Aziraphale stuck his head into the bedroom early the next morning. Crowley lay face-down on the bed, his single wing trailing on the floor. Yellow sunlight from the window striped his bandaged back and he had managed to twist the blanket around his legs, despite ostensibly not having moved.
At the sound of the door opening he slowly rolled his head so that he faced Aziraphale. He gave a feeble smile. "Hello, angel."
"Crowley." Aziraphale couldn't help but grin in relief as he seated himself in the chair by his friend's head. "How—how does it—"
"Like hell," the demon croaked. "I can't move the other one at all, and when I try to sit up it pulls. You're stuck with me for a bit longer, I'm afraid." He let out a humorless bark of laughter.
Aziraphale's expression sobered. "It's not any trouble, you know that. Someone needs to take care of you."
"And aren't I just blessed to receive your divine charity." Crowley sighed. "Come on, Az. I'm the embodiment of trouble."
Something in the angel's chest twinged; the pain must have still been affecting his friend, because he had never heard him use that nickname before. It rolled off Crowley's tongue like he had been calling Aziraphale "Az" for centuries.
Aziraphale cleared his throat. "I'm not taking care of you because it's my duty as an angel. I'm taking care of you because—because—because I have to."
What he meant, of course, was that their friendship had bonded them together despite their official loyalties. It would have been betrayal not to help a friend in need, and Aziraphale was no traitor to the ones—one—he held dear.
But: "That sounds an awful lot like angelic duty to me."
"Because I want to, then." Aziraphale pushed a hand through his curly hair. "Maybe you don't understand."
"Because I'm a demon?" Crowley grunted through clenched teeth as he tried to push his arms beneath his bandaged torso.
Aziraphale was on his feet in a second, one hand resting on Crowley's shoulder and pushing him—gently, firmly—back down to the mattress. "You need to keep resting." It wasn't a suggestion.
Crowley huffed but relaxed once more. "Fine."
Now returned to their original positions, the two sat in exhausted silence for a while. Crowley's eyes blinked languidly, gold in the morning light. Aziraphale picked at a fingernail.
"Aziraphale?"
"What? Oh, yes? Can I get you anything?"
Crowley shook his head as well as he could, considering that it was still pressed into the bed. "We may need to discuss the Arrangement."
Pinpricks of ice raced along Aziraphale's spine. "Oh?"
"I think my side is done punishing me for what happened. Considering, I think I got off pretty easily."
The same rage that had filled him when he first saw his friend's injury flickered up now. "I DON'T CALL THAT GETTING OFF EASY."
"Calm down, Az. Aziraphale." Crowley closed his eyes against the light rippling off the angel.
"OH, VERY WELL." Aziraphale sighed. "You're worried about further punishment if we continue to associate?"
"No—well, I mean, that is a possibility, but—I've been thinking. You remember when I said you got ineffable mercy and you asked whether I'd seen Gomorrah?"
"I think so. You went off about cocktails."
"My point," Crowley scowled, "is that now I realize you're not safe either. You didn't directly harm anyone on your side, unless you didn't fill me in on all of your adventures, but you still meddled in divine plans."
"But we don't know—"
"I undersssstand that, Azssiraphale! Ineffability! Except we were wrong because here I am. Who knows what could happen to you?"
The angel was stunned. "You want to call off the Arrangement because you're worried about me?"
Crowley flushed. "Call it what you want. I don't want you to go through what I did."
"But we'll be stronger if we work together," Aziraphale insisted, too flustered by the demon's concern to be entirely coherent. "You're still injured; I can keep an eye on you. And then you can keep an eye on me…"
"Are you suggesting that we band together to fight off the armies of Heaven and Hell?"
"Well when you put it like that," Aziraphale trailed off miserably.
"I appreciate you taking care of me, angel. I really do." Crowley shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "I'm just trying to think logically here."
"When has logic ever applied with these things?" Aziraphale leaned forward, knuckles white as he clutched the edge of the bed. "You said it yourself: divine mercy! If my side hasn't done anything to me yet, I think I'm safe, and if Hell is done punishing you, what do we have to lose?"
"Everything."
"I beg your pardon?"
Crowley succeeded in pushing himself up onto his elbows this time, though the effort left him pale and slow of speech. "We could lose everything! How long do you think we have until the next Apocalypse? Another 6,000 years? Another 11? Neither of us is going to be trusted to play a key role next time. How easy do you think it would be for us to 'disappear' when they start again? Or before?"
"That's all very hypothetical." Aziraphale sounded doubtful.
"It's risky is what it is. There are spectators now. We have to play nice."
The angel chuckled darkly. "What you really mean is that we have to play less nice."
"Come on Az! You know we're not really friends. It's not like you're going to die of sorrow because you can't hang out with a demon." Crowley's lip curled.
Aziraphale flinched, but his expression hardened. "Fine. You're right. But—the Arrangement…"
"What about it?"
"Nothing." Aziraphale rubbed at his eyes and sighed. "Go back to sleep. I'll be in the shop if you need me."
Crowley turned away as he left.
As the door shut behind the angel, Crowley's arms gave out. He didn't bother to move them from where they were trapped beneath his chest as he burrowed his face into the mattress.
If someone were listening very closely, they might have heard a muffled word spoken into the bed; a name, perhaps, or an apology.
No one was listening.
