The roller coaster continues!
Thank you to Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink, my lovely and talented beta's!
You'd think that by spending six thousand years on Earth, Aziraphale would have felt all there is to feel. He has felt pain, more so in the last eight months than ever before, and he thinks it's a miracle that he's survived it thus far. He thought he'd peaked, really, and that the stabbing pain was slowly turning into a dull ache.
He knows now how wrong he was. How naive. How stupid.
Knowing he is a big part of why his best friend is suffering so keenly is a blow, to say the least. This pain he feels, well, it's simply not survivable. It can't be. Even if it is, he's not so sure he wants to survive it.
"Crow-ley," he hears himself say, broken and weak. He cannot let his demon think he is not loved, hasn't been loved for thousands of years. Yes, thousands, if Aziraphale is honest with himself. And he is. He finally is. And he's finally going to say. "Crowley," he tries again, a bit stronger as he cups the demon's face. The poor creature looks so lost. He doesn't even look wounded, and he's just sitting there, eyes blank and body limp, like he's given up. Like he could ask for holy water at any moment. A small part of Aziraphale knows this is probably not the optimal time and place to say what he's going to say–especially on the bed of Crowley's girlfriend who might be dying, a woman he at least thinks he loves as well. "Crowley, I–"
The curtain is torn open by the doctor who pauses and stares at them with an arched brow. "Apologies, for interrupting an intimate moment," she says quickly, then plucks Angelique's chart off the wall.
Aziraphale continues to hold Crowley's face and stare into his eyes, even when those eyes shift to the medical professional.
"You know," the doctor says while flipping through pages, "we haven't actually found any bad news. And Ms Blanchette is pretty stable considering. Her blood pressure is slowly going back to normal, as is her temperature. It's only been a handful of hours, and she doesn't appear to be in any pain." The doctor looks up, and she peers over her spectacles with a small smile. "I wouldn't start the waterworks yet." She gives them both an encouraging wink.
Crowley pulls away from Aziraphale, and Aziraphale lets him go. "Why isn't she waking up?" Crowley asks, voice nearly shot.
The doctor's eyes go wide. "Sir, your-your eyes!"
Crowley turns away swiftly and dons his glasses. "Coloboma," he explains quickly.
"Sir, that is not Colo–"
"Aziraphale," Crowley pleads.
The angel ignores his own agony and focuses on his friend who needs him right now. Aziraphale turns to the doctors and snaps his fingers. "It's whatever he says it is," he suggests weakly.
The doctor shakes her head and blinks rapidly before fixing her gaze on them again. "Yes, yes, of course. Sorry. What was I saying?"
"Can you tell us anything ?!" Crowley snaps with frustration.
"Oh, er, no. No, not really. She's in a coma. It would help to know exactly what happened."
"She screamed. Like she was hurt or attacked," Aziraphale supplies again for the umpteenth time.
"We've ruled out just about everything that may have been the cause." The doctor shrugged. "But again, her vitals are climbing back up on their own. It's possible she could wake up very soon."
"If she doesn't?" Aziraphale asks what's on both their minds.
The doctor sighed and nodded slowly. "Statistically, the longer she stays in a coma, the lower the chances she'll awaken." She gives them a sad smile. "They'll be moving you to a room now. I see you again very soon." The doctor exits, and a few nurses bustle into the area and begin the process of moving the patient.
The sun is rising, and Aziraphale has no idea where the time went. He hasn't spoken a word since the doctor last visited, and neither has Crowley. He was so close to saying it. So close. The moment has passed, however, and he doesn't try to voice the truth again.
Every so often, Crowley seems about to climb into bed with his lover, but then retreats to the window and just stares out into the parking lot.
Aziraphale jumps when Crowley suddenly speaks for the first time in what seems like an age.
"I can't do this."
The words don't make sense to Aziraphale at the moment. "Can't do what ?"
"I need to go."
Aziraphale furrows his brow, completely confused. " What ? Go where?"
"Away from here. Away from her," Crowley says calmly. "You were right from the start. She's mortal. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. I thought," he lets out a shaky breath, "I thought I could do it. That I could just live in the moment, y' know? I can't. Even if she wakes up, then what? Wait for her to die anyway?" He places his hands and forehead on the window, his breath fogs up the pane. "I'll never see her again, whether she ends up above or below."
Aziraphale's grief and pity begin to be replaced by anger. "Well, you should have thought of that before she gave you her heart. You're not going anywhere. When she wakes up, you–"
"She won't wake up," Crowley says defeatedly. "Not while I'm still around."
"Crowley," Aziraphale warns, "I'm sure this has nothing to do with you. God is not punishing you–"
Crowley slams a fist against the glass so hard it wobbles. "There has not been a moment since my fall where I am not being punished in some way or another. I have to go."
"No."
"If she does wake up," Crowley takes in a long breath, "tell her that... tell her... she'll be safer away from me."
"Crowley, stop this nonsense. If you truly love her then–"
"I should let her go."
"Don't be stupid ," Aziraphale admonishes.
Crowley refuses to face Aziraphale. "Angel," the demon whispers, "if you," he sniffs harshly and clenches his fists, "take care of her." He finally turns and gives Aziraphale a sad smile. "I know you'll make her happy."
Before Aziraphale can say another word, Crowley is gone. The angel fumes at his audacity and nearly goes after him, but then Angelique would be alone. The hospital could not reach her parents because the couple were on some crazed mountain climbing excursion. Her next of kin, an uncle in America, finally called back, but he wouldn't be here for another two days.
Aziraphale sighs and walks to the patient's side. He strokes her hair and tucks her locks behind her ears. Once again, Aziraphale tries to connect with her spiritually, hitting a wall as he expected. "I don't understand," Aziraphale murmurs. "Surely, you aren't being punished because you love Crowley." That would be cruel of Her , he thinks dangerously, not really caring.
"Think, Aziraphale," he tells himself, "snap out of it and think for goodness sake."
The angel closes his eyes and centres himself. He tries to list the facts and challenges his beliefs.
Angelique is human.
Angelique loves stronger than any human he's ever met. Angelique should not be able to block out angelic of demonic influence like this, especially while unconscious and vulnerable.
Angelique says she has good luck. Angelique said it felt like her luck was waning because of some outside influence. He thinks about her perfect health. He thinks about how she told him luck runs in the family. He thinks about long lives. He thinks about the lotto, the keys, the hot water. The lotto...
Aziraphale is thrown back to their first proper lunch at her flat.
"You... decided to win the lottery?"
"Yes, indeed. I was seventeen. First thing I did was buy out a dance studio. I've been teaching ever since. What's that, like, about twenty years ago? I'm not good with maths."
Aziraphale's eyes snap open. " What ?"
How did he not catch that before? He stares at her pale face in complete shock, then he jumps up and locates her bag with her belongings. He digs past the clothes and pulls out her purse. "I know it's an incredible faux pas to look through a woman's purse, my dear," he sends her an apologetic look, "I hope you can forgive me."
Aziraphale opens her purse and finds what he's looking for. Lifting her identification to eye level, he gasps in astonishment at being right.
Angelique is not bad at maths. Or at least not complete rubbish.
Angelique was only off by two years.
Angelique doesn't look a day over twenty-five.
Angelique is thirty-nine years old. Two months away from forty to be precise.
It all adds up as Aziraphale gapes, head snapping from her identification to her form on the hospital bed.
Angelique is not human.
Angelique is–
"Nephilim," Aziraphale breathes. "You're Nephilim."
