over the course of thousands of years on Earth, Aziraphale thoroughly enjoyed exploring different human settlements. From early gatherings of people at Catalhoyuk to the city-states of Attica, from villages in Gaul to the growing city of London. He loved them all.

At the moment, though, he was happily neglecting his current assignment in favor of Baghdad’s overflowing book markets.

Although sometimes Heaven stationed him in one area or other for decades or even centuries at a time, he tried not to play favorites when it came to cities. He was an angel, after all, and ought to be spreading goodwill and peace to all the world.

But oh, Baghdad’s book markets. He simply couldn’t resist them. As an angel who loved reading, this was the place to enrich his collection.

And not only that. The House of Wisdom, also in Baghdad, would hire anyone who could read and write to transcribe, translate, and copy volumes of human knowledge, poetry, and even fiction. Aziraphale, unlike Crowley, was required to pay for his clothes rather than simply wishing them into being. Angels could understand and communicate in any language, and such a means of income was irresistible.

Of course, the rather delicious array of food and drink helped too. Aziraphale popped another sugary sweet in his mouth, conscientiously dusted his fingers off on his belted tunic, and opened another volume of philosophy.

He’d browsed through several more books and narrowed down his afternoon’s reading choices to three volumes when someone tapped on his shoulder. Glancing up, he smiled. “Oh! Hello, Crowley. Did your favorite tavern run out of wine?”

Crowley gave a slightly guilty grin. He’d been in Baghdad for roughly the same length of time as Aziraphale—weeks, now—but largely hanging out in different areas. “Caught me. Thought I’d see if you were free for lunch.”

Biting his lip, Aziraphale cast a longing glance at his stack of books, skimming his fingers along an embossed leather cover. But he did very much enjoy lunch, and he enjoyed Crowley’s company even more. Just needed a moment to adjust to new plans for the day. “Ah! Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Not exactly the ringing endorsement I was hoping for,” Crowley said, a touch sardonic. “M’ sure I can find somewhere else that serves alcohol if you’re too busy.”

“Oh, don’t be grouchy. You caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“A guardian angel, caught off guard?”

“Technically, a Principality.” For a moment longer, Aziraphale waffled about the three books clutched in his hands. Then, sighing, he bought them all. “I’ll need to go past my room before lunch to, well. Drop these off.”

“Works for me,” Crowley said, pushing his sleeves back. He was dressed similarly to Aziraphale, in a belted tunic, turban, and sandals. All in a darker color, of course, as befitted a demon.

“Don’t you ever get hot in that outfit?” Aziraphale asked as they stepped out from under the shade of the book stalls and back into the baking sunlight. A smooth blue sky spread above them, likely cloudless from horizon to horizon. They couldn’t currently see said horizons, not with the city’s buildings and brick walls in the way, but Aziraphale had spent enough time in this area to guess.

“Er, nah. Not usually, although it is pretty hot today.” Crowley wiped a bit of sweat from his brow as if in demonstration, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at him. “I am a serpent, y’know.”

“I’m well aware, dear boy.”

Their original meeting, in which Crowley was The Serpent, had taken place in an area not so far from here. In some ways, it was still similar, with lots and lots of sand. But in the days of Eden there had been no buildings, no walls except those of the Garden itself. And only two humans, of course.

Baghdad was an entirely different sort of environment now, thronged with people. Travelers, traders, scholars, soldiers. Different languages hummed through the air, a vibrant mixture of Arabic, Aramaic, Persian, and countless others. The humans went about their business, blissfully unaware of the supernatural entities in their midst.

“You know,” Crowley said contemplatively as he and Aziraphale turned down a narrow side street, “those books you love so much are really terrific for me.”

Aziraphale glanced down at the stack in his hands. “How so?”

“Knowledge.” Crowley smiled and reached up, adjusting his sunglasses to better shield his yellow eyes. “I’ve been able to sell the idea to Downstairs that basically all books contribute to Hell’s cause. Your Side’s against knowledge, eh?”

“That’s hardly an accurate summary of Heaven’s position,” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley a proper scolding look. That only resulted in a wider smile. “It was the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil that was forbidden, at least in the Garden.”

“So your Side doesn’t approve of books that contain what you might call ‘moral instruction’?”

They debated the topic as Aziraphale dropped off his latest books with all the others, and continued debating as they dined on a stew with copious amounts of cheese, a delectable rice dish, and sweet almond cakes. Wine assisted in the debate, as usual, and Aziraphale lost himself in the familiar banter with joy. He had looked forward to reading, yes, but he was never happier than when he was with Crowley.

---

As the afternoon wore on, Crowley got sleepy. He always got sleepy after a big meal, usually crashed out for a solid nap that lasted a week or so. Unfortunately, that wasn’t gonna be an option now, not unless he wanted to get in trouble. And he really had no desire to get in trouble.

Might be able to make the next few days more fun, though, at least if he could get Aziraphale’s current pedantic cataloging of beneficial knowledge to pause for a second. “Right, right, okay,” he finally interrupted, and Aziraphale frowned at him. “Look, why don’t we agree that books and knowledge and the accessibility of paper benefit both of us?”

Aziraphale’s slight frown turned suspicious. “Why?”

“For the reasons we’ve been going over for the past two hours. I came up with plenty of examples of sinful books, you came up with plenty of examples of righteous books…”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Aziraphale helpfully topped off Crowley’s wine glass. “I mean, why are we agreeing about it now? I had at least another hour of arguments planned.”

Crowley snorted, amused. Gosh, he loved being with Aziraphale. “Well, for one thing, I thought we might go for a walk in the gardens. Bloody great gardens here, eh?”

“Well, I certainly hope they’re not bloody.”

“Really great gardens, then.”

Aziraphale hesitated, clearly struggling with the change of plans again, and then nodded. Guilt tugged at Crowley’s stomach, especially since he was about to ask Aziraphale for another, much more significant change of plans.

It wasn’t that Aziraphale was excessively stubborn about plans, but he did tend to settle into expectations of the way things would be. Crowley didn’t, at least not with caveats. Being a demon, and not a particularly powerful one, meant needing to be constantly poised to flee if things went wrong.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, would stand his ground all the way. It was one of the things Crowley most admired about him, although it did mean the angel sometimes got in trouble with humans who didn’t like someone politely standing there and arguing at them.

Still, Aziraphale got up, and they headed off to the gardens, wandering past bazaars, villas, bathhouses, mosques. Crowley glanced down at the plump hand swinging temptingly close to his own, and had to battle against the urge to take it.

He and Aziraphale had touched sometimes, especially during the constantly morphing human greetings or when one of them was injured. But although their afternoon stroll through the gardens sounded like it would be even more terrific if they held hands, Crowley resisted. That would definitely be too sudden a change in their dynamic for Aziraphale.

He was just admiring some gorgeous Damask roses in the lush garden when Aziraphale spoke. “What about the second thing?”

The question wrenched Crowley’s thought process off the path, and for a moment he felt much more sympathy for Aziraphale’s issues with abrupt change. “Hmm?”

“You said, for one thing, gardens, so on and so forth.”

Crowley grinned. “Pretty sure that’s not how I said it.”

“I could quote you exactly, but you call me petty when I do that,” Aziraphale said with a smug sort of look.

“You are petty.” And ridiculously fun. Just being with him lit a warm, comfortable happiness in Crowley’s chest. “But yeah, second thing. I’ve gotten some new assignments, supposed to head north to Samarra. Apparently, there’s some merchants I’m supposed to corrupt.”

Aziraphale’s smug look collapsed into total despondency. “You’re leaving?”

An impulse tugged at Crowley, and he almost surrendered to it. He took a deep breath and rephrased instead of just blurting it out, not wanting to completely overload Aziraphale. “Well, I had wondered if we might extend the Arrangement a bit. If you had any assignments you were supposed to be doing in the north, for example, we could just claim you and I canceled each other out. S’ okay if you’re not comfortable with that, though.”

He’d proposed something like that once before, and Aziraphale hadn’t been very impressed by the idea. As it stood, the Arrangement was just supposed to cover staying out of each other’s way. It had been an informal sort of understanding for a long time, and they’d formalized it a decade back with a handshake.

