Disclaimer: Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

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Five Times that Crowley Comforts Aziraphale, and One Time that Aziraphale Comforts Crowley

Chapter 2: Rubbish

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The day of Warlock's birthday party (and the day that the Hellhound was released to Adam):

Watching Aziraphale do magic (the fake, sleight of hand kind, not the real, angelic miracles kind) made Crowley cringe in ways that he usually never experienced.

He rarely felt uncomfortable in Aziraphale's company, but that always changed whenever the angel tried to make a coin disappear by hiding it in his hand.

He actively insulted the angel about his abhorrent magic tricks, though the abuses usually lacked any heat.

Frankly, it was getting to the point that Crowley actually found it hard to insult the angel. He increasingly felt displeased every time he would call Aziraphale a name or tell him he was rubbish. Usually, the angel would brush off the abuse, never taking Crowley seriously.

However, in the rare instances that Aziraphale would give Crowley a slight frown, or put his magic equipment away with an air of defeat, the demon felt horrible.

He hadn't taken much time to ponder this development in his feelings toward the angel, keen to focus on stopping the Apocalypse.

So, he tried not to pay attention when Warlock and his blasted friends started bullying Aziraphale.

He attempted to stop listening when they called the angel rubbish, and started throwing food at him. He stared at his watch to make it seem like he wasn't watching.

But, when he looked up and saw Aziraphale packing up his things, smeared with cake and looking just slightly dejected… Crowley felt like throttling every child at the blasted party.

And he wasn't usually one for killing kids.

He wanted to speak to the angel, give him some sort of security that he wasn't so bad. That he maybe wasn't the best magician, but he was amazing at loads of other things.

But, he had to deal with a missing Hellhound.

Perhaps a missing Antichrist.

So he let everything go, allowing his anger at Warlock to drift down and settle somewhere where he could ignore it.

He pointedly turned away as Aziraphale miracle his things into the boot of the Bentley, bringing the dove from his sleeve back to life and then sliding into the car next to Crowley.

He refused to see the look on the angel's face.

Not when he could already feel the disappointment and gloom radiating from his best friend.

….

Aziraphale loved magic in every sense of the word.

He loved being an angel, able to perform miracles and help out those who needed it (secretly, he also loved being able to miracle himself open tables at particular restaurants, and making sure that customers didn't buy his beloved books).

However, he also loved sleight of hand magic. The kind that you did with special cards and coins and distracting the audience. With hollowed out tables and birds and bunnies.

He loved this kind of magic despite Crowley's protests. Despite how the demon would whine that "you can do real magic, angel!" and how he would attempt, without much effort, to degrade him and his frivolous activities.

Aziraphale rarely let Crowley get to him. He knew that the abuses were just part of his demonic nature. If the demon really intended to hurt his feelings, he could do far worse things that insulting his affinity for fake magic tricks.

Once in a while, Crowley would make a scathing remark that would actually hurt Aziraphale, but he always noticed how the demon looked pained whenever Aziraphale frowned at something he said.

He knew that the demon had no intention of hurting him.

Warlock and his friends, however, were rather horrible.

Aziraphale would admit that he was a bit out of practice doing sleight of hand magic rather than miracles, but the kids were being rather relentless.

Any trick he attempted to do wither went wrong or was outed by the birthday boy.

Anytime Warlock shouted something like "It was in the table," Aziraphale felt a small tendril of disappointment and dejection curl in the pit of his stomach.

Whenever he looked toward Crowley for a bit of support, he noticed the demon eyeing his watch or some of the food on the table.

Aziraphale wasn't an idiot. He could tell that the demon was avoiding his gaze. He just couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why.

He soon forgot his inquiries when the first piece of cake hit him in the face.

Feeling rather put out, he gathered up his things and miracle them into the Bentley, wiping at the frosting on his face as he walked up to the car.

He brought the bird up his sleeve back to life and let it fly away before climbing into the passenger seat of the car, noticing that Crowley was pointedly looking away from him.

He sighed, sitting back in his seat and tightening his seatbelt around him, knowing Crowley's driving habits.

He would never get used to the feelings that came with being rejected.

….

Crowley was discreetly examining Aziraphale through the rearview mirror, hardly paying attention to the road. He was noticing the sad set to the angel's mouth, the downturned eyes.

Aziraphale was actually, truthfully, hurt by Warlock's and his friends' comments.

The pair of them were currently rocketing toward Tadfield, intending to speak to the nuns from the hospital, or at least find some records from the night of the exchange.

When they pulled up to the former hospital, Crowley had yet to see a change in Aziraphale's demeanor.

And he didn't like it one bit.

Before Aziraphale even had the chance to open the car door, Crowley laid a tentative hand on his arm.

"Aziraphale…" he started.

The angel sighed and turned to face the demon, weariness in his eyes.

"I just… er… I mean… I just wanted to say that you're not rubbish. I mean…" he paused, taking in Aziraphale's confused look. "You're not the best at human magic tricks, I'll give you that. But you're certainly not the worst, either. And anyway…" he paused again, noticing the angel's eyes widening and a few frown lines smoothing out.

"You're… great… at loads of other things. Books, for a start. And miracles and choosing restaurants and just generally being kind and helping people and…" Crowley stopped talking now, a blush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. "Anyway, don't listen to those kids. Or me, for that matter. Just… don't let it get to you, Aziraphale." Crowley's blushed deepened and he looked away from the angel, grateful that his sunglasses made it so the angel couldn't look into his eyes.

He moved to take his hand off Aziraphale's arm, but the angel slapped his hand overtop to stop the effort. He idly stroked the back of Crowley's hand with his thumb for a moment, contemplating.

He wasn't noticing the odd feeling blossoming in his chest that he had felt before, in his bookshop, when Crowley had explained to him about the holy water. He was much too focused on his own feelings toward the demon, trying to understand if it was just friendship or something more. Or if he was losing his mind.

"Crowley, dear…" Aziraphale started to say. The demon was still avoiding his eyes, so he reached up and touched his chin, turning his face so they were eye to eye, with the exception of the sunglasses hindering his view of them. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

Aziraphale wanted to explain how much the words had meant to him. He wanted to tell Crowley how much of an exceptional friend he was, and how he was lucky to know him. He wanted to hug the living daylights out of the demon.

But he didn't.

He simply ran his thumb over Crowley's bony hand one more time before letting go and getting out of the Bentley, happier than he had been all day.