This one is sort of a companion to the last one since it's also set during the Napoleonic war :) (Also, sort of Sharpe references because I do love that series.)

25. "Think I'll Just Collapse Here"

(disorientation, ringing ears)

Waterloo. A place seemingly of no consequence and yet, here they had ended up at the end of this whole bloody war.

Aziraphale fought the urge to flinch as another canon ball slammed into the ground all too close to him. He dusted the spray of dirt off of his uniform and out of his hair. He'd already lost his shako a long time ago—quite unfitting for an officer.

"Major Fell!"

The angel looked over to see the captain of the 95th Rifles and several of his men rushing over.

"Yes, what is it?" Aziraphale asked.

"Some of Boney's men are trying to flank us. Permission to reroute them, sir?"

Aziraphale nodded sharply. "Yes, let's go."

He set off with the sharp-shooters and soon saw the small troop of Bonaparte's men who were trying to cross the field, looking like they were going to take out some of Wellington's cannons.

The Rifles sank into some shrubbery, their green coats concealing them far better than Aziraphale's red, but there was little to be done about that now.

"Very good, captain, I leave judgment in your own hands," he said.

The captain nodded and raised his rifle.

Several of Bonaparte's men went down with the first volley, but one pulled something from a bag on his belt and Aziraphale saw what it was too late to do more than perform a miracle of protection around his men.

"Down!" he shouted as a bomb flew their way.

The concussive sound exploded around them and Aziraphale was flung back, shocked, slamming into the ground, ears ringing.

"Major!"

The voice was faint, but the Rifles captain was crouching over him, worried as he checked him over for wounds.

"I'm fine," Aziraphale forced himself to say, pushing himself up. "Go!"

The captain gave him a look, but obeyed, and Aziraphale attempted to push himself to his feet.

Another bomb went off a few feet from him and he slammed face-first into the ground, dirt raining down on top of him.

The ringing in his ears doubled and his head ached. He tried to push himself up, but dizziness overcame him and he collapsed back into the dirt.

Hands were on his back and rolling him over. The first thing he saw was a French uniform and he flailed, desperately trying to think of a miracle to get him away from the enemy, but hands pushed him down again and he looked up to see a familiar face staring down at him.

"Cr-ow-ley," he mouthed.

He hadn't seen the demon since Russia, when Crowley had nearly discorporated from the cold. Now it looked like his friend was here to return the favor.

The demon's mouth was opening and closing as if he were saying something, tugging on Aziraphale's uniform coat, but the angel couldn't hear anything past the ringing in his ears and it was very distracting.

It took everything in him to be able to figure out what Crowley was saying by reading his lips. "Come on," Crowley mouthed. "We're getting out of here."

He heaved Aziraphale up, but the angel swayed and clutched his head, the incessant ringing only seeming to get worse.

"Wait…" he tried, and tugged on Crowley's uniform. "Ene-my…"

Crowley rolled his eyes, but miracled himself into a British uniform. "Better? Let's get out of here."

More cannons were firing around them and Crowley hurried Aziraphale along as fast as the angel could stumble, which wasn't fast since it was a monumental effort just to put one foot in front of the other. That coupled with the chaos going on around them made it nearly impossible for Aziraphale to focus on anything.

He didn't even realize where they were at first, until he recognized his desk and realized Crowley must have brought him to his tent.

The demon settled him down on his cot and crouched in front of him, taking his face between his hands.

"Angel, can you hear me?" he asked, still silent to Aziraphale's ears.

The angel shook his head, swaying, as he motioned to his ears. "R-ringing."

Crowley pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded. He simply lowered Aziraphale down on the cot and sat on the edge. "Just stay down. It should wear off."

But Aziraphale shook his head, which only set him off on another bout of dizziness, and his stomach clenched as it felt like he was about to fall off the cot.

He squeezed his eyes shut and terror overcame him suddenly. A sensation that an angel never wanted to experience. The feeling of freefall; not the joy of flight, but the terror of falling…

"Angel!"

The voice was muffled, but he could just hear it above the ringing in his ears. Someone had grabbed his shoulders and the sensation of falling halted. Aziraphale instantly clung to the person responsible and dragged his eyes open.

Crowley was staring at him with worried golden eyes.

"Angel, are you okay?"

"I'm…falling," Aziraphale whispered.

Something crossed Crowley's face, an unreadable expression, and he swallowed hard, but turned to the side, keeping one hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, grounding him. Aziraphale took a deep breath, trying to focus. The ringing wasn't quite so bad now, and he could vaguely hear Crowley.

"You'll be okay. It will wear off." He produced a cloth and started to clean the dirt and blood off of Aziraphale from the battlefield. It was warm and comforting and he leaned back against the cot, closing his eyes as he let the demon care for him. He was really helpless to do anything else at that moment.

By the time Crowley finished with his ministrations, he was starting to feel a little less dizzy and though there was still some ringing in his ears, it was mostly gone. "Thank you," he finally said to the demon, cracking his eyes open.

Crowley shrugged, looking a little self-conscious. "'S'nothing. After all, just repaying the favor."

Aziraphale smiled gently back. He knew Crowley didn't like to be thanked, but he was grateful.

He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath. "Is that what it feels like?" he asked after a while.

"What?" Crowley replied.

"Falling."

The demon looked at him sharply and Aziraphale instantly felt bad for bringing it up, blaming his muddled head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"No, it's fine," Crowley replied.

"It's terrifying," Aziraphale whispered. "Just the sensation of it. I couldn't imagine actually…" He pressed his lips together, unable to continue and sure Crowley didn't want to hear it.

"You're not falling anymore, angel," Crowley said after a moment. "Just relax. I'll stay here and make sure it doesn't happen again."

"But the battle…"

"Will go perfectly well without us there," Crowley said simply. "They always do, after all."

Aziraphale sighed but the demon was right. There was no way Wellington wasn't going to win this one.

So he closed his eyes and felt a hand rest on his shoulder to keep him grounded while he waited out the effects of the blast, the ringing getting less and less potent, until he was woken by the sounds of victory.