Aziraphale paused under a date palm and tilted his head back, studying the fronds with an unnecessary intensity. Finally, he gave a little sigh. “I do have some assignments I’ve been neglecting, including in Samarra. It’s hardly my fault, you understand. I was simply reading my way through the latest books so I’d know whether any of them were being used to spread evil knowledge.”

“Right. Right.” Crowley rolled his eyes. Aziraphale wouldn’t see it, not with the sunglasses, but he’d sense it.

He did, and gave Crowley a look. “I admit to being tempted—don’t smile at me like that, you old serpent—but I don’t think I’m comfortable with that particular concept. And no, before you suggest that just one of us ought to go, I’m not comfortable with that either.”

Defeated, Crowley scuffed at the ground with one sandal. Then he perked up as his original plan floated back into the forefront of his mind. “S’ okay. But if you do have jobs you gotta do up there, why don’t we travel together? Saves on expenses.”

“It doesn’t, actually. Especially since we like to dine and drink significantly more when together.” But Aziraphale smiled at him, eyes going soft. “Still. The road’s a dangerous place, best not to travel alone. In fact, it’s considered disgraceful to allow someone to travel alone in this area, so I’d best accompany you. When were you thinking of leaving?”

Crowley glanced up at the sun. “As soon as we can, honestly. Takes a while to get out of the city. It’s too roasting to travel during the heat of the day, thought we’d take advantage of the nighttime hours. Besides, I can see in the dark.”

“I can’t,” Aziraphale protested. “At least, not as well as you.” But then he wiped sweat from his own brow and gave a little nod. “I don’t particularly want to travel much during the day either. In fact, that’s why I’ve been neglecting my assignments. Thought I might wait until cooler weather.”

“It’s summer. Heaven probably wouldn’t approve of you ‘neglecting assignments’ for several months.”

“Tragically, no.” Still looking thoughtful, Aziraphale bent over a patch of tulips that were surviving the hot weather by virtue of good shade. “All right, my dear. We’ll travel together, then.”

“Terrific.” Spirits higher than ever, Crowley thumped the trunk of a date palm. “Let’s go get ready, then.”

---

Aziraphale likely ought to have felt a little guilty over his current level of excitement. Angels were supposed to smite demons, not go on trips with them. And certainly not escort them safely to carry out evil deeds.

But then, Aziraphale did intend to carry out his own angelic duty as well. And if he was along, keeping an eye out, then Crowley couldn’t inflict any additional evil along the way. So, traveling together was certainly the right thing to do.

Satisfied with his own justification, he carefully stowed dates, some almond cakes, and some delicious hard cheeses in his pack. Best to take some snacks along. And water, of course. He’d already filled some waterskins. Crowley would likely have filled his own with wine.

Aziraphale chuckled at the thought and checked his pack again. After a brief hesitation, he tucked in a book, a very common volume of poetry. He’d try his best not to get it damaged at all, but in the event that one of the waterskins leaked, it would be easy to replace. Or he could get Crowley to miracle away the damage! Yes, that would certainly work.

He found Crowley pacing outside in the street, looking thoroughly impatient. “Finally ready?” Crowley asked.

“Patience is a virtue, my dear.”

“I’m a demon. M’ not supposed to have virtues.”

“I suppose that does explain a lot,” Aziraphale said with a teasing glance sideways. Oh, this would be lovely. An annoyingly long walk, at least a few days, but still. He did love being with Crowley, a fact that was only becoming more apparent as the Arrangement necessitated more frequent meetings.

The sun had dipped lower in the sky now, which conversely made it rather more unpleasant. At least they were heading east rather than west out of the city and didn’t have the sun directly in their eyes for the rest of its slow descent to the horizon.

Once they crossed a wide bridge over the Tigris, the river cheerfully bright with ornamented barges, wherries, and other vessels, they found themselves in still more gardens. Crowley stretched across a stone wall and plucked an apple from one of the trees. He winked, a quick flutter of an eyelid behind his dark glasses, and held it out to Aziraphale. “Here. Gotta, er, fortify yourself for the trip.”

“You shameful old serpent, tempting me again,” Aziraphale said as he accepted the apple. He took a bite, savoring the sweet juices, a welcome balm to his already dry mouth. It hadn’t rained in some time, and heat leeched the moisture from the air even near the river. “Are you having one too?”

“Nuh, I’m already sleepy enough. I’ll definitely doze off if I eat any more, and I don’t think you want to have to carry me all the way to Samarra.” Crowley eyed a group of travelers just arriving to the city. “I wonder if we shoulda waited for a caravan.”

“But then people would want to talk to us,” Aziraphale said, horrified at the idea.

Crowley gave him a startled look. “I like people. You like people. I thought you liked talking to ‘em, too.”

“Yes, but it’s just supposed to be… us.” His cheeks warmed, and he tugged at his pack awkwardly, adjusting how it hung on his shoulder. Oh dear.

“Oh. Okay. Okay.” A little smile tugged at Crowley’s lips, and he reached up to tuck a tuft of dark hair off his brow and under his turban. “And here I was, thinking you didn’t want my company earlier.”

“Of course I want your company,” Aziraphale said without thinking. He really ought to have thought, though. Saying such things was really not acceptable for an angel, even if Crowley was the only other being he’d regularly seen for the past five thousand years.

Still feeling a bit guilty, he munched on his apple as they strolled through the suburbs on the other side of the Tigris and then out into the world beyond. The sun beat down on them, and Aziraphale became more grateful for the light color of his own tunic every second. Crowley seemed to be sweating a great deal.

Aziraphale struck up idle conversation with Crowley as they walked, a desultory chatter that drifted from topic to topic over the hours with less ferocity than the wind that gradually kicked up. The wind unfortunately did not cool things down, instead merely blasting them with hot air.

“I really don’t like wind,” Crowley grumbled, making a face. “Especially wind and sand.”

“It is getting a bit sandy.” On the banks of the river, it had been more pleasant, even with the dry conditions leaving the edges of the Tigris muddy and brown. Still, there had been plants, at least, even some trees.

But the path they were currently following curved away after a couple hours, into a much less welcoming area, much more sandy and arid. Crowley looked up, frowning at the horizon. “The sky looks weird.”

“I believe that’s called a ‘sunset’.”

“I know what a damn sunset is,” Crowley snapped. “I mean, it’s kinda hazy. There’s actually some clouds, too, did you see?”

Aziraphale looked up in surprise. But rather than noticing the clouds, he spotted advancing horses. “Oh, look. Ponies.”

“Terrific.” Crowley, who had never gotten along with horses at all, did not sound impressed. Then he made a quiet, thoughtful sound. “Y’know, I think next time we stop at a village or qasr or somewhere with people, we should get some camels. I could really go for riding instead of walking.”

“That’s a completely terrible idea.” Aziraphale’s instincts urged him to keep an eye on the approaching riders, but he spared a glance for the demon sauntering along beside him. “Every time you ride a horse, you fall off. And camels are much taller. Do you see a potential problem here?”

“No,” Crowley said innocently.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. He was awfully fond of Crowley, but that silly old serpent had never been very good at knowing his limits. “Would you like me to list every time you’ve had a terrible horse accident chronologically or by severity of injury or—”

The movement caught his eye, and he whipped around just in time to see the quintuplet of riders galloping at them. The wind had masked the sound of thundering hooves.

One horse clipped Aziraphale’s shoulder, and he ducked as a sword sliced towards his head. He flung himself out of the way of a second sword and hit the sand. Heart racing, he twisted around. “Crowley!”

Crowley gestured sharply, and two riders vanished.

The rider behind them did not, and sunlight glinted off their swinging sword. The sword slashed across Crowley’s side, and he fell with a cry.

“No!” Aziraphale shoved to his feet and waved his hands wildly. An undirected miracle blasted the others off their horses. “Crowley!”

Crowley held up a hand, face ashen. “S’ okay,” he called, voice taut with pain. “I’m fine.”

Furious, Aziraphale flung another miracle at the remaining bandits, and they fell unconscious. He scrambled to his adversary, hyperventilating.

Blood stained the sand around Crowley. He had one hand clamped across his left side, his breaths coming quick and shivery.

“Crowley, you are very much not fine,” Aziraphale snapped, kneeling down. He reached out, his own hands trembling violently, and tried to peel Crowley’s hand off the wound. “Here, dear boy. Let me heal that.”

“Nonono, don’t.” Crowley pushed his hand away. “D’ya know how much power you just used on those miracles? Do you?”

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah? Yeah? Well, you can tell that to…”Crowley let out a shuddering gasp and slumped back to the sand. “Tell that to whatever angel decides to investigate why their Earth agent just… eurgh. Demon. Bad idea.”

Although that was all a bit incoherent, Aziraphale understood. If Gabriel or someone else chose to investigate his sudden use of several miracles, he and Crowley would both be in awful trouble. “All right, my dear. Can you heal it?”

Crowley shook his head. “Not yet. I try to—ow—space out my miracles. And I just sent those guys wherever, so… oh, shit. Ow.”

“Let me see.” Aziraphale tried again to pry his hand off, and Crowley resisted. “Look, even if we’re not healing it just now, I need to bandage that unless you want to get sand in it and also potentially faint from blood loss. I have a spare tunic in my pack.”

“Guess I’ll have to pay you back for it, eh?” Gulping, Crowley let Aziraphale lower his hand. “Ow.”

“I suspect ow is an understatement.” The gash wasn’t particularly serious—no organs involved, at any rate—but it was bleeding quite a lot. Aziraphale pulled out his spare tunic and bandaged the wound.

Crowley hissed in pain, tensing. “Satan, that hurts.”

“As I suspected.” Aziraphale secured the bandages, then laid his hand across the wound and put pressure on it. Crowley flinched, and Aziraphale instinctively took his hand. “Shh, easy. I’m here.”

That earned him a pained little smile, Crowley’s hand trembling in his grasp. Then he jerked his head towards the unconscious humans. “Bandits, you figure? Or soldiers of fortune?”

“Something along those lines.” During their most recent stint in London, they’d been ambushed just outside city limits in a similar manner. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence, although those humans had only had one horse between them. “We are dressed quite well. I suppose we looked like ideal targets.”

“Well, we are out in the middle of nowhere.” Crowley gave a heavy sigh, still ashen but rallying a bit. He glanced towards the horizon. “Gosh, I hope that’s not gonna turn into a real storm. I really don’t feel like getting rained on today.”

Aziraphale soared only a quick glance for the distant thunderheads. “They’re some ways off. But I do wonder whether we ought to return to Baghdad and try this again some other time.”

“With my luck, we’d get ambushed again then, too,” Crowley said glumly. “Nah, for my money, it’s better to just push on. I’ve traveled with worse injuries than this.”

For a moment, Aziraphale thought it was rather a shame all the horses had run off. Then he thought of Crowley falling off a horse while injured like this, and decided it was likely fortunate. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeh, I’m sure.” Crowley quirked a smile at him and squeezed his hand. “Besides, you can always carry me if you have to.”

---

After about thirty minutes of walking, Crowley was seriously considering asking if Aziraphale could carry him. Principalities were strong, right? At least, he thought they were. Had to be, if they were supposed to protect things.

He couldn’t really remember, though. Everything had started to go a bit blurry around the edges, except for the pain. The pain remained sharp, burning like the sword that had slashed his side open.

“Crowley. Crowley!”

Crowley blinked blearily and looked up to see Aziraphale waving a hand frantically in front of his face. “Wot?”

“I’ve been talking to you for at least a few minutes, and you haven’t answered me once.” Aziraphale grabbed his arm, steadying him over a rough patch of ground. The angel didn’t let go after. “I really think we ought to stop. You’re not doing good.”

“Is a demon ever really doing good?” Crowley asked vaguely. “For my money, even if you would let me help with your assignments, the job might be good. But I dunno if it counts as far as—”

“Stop trying to distract me with interesting discussions of good and evil!” Aziraphale clutched his arm tighter, eyes wide and worried. “You’re so pale. You’re stumbling. You’re bleeding through your bandage. You look as if you’re going to pass out.”

“Do I? Sorry.”

“Good Lord. An apology is the last thing I want.”

“I’d like an apology,” Crowley said, even more vaguely. The burning pain in his side had worsened, blazing hot, and his stomach churned.

Aziraphale paused in unwinding his tan turban to give Crowley a startled look. The dying light of the sun giving his escaping blond curls a flickering, fiery appearance. “For what?”

“Oh, not… not you.” Crowley stumbled again. Maybe he should lie down. “The… sword people.”

“The bandits?”

“Yeah.” His legs buckled, and it became increasingly hard to keep going. “Should, er… apologize for the sword thing. Whoops. I feel weird.”

He fell over, body apparently deciding it was done being upright. Aziraphale squeaked, caught him, and eased him down to the rapidly cooling sand. “Crowley! Crowley, wake up!”

“M’ awake.” He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open, though. It was getting really, really cold, too. Cold except for the burning heat in his side. “Maybe not for long. Think I’ll take a nap.”

“No, you most certainly will not! Crowley!” Aziraphale shook him, and Crowley grunted in annoyance. “Come now, stay with me.”

“Am with you.” Crowley tried to muster a glare and failed miserably. “Just gonna sleep. Musta eaten too much at lunch, always makes me tired.”

“That is very, very much not the problem here! You’ve lost quite a bit of blood. I suppose it must have been too much for your corporation to handle.”

Oh, right. Blood loss, swords, all that. Crowley struggled to open his eyes, to focus.

He’d ended up sprawled in the sand and across Aziraphale’s lap, head resting against the angel’s chest. Huh. This was really nice, actually, and he wondered why they’d never done it before. Seemed like the sort of thing that would feel even nicer when not bleeding to death. Well, bleeding to discorporation.

He said as much, the words coming out as slurred as if he’d been drinking all evening instead of just walking endlessly. Aziraphale gave him a horrified look. “You are not going to discorporate, Crowley. I won’t allow it.”

“S’ good. Don’t wanna do paperwork.” Or explain how he’d lost this body. He hadn’t been discorporated in some time, but it was never fun.

“I think we ought to make camp here,” Aziraphale said, raising his voice to be heard over the wind. He fussed with his turban and laid the material out across Crowley’s stomach. “I’ll bandage this up, and then you can rest—”

He paused with his hand resting on Crowley’s side, and frowned. Crowley tried to get a look, but he wasn’t really feeling capable of movement anymore. “What?”

“There’s… No, that can’t be.”

“What can’t be?”

Aziraphale ignored his question, tugging the bandage down. Crowley yelped and then swore, the simmering in his side erupting into an inferno as Aziraphale palpated the area. What the Heaven was he doing?

“Oh no. Oh no.” Aziraphale began to tremble, and he clasped Crowley’s hand tightly as if afraid he’d slip away otherwise. “Crowley, this wound is contaminated with holiness.”

Chapter 2

“The wound’s… contaminated with holiness?” Crowley asked blearily.

“Yes.” Heart pounding, Aziraphale focused more deeply on the injury. The holiness was concentrated in the deepest part of the cut, and steadily worked its way deeper. “I believe the sword was blessed. Human blessings are rather weak compared to true ethereal ones, of course, but it seems to be detrimental to demons.”

“Terrific.” For the most part, Crowley had gone quite limp, his breaths shallow. The skin near the wound was hot, feverish.

Aziraphale conscientiously wiped the blood on his turban before touching Crowley’s cheek. Cold, ice cold under his hand. And with the temperature dropping as night fell, Crowley could wind up in rather a lot of trouble.

“We’re not going to Samarra,” Aziraphale decided. “I’m taking you back to Baghdad. We’ll walk over to the Tigris, find a boat or something.”

“Just like that?” Crowley mumbled, voice vague, barely audible over the raging wind.

“Just like that.” And if necessary, a small miracle could arrange for one to meet them.

But as Aziraphale got Crowley in a secure hold, ready to lift, he looked up. Earlier, there had been clouds, as well as the slight haze that Crowley had mentioned.

Now, a towering wall of dust hurtled straight towards them.

“Oh!” Aziraphale clutched Crowley closer, quickly pulling the turban fabric to cover his wound, putting pressure on it. Crowley yelped again, body jerking with pain, and Aziraphale kissed his brow in apology. “Crowley, hold on, we’re about to get hit by a sandstorm!”

He whipped his wings into the physical plane and wrapped them tight around Crowley’s limp form and around their packs. Then, unable to take any other action, he braced.

The storm crashed into them seconds later, sand scouring the back of Aziraphale’s neck as he hid his face in Crowley’s turban. Oh, how he missed his own, but he’d needed it to stem the bleeding.

Wind gusted across them, relentless, and Aziraphale clung to Crowley tighter. Crowley grabbed at his sleeve, possibly saying something. The shriek of the wind drowned it all out.

But in the whirling nightmare of sand, Aziraphale could swear he heard voices. He tilted his head a little, trying to sneak a peek, but the harsh blast of sand across his cheek convinced him otherwise.

This was vulnerable. Too vulnerable. There could be other angels in the storm, angels at full power who didn’t have an injured demon to defend. Other angels didn’t visit Earth often, but what if Heaven had detected Aziraphale’s overuse of miracles? What if right now, there was a squad on their way to seize and question him?

Well, they wouldn’t need to question him. As soon as they pried his wings back, they’d find all the proof they needed that he’d ignored Heaven’s policies, and had been ignoring them for five thousand years.

They would take Crowley from his arms, and…

Aziraphale clutched his adversary closer, mantling white wings around him, shielding him from the imagined forces of Heaven as well as the raging sandstorm. And they must be imagined. He couldn’t let himself think otherwise.

Besides, even if there were enemies after them, they had more urgent problems. Namely, this horrific sandstorm and Aziraphale’s inability to do anything about Crowley’s wounds under these conditions.

He was doing something, at least, putting pressure on the wound to stop the latest bleeding. But he had absolutely no idea how to combat human holiness.

A particularly vicious gust of wind crashed into him, and he clenched his jaw against pain. This was truly inconvenient, yes, and very uncomfortable, but it couldn’t be as uncomfortable as Crowley’s poor wounded side.

The wind shrieked, and for a moment, Aziraphale braced for it to turn into the roar of the Heavenly Host come to condemn him for having a friend.

Friend. The word stuck in his mind a bit as he adjusted, as he brought his wings into a better position. A demon certainly shouldn’t be his friend, and yet…

Aziraphale pushed that thought aside with the same vigor that he’d swept aside his fear of avenging angels. He adjusted his wings a bit more, hunching his shoulders to deflect as much of the sand as possible, and then lifted his head. Not much, just enough to be able to see Crowley.

Crowley had gone essentially limp again, although one hand still clutched at Aziraphale’s sleeve. He was breathing, albeit shallow, slow breaths. In the gathering gloom of night, with the sandstorm blotting out any remaining illumination, Aziraphale couldn’t see clearly enough to tell how ashen Crowley was.

He could feel the holiness though, a searing patch of heat under his hand. He needed to counter it, but how?

Crowley coughed, and then groaned. He tried to lift his head to look up at Aziraphale, and didn’t quite seem to be able to manage it. “Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale barely caught his voice over the wind. Was the wind slowing a bit, though? The still-panicking part of his mind pointed out that perhaps the Archangels had interfered with the storm in order to more easily apprehend him. He told the still-panicking part of his mind to be quiet. “I’m here, Crowley. Rather nasty weather, hmm?”

“Guess so.” Crowley was shivering now, and when Aziraphale touched his cheek again it felt even more icy. “I… really don’t think I’m doing good.”

“Well, I believe you’re the one who pointed out to me that demons can’t do good,” Aziraphale said in the lightest, least worried tone he could manage while his panic climbed higher and higher. He lifted his head though, and found that while the sand still immediately left him in stinging agony, the wind had indeed slowed a bit. Hopefully it would stop at some point. “You just keep… being yourself, and I’m sure everything will be perfectly okay!”

His voice quavered a little, and he hoped Crowley hadn’t heard it. No matter how hard he tried to believe that everything would be okay, it was becoming increasingly difficult, especially when he looked down to see dark scales flickering into being across the back of Crowley’s hand. How could they reach Baghdad before the holiness overwhelmed him?

---

The cold seeped through Crowley, even with Aziraphale’s incredibly warm body right beside him. It wasn’t bloody fair.

It also wasn’t bloody fair that everything hurt this much. His side especially, but there was something else happening, too. Something deep inside him, like the holiness was gnawing away the tethers that bound him to Earth. Or, more accurately, to the version of Earth he’d chosen to experience.

Little patches of itching broke out across his skin. He looked down, woozy. “Are those sssscales?”

The words caught on his tongue, which suddenly seemed to have developed a fork. He flicked it out, scenting the air. Could smell Aziraphale, of course. His own blood, too. And a whole lot of desert.

“I’m afraid so. I-I think…” Aziraphale shifted, a white wing mantling more closely around Crowley, and then took his hand. Aziraphale skimmed his thumb across the sales. “Yes, I think the holiness is compromising your ability to control your form.”

“Damn humansss and their blessings,” Crowley muttered. “Who blesses a sssword they’re gonna use to rob people?”

“I think there’s a not insignificant chance that they stole the sword off someone. And perhaps the horses, too.” Aziraphale’s voice shook, but he’d put on an annoyingly cheerful sort of tone. Like if he sounded convinced that the world was full of wonder, Crowley wouldn’t be worried.

He was definitely worried. Also feeling increasingly ill, as if his head might explode. He moaned, trying to reach for it, but his limbs weren’t cooperating. “Head hurts.”

“Easy, my dear. Easy.” Aziraphale fussed with the black turban and loosened the material before finally removing it. He stroked Crowley’s hair, tucking a lock behind his ear. “There, does that help? A bit less pressure?”

“Ngh.” Nothing was helping much with anything, not now. “I, er… might be in trouble.”

“A touch,” Aziraphale said, acerbic.

“No, really.” Crowley struggled through a breath, almost too exhausted to manage even that. “M’ so tired. Might just…”

Everything went a little blurry after that. But then there was sudden water on his face. Oh, terrific. Rain, now?

When he managed to get his eyes open again, there was a waterskin above his head. He blinked once, stared at it in confusion.

“There you are! You scared me, my dear.” Aziraphale splashed a little more water on his cheeks, and Crowley groaned. That definitely was not helping with the chill. “Listen, I know you’re tired and feel awful, but I have thought of something.”

Crowley opened his mouth to ask what, but Aziraphale held the waterskin to his lips before he could. Wishing it was the wine in his own pack, Crowley drank.

“There. Now, Crowley.” Aziraphale kept one arm around him, other hand coming up to caress his cheek. Head pounding, Crowley leaned into the touch. “I think that the holiness is leeching away your strength.”

“Gosh, whatever gave you that idea?”

“I also think that controlling your corporation is taxing you too badly.” Seeing Crowley’s look of confusion, Aziraphale added, “Staying in your human shape, I mean.”

“Oh.” And then, realizing, Crowley shook his head. “No.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, my dear, but I do believe it’s necessary if you don’t want to wind back up in Hell doing paperwork for the next decade or three.” Expression apologetic, Aziraphale stroked his hair again. “You need to let go. Let yourself revert to your natural state.”

Panic seized Crowley’s chest, and he shook his head again. “Nononono, there’s gotta be a different way.”

“Not that I can think of, and I promise I am thinking very, very hard.” With a shaky exhale, Aziraphale leaned down, touching his brow to Crowley’s. “I’m sorry. I know it’s awfully hard for you, especially when you’re already scared—”

“Demons don’t get scared.”

“—but I really believe it’s for the best.”

Crowley hesitated, then got thoroughly distracted by a sharp flare of burning pain in his side. He whimpered, a tear slipping loose, and then turned into Aziraphale’s warm embrace. For all the attempts to play it cool, to never show that he was scared, he didn’t feel the slightest bit cool now.

He let himself be held through the shivers, as his teeth chattered, as a few more tears slipped loose. Let himself be scared—terrified, more like—as the wind howled, as Aziraphale held him, as his frantic heartbeat pounded in his ears.

Then Crowley pulled himself together. “Listen,” he said, once again trying to sound cool, “if I forget how to change back…”

His voice quavered, defeating his attempt to sound cool, but Aziraphale just nodded and hugged him closer. “If you do, I’ll help you. It’s all going to be okay, I promise. I’ll take care of you.”

“Know you will.” Crowley pulled back, tried to smile. “I’m counting on you, angel.”

He let go completely, then, and his appearance unraveled. Limbs vanished, his sunglasses fell off, and his dark hair smoothed into scales. A brief moment, and then he was coiled in Aziraphale’s lap, a serpent again.

The pain in his side only intensified, and he hissed in agony, writhing. “Shh, shhh,” Aziraphale soothed, stroking his scales. “It’s just from the transformation, the use of power. I think it’ll settle down in a moment.”

“Will it? Will it?” Crowley could hardly even get the energy to sound annoyed. “It doesn’t feel like it’s ssssettling…”

But then it did, all at once. The blazing torment in his side reduced to a low simmer, painful but not unbearable. And now that he’d surrendered to this form, become what he’d been when he and Aziraphale first met in the Garden, the uncontrolled shifting stopped.

He wasn’t the same as what he’d been in the Garden, though. In those days, he’d talked to Aziraphale, sure, but he hadn’t been capable of trust. Or of faith, really.

Now, five thousand years later, he rested in an angel’s lap without any fear of the consequences. And while Aziraphale still tended to cling to Heaven’s precepts far more than Crowley had ever bought into any party line, Aziraphale would help. He’d find a way.

“Good, good. You’re relaxing a bit.” Gently, Aziraphale stroked his scales again. The light, careful contact made Crowley even sleepier. “Now, I think you ought to try to rest. I would prefer that you stay awake, but I’m not sure how realistic that is at this point.”

“Not very,” Crowley said, already slipping. Now that he wasn’t in as much agony, sleep—or at least dozing—became almost irresistible. “Thanksss, by the way.”

“Of course, my dear.” With a sigh, Aziraphale fussed with the turban. “Suppose I’ll have to rebind this. Not very effective bandages just now.”

Crowley hissed softly in agreement, then let himself drift. He was too weary to fight it now. And even if he fell asleep, he knew he’d wake up again. Aziraphale wouldn’t let it be otherwise.

---

The sandstorm still hadn’t entirely died down, which was really quite annoying. Aziraphale kept his wings mantled around Crowley, although he adjusted them to wrap much closer to himself now that Crowley was much smaller than usual.

He wasn’t a particularly large serpent, in his natural state. Bigger perhaps than average, but small enough to easily fit in Aziraphale’s lap. Size and shape were merely options, of course, and Aziraphale had seen him in quite a variety of those over the millennia.

Carefully, Aziraphale secured bandages around Crowley, torn strips of the black turban. Aziraphale’s initial bandages, the tunic and his own turban, dripped with blood.

“Are you still awake?” Aziraphale asked softly. He couldn’t tell, not with the lack of eyelids. A very unfortunate thing about serpents, really. “Crowley?”

There was no reply, and Aziraphale tried not to let it worry him too much. Crowley was indeed quite weakened by this injury, and he must be simply exhausted. It would be good for him to sleep.

As long as he woke up again.

Aziraphale swept that worry into a back corner of his mind, along with the others that he couldn’t immediately address. Unfortunately, that left him without much he could do other than sit here and wait for the sand to stop attempting to scour all his skin off.

The back of his neck stung terribly. In an attempt to distract himself from it and fortify himself for the journey ahead, he tugged his pack closer and fumbled for his sugary sweets. He ate all of them, gazing down at the serpent in his lap as he did, watching for any signs of distress.

None came. Crowley slumbered quite peacefully, at least for the moment.

The storm died down at last, but not until well after dark. A faint sliver of moonlight glowed through the lingering haze. Not wonderful light, but good enough for an angel to see by.

“Crowley,” he murmured, nudging the serpent. Crowley hissed at him and coiled tighter, tail swishing like an annoyed cat. “Really, my dear.”

After a moment, Crowley lifted his head. He hissed again, this time a sound of pain, freezing into an abnormally stiff position. “Wot.”

“The storm’s died down, and we really ought to get moving.” Guilty, Aziraphale stroked his side, careful to stay well away from the wound. “How do you feel?”

“Awful.”

“Well, I’m afraid this isn’t going to help much.” Aziraphale bit his lip, then quickly stowed everything except the remaining bit of turban in his pack. That, he fashioned into a sort of sling. “Here, Crowley. Can you slither into this, or would you like me to lift you?”

Crowley glared at him, then tried to slither. He inched forward a tiny bit, then snapped at the air and froze in place. “Right. Right. No ssslithering.”

“That’s quite all right. I’ll help.”

“Humiliating,” Crowley grumbled, managing another glare.

Aziraphale gently patted his head, then scooped Crowley up and settled him in the sling. Crowley flinched and jerked, a huff of pain escaping. “I’m sorry, Crowley. I’m trying to be as careful as possible.”

Crowley didn’t answer this time, his breathing hitched and shallow. Aziraphale slipped his arms under the coils and lifted, steadying Crowley as he rose.

Once prepared, Aziraphale set off at a careful pace. Quick enough to reach the Tigris before too long, slow enough that it wouldn’t be too bouncy for Crowley. And as he walked, he thought.

There must be some way to negate the blessing. It might not be easy or particularly safe. But he let his mind wander, sifting through recent conversations and books and even poems. Until finally, a few of the ideas began to blossom.

He couldn’t be sure yet, not until he got back to Baghdad and had time to examine a few books. But it raised his spirits, at least a bit.

And when he reached the Tigris, he saw that his little miracle had worked too. There was a very confused looking boatman waiting for them.

“Hello,” Aziraphale said to the boatman, arms still wrapped around Crowley, supporting him in the sling. “Awfully sorry to trouble you. Please take us to Baghdad, there’s a good chap.”

The boatman stared at Crowley, still looking vastly confused. “You have a… snake.”

“I do, yes. Don’t worry, he’s quite well behaved. Very sweet.” Aziraphale smiled as a soft, irritated hiss came from the sling. At least he knew Crowley was okay, or at least as okay as could be expected under the circumstances. “Thank you so much for the ride. Here.”

He passed rather a lot of money over to the human, then went and sat down as far away from him as possible. A triangular head peeked out of the sling. “Ssssweet? Really? Really?”

Alarm wrenched through Aziraphale at the utter weakness in Crowley’s voice, as if he’d barely managed the words. But at least he was feeling well enough to protest. “Had to see if you were awake. I can’t tell, you know. You don’t have eyelids.”

“Oh.” Crowley’s head dropped back to his coils. His eyes didn’t close, no, but they did go even more vague, dazed perhaps.

Aziraphale wrapped both arms around him, holding him gently. There was little else he could do until they reached Baghdad, only warm him and monitor his condition.

---

Crowley slipped in and out of consciousness, unable to stay in either state for long. When awake, the fatigue and warm surroundings pulled him back under. When asleep, pain and motion jerked him back to awareness.

After what felt like an eternity of this, he was getting indignant. Sure, he’d gotten his side slashed open with a blessed sword today, and sure, he was currently a snake resting in an angel’s lap. But this was ridiculous.

Ridiculous or not, he had no luck controlling it. Two things remained constant: pain and warmth. The others fluctuated. Sometimes voices, sometimes silence. Sometimes rocking motion, sometimes stillness. Sometimes the smell of water, and then, gradually…

New smells. Smells of the city, of food and people and animals. Crowley flicked his tongue out, scenting the air more properly. Spices?

He looked up to see colors. Fringed silk flags, like the kind on many of the boats that frequented the Tigris. Narrower color range than usual, no red or—

Right. He was a snake. Dichromatic vision.

The spices were probably coming from another nearby boat, a boat with imported goods. This was a major center of trade, of course. In some ways, being here was very similar to being in London, the Tigris used a lot like the Thames. Much warmer and less rainy, which Crowley liked. Didn’t much like sandstorms, though.

“It’s okay,” Aziraphale murmured, apparently having noticed he was awake. “We’re almost back to Baghdad. Afraid I’m going to need to carry you again.”

Crowley hissed in acknowledgment, then sank back into the haze of pain and exhaustion and increasing feverishness. He wondered vaguely whether the holiness was spreading or whether he’d just overheated from being held by the heat source that was Aziraphale for so long.

Normally, if he was in serpent form and got too warm, he’d move to a cooler spot. But his side was agony. He couldn’t slither.

Also couldn’t stay awake. He faded out again before too long, only slightly aware. And then there was movement, lots of movement, and a faint whine of agony ripped from him before he passed out.

It was spices that pulled him back again, and the lack of warmth. He struggled to consciousness, aware that he was somewhere new, somewhere that wasn’t Aziraphale’s lap. Anxiety clutched at him. “Angel?”

“I’m here, Crowley.” A plump hand settled on his scales, stroking. “Just mixing up a nice little concoction.”

“A wot.” Crowley’s vision was still blurry, but he mustered a good glare. “What’re you doing? Where am I? What’sss going on?”

“I’m mixing a concoction, as I said. You’re in my bed, currently. We made it back to Baghdad, and I’m getting ready to address the holiness in your wound.”

Crowley wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. At least he understood his surroundings now, lying on a cloak in Aziraphale’s bed, flickering lamplight illuminating the room. “Right. Right. Addresssss how?”

“Um. Well. You might not like the idea much.” Aziraphale turned a page in one of his books. “You know how you’ve mentioned, er, canceling each other out? When we have missions to do precisely the opposite things?”

“Yeh,” Crowley answered, cautious.

“Well, this is much the same principle.” Aziraphale mashed some herbs with a mortar and pestle, then poured oil into a small pottery bowl that was decorated with doves and roses. “The sword was blessed, so I’m going to curse you.”

Aziraphale said it so calmly and matter of factly that for a minute, Crowley barely even processed the words. Then they clicked, and he hissed in protest. “But you’re an angel! How does that even work?”

“Don’t fret. It’s all human magic.” Beaming, Aziraphale patted the book in his lap. “I’m quite confident that it’ll work.”

Crowley eyed him. “Why are you so confident?”

“Because there’s simply no other option.” Now a different look came onto Aziraphale’s face, a haunted look. “I will not let anything happen to you. I cannot. Without you, I…”

He trailed off, pale, and stroked Crowley’s neck. Crowley couldn’t manage to offer much in the way of comfort right now, but he turned to nuzzle into the warm hand. “Okay. Okay. I trust you, angel.”

Aziraphale sniffled, tearing up a little, and then bent to kiss his head. “I promise I will do my very, very best to take care of you.”

“I know.”

But even though he knew, Crowley still flinched and hissed furiously as Aziraphale undid the bandages and applied the “concoction” to his wound. Snakey instinct took over, and he snapped at Aziraphale’s hand.

“Don’t be rude,” Aziraphale said primly, although he was trembling now and had broken into a sweat. That was probably more from terror of things going wrong rather than Crowley snapping at him, though. “Just need to draw a handful of sigils on you, now.”

Crowley watched with alarm. Striking had used up all his energy, and the searing pain in his side stopped him from pulling himself together. He could only watch, only trust in Aziraphale.

Aziraphale drew sigils on him with another oily “concoction”, picked up the book, and cleared his throat. He began to chant, his voice surprisingly steady given how much his hand shook as he held it above Crowley’s wound.

The searing worsened, and Crowley yelped. Aziraphale kept going, and everything went fuzzy and dark. More pain, so much pain, and a sudden conviction that he was dying.

But then, gradually, the pain fizzled out. It became easier to breathe, although not to stay conscious. Crowley just laid there, breathing hard, utterly drained.

“It worked,” Aziraphale said, voice now quavering. “Oh, Crowley, I think it worked!”

Crowley opened his mouth to reply, preferably with something sarcastic. But although the pain had nearly vanished, exhaustion took him, and he plunged back into the darkness.

Chapter 3

Day crept over Baghdad, soft light peeping in Aziraphale’s window, and still Crowley didn’t wake. He simply laid there, an unmoving pile of coils. Eyes utterly unfocused, but breathing regularly.

With no concrete, helpful actions to take, Aziraphale fretted. At first, he’d been able to occupy himself with cleaning. Washing out the bloody rags, changing his tunic, cleaning Crowley’s dark glasses. Then he’d unpacked his own belongings, putting away whatever he could.

He’d double checked all of his own spell work next, being sure that he’d done the curse properly. His fingers itched a bit, likely from contact with the concoction, but that was tolerable. Much more tolerable than watching Crowley’s condition deteriorate.

Now, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He fussed with things, picking up his quills and dropping them in other places, moving books about, anxiously munching on the bowl of sugary sweets he found while cleaning. He ran out of those and stuck his head out the door, hiring a neighbor boy to go fetch more goodies from the market.

Aziraphale paced, too, his heart beating too rapidly as the anxiety worsened. What if something had gone wrong? What if Crowley didn’t wake up?

He sighed at himself for fretting, then proceeded to fret more. There was little else he could do.

Finally, though, Crowley stirred. At first just a small shuddering inhale, a change in his slow breathing. Then his coils shuffled, as if he was trying to get into a more comfortable position, leaving indents in the cloak.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called softly, sitting beside him. He laid his fingertips on Crowley’s scales, careful. “Can you hear me, my dear?”

With a hiss, Crowley raised his head. His tongue darted out, and his eyes cleared. “Gosh. Hi.”

“Hello. It’s awfully good to hear your voice again.” Aziraphale smiled down at him, tears welling. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” Crowley’s coils shifted again, and he laid his chin on Aziraphale’s knuckles, gazing up at him. “Your whole curse thingy worked, eh? Canceled out the blessssing?”

“Yes! I-I admit, I was unsure until now.” The terror still lurked in his chest, a heavy weight of dread that he’d made a mistake and killed Crowley rather than mending him. “I was able to heal your wound as well, now that you weren’t being poisoned. I think you’ll be perfectly okay now.”

Crowley was quiet for a moment. “Pretty tired,” he finally said. “Gonna try to shift back, though. Before I get ssstuck like this.”

“That sounds like quite a good idea to me.” Aziraphale didn’t quite understand the anxiety about that, given how utterly capable and determined Crowley was, but he’d recover more quickly if he wasn’t stressed. “Let me know if you need any help, hmm?”

A soft hiss of assent, and then Crowley shifted. His whole body rippled, before returning to his typical appearance.

Well, mostly typical. His usually tidy dark hair was a mess, and he was still awfully pale. But his smile was just the same as ever, his yellow eyes bright and inquisitive.

“That’s better,” Crowley said triumphantly. Then he went even more pale and slumped back against the bed, eyes closed.

“Oh!” Aziraphale clutched his hand, patting it. “Crowley?”

“M’ okay, m’ okay.” He didn’t reopen his eyes, but he waved his free hand dismissively. “Used up my energy, s’ all.”

“All right, my dear.” Relieved, Aziraphale lapsed into silence, a few tears stinging his eyes. Crowley would be okay now, and he didn’t need to fret.

Without that worry to gnaw on, Aziraphale’s mind drifted to an entirely different topic. That of what he and Crowley were. Adversaries, yes, an angel and a demon.

But so much more than that. He’d thought of Crowley as a friend before, and it was entirely true. They were friends, even if it couldn’t be admitted out loud. The very dearest of friends, who cared for each other immensely. Who would do anything to help each other.

Sometimes, helping each other might mean going against the dictates of Heaven. Aziraphale had attempted to put limits on the Arrangement, to resist temptation, but why? He and Crowley had far, far more in common with each other than they did with either of their Sides. They cared about Earth, and about each other.

The thought was practically blasphemy. Aziraphale considered it a moment longer, then smiled. Crowley had got it right, all the way in the beginning. If an angel couldn’t do the wrong thing, then being best friends with a demon must be the right thing to do. It certainly felt that way, a settled conviction in Aziraphale’s heart.

He bent over Crowley and kissed his brow gently, then simply held his hand and waited for him to recover. And this time, certain of what he valued most, Aziraphale planned the remainder of their day rather than worrying about whether he ought to feel guilty over his excitement.

---

Gradually, Crowley started to feel more like himself. Still off, still in pain, but closer to normal.

His senses had returned to his usual preference too, although he wasn’t currently taking advantage of his trichromatic eyesight. He was exhausted, a clinging weariness that dragged him down like particularly deep mud. He didn’t have the strength to open his eyes or pull out of it, not yet.

He laid still, listening to the usual noise of the city outside, voices raised by sellers hawking goods, the occasional braying of a donkey, laughter in the street. To Aziraphale’s soft breathing, too, barely audible yet incredibly reassuring.

The warmth of his hand felt terrific too. Not just the warmth, though. Holding hands like this, resting together, left Crowley feeling calmer and more settled than he perhaps ever had. Usually, he was always on the go, ready to race off and tackle the next experience, or the next problem. Now, though, he was content. Could happily lay here for days.

Eventually, though, he did get restless enough to open his eyes again. He smiled up at Aziraphale, who also looked much calmer now. “So. Er. That wasn’t quite the trip we’d planned, eh?”

“Not exactly.” Aziraphale smiled back, squeezing his hand. “But you’re okay now, no need to fret. Everything’s all right.”

Except that Crowley had jobs to do in Samarra, jobs that weren’t getting done. He decided to ignore it for now, tried to sit up, and groaned. “Ngh. That hurts. Hurts a lot more than I expected, honestly. Thought you said it was healed.”

“It-it is. But you know how it is, bodies don’t exactly like being sliced open.”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed sadly. His body definitely hadn’t appreciated it. He brightened, eyeing the blue glass bottle on the nearby table. “S’ that wine? Could go for wine. Wine sounds terrific.”

“It is indeed! And there’s also rather a lot of lovely goodies outside. I paid a boy to fetch them.” Looking reluctant, Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand and rose. “I was waiting for you to come around again before I brought them inside. Shall we have a nice lunch?”

“Is it lunchtime again already?”

“Bit before, but close enough.”

Clenching his jaw, Crowley struggled into a seated position. For a brief moment, he contemplated taking Aziraphale to eat in the gardens. Then he moved just wrong, and the pain in his side flared up. Gardens would have to wait a bit.

“Oof. That really still hurts,” he muttered, pressing his hand to the spot. There was no actual injury anymore, just the lingering soreness. “Clever thinking on the curse, by the way. I didn’t know you had it in you, being an angel and all.”

“Yes, well. You needed me.” Aziraphale came back to the low bed with a basket, which he placed on the table. He met Crowley’s gaze, suddenly very intense. “I do believe I would have done just about anything to save you. When I thought I might lose you…”

He shuddered, paling, and Crowley’s heart wrenched. He didn’t like to see Aziraphale hurting either, even if it was purely emotional pain. “S’ okay, angel. I’m good to go now.”

“Yes. Yes, well.” Aziraphale sniffled and wiped his eyes, then took Crowley’s arm and helped him to move back on the bed, leaning against the wall. “I’m just… going to hug you now.”

Crowley looked up at him, startled. “Hmm?”

“I’m going to hug you now,” Aziraphale repeated. “If that’s all right, of course.”

“Er. Not exactly the demonic sort of thing to do.” Crowley gulped, gazing up at the angel who had saved him, who was his best friend. “Does sound nice, though.”

“Well, if it’s not a demonic thing to do…” Aziraphale thought for a moment, then beamed at him. “It seems to me that a demon accepting a hug from an angel would be rebellious. And demons ought to be rebellious.”

Crowley snorted. That wasn’t exactly accurate, but it was plausible enough that he could get away with it. “Right. Right. Okay, then, let’s hug rebelliously.”

“You’re the only one hugging rebelliously,” Aziraphale said as he sat and wrapped his arms around Crowley, coaxing him forward. “I’m an angel. I can’t do the wrong thing, so I must be hugging righteously.”

Crowley grinned as he brought his own arms up, hugging Aziraphale back. He rested his head on the soft shoulder and closed his eyes again. “Of course. Sorry, I was forgetting.”

He didn’t pull back, and neither did Aziraphale. They just held each other, basking in the closeness, in the quiet moment.

When they finally separated, Crowley felt terrific, so much better than was reasonable. From the bright smile on Aziraphale’s face, the effect was similar for him. Maybe they should hug more often.

Honestly, maybe they should do a lot of things more often. Spending more time together, for once. They already saw each other a lot, but sometimes could go for months or even years without bumping into each other. Their new Arrangement could serve as an excuse to meet up, to discuss assignments, write reports together, help each other…

Crowley was getting a little ahead of himself, though. He took a deep breath, and then an even deeper gulp of wine as soon as Aziraphale offered it. This rescue might have been extreme circumstances. Aziraphale might not want to change anything, especially not yet. The Arrangement was pretty recent, after all.

“So,” Crowley ventured as Aziraphale unloaded snacks onto the bed. “When d’ya think I’ll be up for traveling? Still gotta do my stuff in Samarra.”

“Don’t be silly, my dear.” Delicately, Aziraphale spooned some sort of sauce over bowls of rice. “I’ll zip up to Samarra for you, as soon as I’m sure you’re stable. You ought to take a nice, long nap to recover from this.”

A nap sounded bloody amazing, and would no doubt sound even better after they ate the veritable feast that Aziraphale was laying out for them. But Crowley had to make sure. “Yeah? I thought the Arrangement was just staying out of each other’s way. Sure you’re up for tempting people to do stuff? S’ not very angelic.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I performed a curse earlier to save you. I think I can handle tempting people to do the things they were already planning on doing.”

Crowley grinned. “Oh, you’ll be bloody brilliant at it. Mind like yours, always looking for the loopholes, justifications, and ways to get around things? You’ll have ‘em jumping off the high dive into sin.”

That earned him an even more unimpressed look. “There’s no need to be rude.”

“I’m not being rude. It’s a compliment.”

“Well, it doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

It was tempting to launch right into a spirited discussion of what sorts of things could be rightly considered compliments, but Crowley’s mouth had started watering at the sight of the really too elaborate cheese platter that Aziraphale was setting up. He abandoned the topic for a bit, sampling different foods and enjoying the simple pleasure of sitting together.

That simple pleasure seemed all the more extraordinary and worthy of celebration today. He’d started taking this sort of thing for granted. It was hard not to take things for granted, after such a long existence.

But today, it felt like a miracle, in the truest sense of the word. He was alive, with his angel, eating and drinking a selection of the finest food and wine in Baghdad. It didn’t get much better than that, although he would have liked to be out eating in the garden rather than cooped up inside.

And he wouldn’t mind having a really open conversation with Aziraphale.

Because what did their Sides matter, really? Sure, they did their jobs, because they had no other choice. But neither of them had seriously bought into that ideology in ages, for all that either one of them might bring it up in debate. Earth was more complicated than that, so much more complicated and wonderful and exciting.

“On a scale of one to ten,” Crowley said after a bit, “how annoyed would you be if I interrupted your eating so we could talk?”

Aziraphale gave him a confused frown, pausing with a slice of orange nearly to his lips. “We always talk while we eat.”

“Yeah. Yeah. But this is… a different sort of talking. Er.” Crowley gulped. He’d never been very good at this sort of thing. Neither had Aziraphale, though. “Look. You can deny this conversation later, if you like, pretend it never happened. But we’re friends, yeah? Best friends?”

All at once, Aziraphale’s expression softened until he looked like he was about to cry. He reached out and took Crowley’s hand. “Yes. Of course we are.”

The confirmation, even if they never talked about this again, eased the pressure on Crowley’s chest. He smiled, relaxing. “Terrific. Thought so, but I wanted to double check. So, uh… the Arrangement and everything.”

“Yes, I think that ought to be much more encompassing. There’s no sense in dithering about it.” Aziraphale beamed at him. “Besides, I did my dithering earlier. I’ve been thinking about the same thing.”

Crowley looked to him, startled. “Gosh.”

“Rather. I-I was thinking that you and I, well…” Aziraphale smiled at him again, that gentle smile that always made Crowley feel as if even the darkest days weren’t so bad. “We could be partners, of a sort. Perhaps we already are.”

There was a nervousness in Aziraphale’s eyes too, and Crowley squeezed his hand in the hopes of easing it. “Partners. I like that. Gotta take care of each other, eh?”

“Mhm.” The slight tension in Aziraphale’s shoulders eased, and his smile somehow became even brighter. “I always immensely enjoy our time together, you know.”

“Me too.” Crowley yawned, then flashed a quick, apologetic grin. “I’m not bored, promise. Just tired.”

“Oh goodness, I imagine you must be, between the meal and all you’ve been through. You poor dear.” Aziraphale slid closer on the bed and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Would you like to nap now? I can move the food to the table.”

“Nuh, not yet.” Although completely drained, Crowley rubbed his eyes and tried to rally himself. He wasn’t quite ready to crash out yet, especially after that conversation. “Actually, now that we’re partners, thought I could do something for you. Make up for how well you took care of me.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale beamed at him, patting his shoulder. “Well, I shan’t say no to that. Although if you’re too tired, please don’t do anything too drastic.”

“No rushing off through Baghdad to find your favorite sweets, got it.” Crowley winked. “Don’t worry, it’s something I can do sitting. I was wondering if you’d let me groom your wings. They’ve gotta be a mess.”

Aziraphale blushed a little, ducking his head. “Well, I admit they’re not in the best of condition. It’s been some time since I groomed them. And then there was the sandstorm.”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” After one more pat on his shoulder and a brief hesitation as he adjusted to the change of plans, Aziraphale rose. “Don’t want to get sand in the bed. That would be awfully uncomfortable for your nap.”

“Oh. Yeah. Good thinking.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, then drew his wings into the physical plane. He glanced down at them, shaking them out, and his eyes widened. “Oh dear.”

“Oh dear, is right. You’re a bloody disaster, angel!”

Aziraphale’s feathers stuck out at wild angles, frizzy and unkempt. Sand showered the floor as he shook them out. Some of the damage was from the storm, sure, but…

“You really haven’t groomed these in absolute ages, have you?” Crowley asked, practically twitching at the sight. Aziraphale’s room was messy, piles of books and scrolls and paper everywhere, but this was different. This was the sort of messy that meant Crowley would definitely not be able to sleep until he fixed it. “Get over here, Aziraphale.”

“Thank you, my dear. Afraid I tend to forget about it.” Aziraphale gave a soft chuckle as he sat on the bed and spread one wing across Crowley’s lap. “You know how it is.”

“No, I really don’t know how it is.” Crowley sank his fingers into the disaster that was Aziraphale’s wing, knocking loose more sand and several ancient feathers. “Tell me how it is.”

“Oh, well… Earth is so interesting! And there’s just so many exciting things to do.” Aziraphale sounded like he really thought this was a reasonable explanation, and Crowley shook his head. “I think about it sometimes, but then I see a book I want to read, and…”

“Uh-huh. Well. I can agree with you about Earth being interesting.” Crowley straightened and fixed a few feathers that were just knocked out of place. Something occurred to him. “Hang on, you had a magic book. Book with curses and stuff, I mean.”

Aziraphale’s wing fluttered anxiously, sliding off his lap. “Ah. I did.”

Crowley captured the wing and pulled it back. That almost took too much energy, leaving him winded, but it would be worth it. And besides, taking care of Aziraphale even in a small way felt good. “Why the Heaven did an angel have a book about curses?”

“Ah. Er.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, and Crowley recognized the internal scramble for a justification. “Well, I can hardly protect against curses if I don’t know anything about them! Necessary research, my dear boy.”

Crowley rolled his eyes even though Aziraphale couldn’t see it in the current position. He fixed another feather, then tried to smooth a particularly rumpled section. Some of the feathers were damaged, but most were okay. Just messy. “Well, your research saved me. So I guess you better keep reading whatever you like.”

“I certainly shall.” Aziraphale turned to gaze at him, a slight quiver going through his lip. “Especially if you’re going to keep getting yourself into trouble. Must be well prepared just in case you need me again.”

Crowley did need Aziraphale, and Aziraphale needed him. Life on this planet could be isolating and lonely sometimes, two agents far away from their Sides. Immortals among humans, unable to ever really connect with those around them.

But they could, and had, connected with each other in ways that Crowley could never have imagined. And although he was tired and sore, he wasn’t restless for once. Right here, with Aziraphale, was exactly where he wanted to be.

---

Somewhat to Aziraphale’s surprise, having his wings groomed really felt quite spectacular. It wasn’t that he’d expected it to feel bad, of course. Crowley was very gentle, for a demon, and would be careful with him.

But when Aziraphale groomed his own wings, it was merely an annoying chore. Something to be gotten out of the way from time to time when he actually remembered, an impediment to reading.

With Crowley doing it, though, each touch so careful and tender, Aziraphale rather felt as if he could happily sit and have his wings groomed forever. He didn’t even have the impulse to read any of his new books just now, although he did munch on some dates. They were there, after all, and snacking only added to the experience.

“That sandstorm just wasn’t fair,” Crowley commented, ruffling through Aziraphale’s feathers and shaking more sand loose. “Not like we didn’t have enough problems already by that point. Wonder what happened to the bandits.”

“I have no idea what happened to the ones you vanished. As for the ones I knocked out, I imagine they got a bit buried in the storm.” Aziraphale contemplated it, expecting to feel guilty for rendering them unconscious. But they had nearly killed Crowley. They’d deserved much worse. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Crowley’s movements were slowing now, as though he’d finally run out of energy at last.

Aziraphale gently tugged his wing out of Crowley’s grip and stretched it out, examining his shockingly tidy feathers. “Good Lord, Crowley. I don’t know that my wings have ever looked this good! Perhaps when I was first created…”

Crowley chuckled, reaching up to push dark hair off his brow. “Glad I could help. You looked like a damn chicken getting ready to molt. After dustbathing.”

“I can’t say your hair is particularly tidy at the moment, my dear.”

“I was lying down.”

“Mhm.” Aziraphale dug in the clutter on the bedside table and found a comb. “May I? I know you’re sleepy, but this won’t take long. Not compared to wing grooming, although I’d be happy to do yours sometime when you feel up to it.”

“I actually keep mine groomed, angel.” Blinking sleepily, Crowley leaned over for Aziraphale to comb his hair. He really did look as if he was about to fall asleep sitting up, poor thing. “But yeah, sounds terrific.”

He yawned, rubbing his eyes. Aziraphale skimmed the comb through his hair, quickly but gently. It wasn’t tangled, merely messy, and didn’t take long to tidy up. “There, my dear. Better?”

Crowley nodded, yawning again, and then gave Aziraphale an exhausted smile. “Think I’m all outta energy for now. Don’t go to Samarra without saying goodbye, though. If I’m sleeping, I mean.”

“I promise.” Aziraphale brushed a light kiss to his brow, then flicked a hand. All the sand on the bed jumped off and took itself to pile near the door, where he could easily sweep it out later. “I’m not quite ready to leave just yet anyway. No provisions, for one thing.”

“Ghastly thought, traveling without provisions.” Even exhausted, the sleepiness in Crowley’s voice came through.

He laid down, and Aziraphale spread a light blanket over him. It sometimes got a bit hot in here during the afternoon, but for the moment, that ought to be nice. “Comfy?”

“Yup.” Crowley cracked one eye open again and gave a little smile. “Be more comfy if you joined me, though.”

Aziraphale had, without entirely realizing it, been planning to sit down and read his new books while Crowley slept. It sounded like an awfully nice way to unwind, and he hesitated.

But although Aziraphale didn’t enjoy sleep, resting with Crowley did sound lovely. He contemplated it a moment more, then beamed brightly. “Well, why not? You know, it’s awfully sweet that you want to snuggle. I wouldn’t have thought demons were into such a thing.”

Glaring, Crowley pursed his lips. “It’s not snuggling. And even if it was, aren’t you the one who said that doing things that aren’t demonic is rebellious—”

“And therefore, demonic,” Aziraphale finished, still beaming. Crowley still glared. “Quite right, my dear. It’s good to see you recognizing my correctness.”

“You really are a bastard sometimes.” A smile broke through the glare, and Crowley reached out. “C’mere, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale took his hand, settling beside him in the narrow bed. Crowley snuggled closer, head resting on his shoulder, and Aziraphale leaned his cheek against the dark hair.

Eventually, he’d have to leave, to take that trip to Samarra. Couldn’t let Crowley get in trouble for not tempting people into things, after all. It was all part of the Arrangement now, part of their partnership.

Smiling, Aziraphale closed his own eyes and rested with his dearest friend. Over the course of thousands of years, Aziraphale had enjoyed many human settlements, from the smallest camps to the biggest cities. But as to the ones he enjoyed most, there was one common factor. Crowley had been there too.

And from now on, wherever he traveled, wherever Crowley was sent, wherever their jobs took them, they would always find a way to be together as much as possible. Aziraphale couldn’t imagine a better way to spend eternity.