A/N: Set post-Apocalypse. I have multiple different head canons about how much angels and demons can heal each other, depending on what the story calls for... in this version, they can't heal each other at all, and can only heal themselves by intention (rather than it being automatic ^_^)
This one is for nellsnail56 - if you ever get the chance, drop me a line, let me know how you're doing!
#21: Hypothermia - The hunters who kidnapped Aziraphale for their twisted little sport didn't manage to kill him themselves, but at this rate it might not matter. He's going to die out here anyway, unless someone finds him first...
Aziraphale watched his breath evaporate into the bleak emptiness of the forest in a puff of condensation. He imagined the breath carrying all the way up to Heaven, maybe even to God's ear Herself, hearing his desperate plea for help. It didn't work like that, of course. For one thing, Heaven wasn't actually up so much as elsewhere, and for another thing, God didn't make a habit of rescuing him from these dreadful scrapes he always seemed to find himself in.
She did, however, seem to have a habit of ensuring Crowley was in the right place at the right time.
Aziraphale hoped and prayed that trend would continue today. Soon. Er, rather immediately in fact.
The angel shivered again, eyelids fluttering. He knew he had to stay awake or he would discorporate for sure... but... he was just so tired... and he was just so cold... His head lolled to the side and the jarring sight of the dead human nudged him back awake. The hunter's expression was frozen into a face of shock, marred by a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. It was so cold that the human's face was already blue, no blood trickling from the wound. Aziraphale felt only a very little bad for having killed the man, but then again not so terribly bad that he wouldn't do it again.
"C-Crowley," Aziraphale chattered, adding his pain-filled voice to the breath carrying his prayers to whoever might hear. "H-h-help... h-help me..."
Though he knew it was useless, Aziraphale tried once again to lift himself off the icy ground. Enormous white wings splayed over the forest floor on either side of him, feathers tipped in frost that might otherwise have been beautiful if he didn't hurt so awfully. One wing curled up slightly at the command of his swiftly numbing muscles; the other was useless. Aziraphale twisted his head to look at that one, the one that stretched through a small trickle of water at the bottom of the gully he was in. The ice had already frozen over the appendage, attaching him to the ground. And he had no strength to pull himself free.
Closing his eyes, Aziraphale willed a miracle to thaw the ice, warm his frozen bones, and wash away all the pain. The metal ring wrapped around his wrist thrummed, preventing him from using the slightest bit of angelic power to help himself. Aziraphale choked on a sharp sob of pain and gave up. The hunters might not have succeeded in their hopes of killing him themselves in this twisted hunt of theirs, but it was going to end him all the same. Frozen and helpless, alone in the middle of the winter woods, and oh gracious this was never how he'd imagined his end.
Aziraphale tried to force his eyes open, but his lashes were already icing over and it took too much work to fight them open. At least, he thought fuzzily, the cold was starting to drift away, replaced with a blessed nothingness.
o.O.o
"Aziraphale!" Crowley bellowed into the evening gloom, shivering violently and cursing everything in sight. Killing the human hunters who had kidnapped Aziraphale for their game had warmed him for a moment, but he was cold-blooded and it was actual torture being out here in sub-freezing temperatures. He couldn't turn back though, not until he'd found the angel.
Drawing a bit of Hellfire from his connection to the Pit, Crowley tried not to shudder at the evil keeping him warm. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted again. "ANGEL! Where are you?"
The hunters had been only too happy to answer his questions once they saw his fangs and his fury; they'd sworn the hunter with first dibs at taking a crack at the angel hadn't come back, which at least meant he hadn't won. They were out here somewhere. Leaves crunched, the frozen forest litter crackling under Crowley's feet as he half-jogged through the woods in growing desperation. It was getting colder by the minute and he knew if Aziraphale had been more or less rendered human, out here without proper protection from the cold, he would never survive the night.
Then he'd be sent to Heaven, and Gabriel wasn't likely to allow him another body, and they'd probably toss him in a jail cell and throw away the key. Did Heaven even have a jail? Well, they'd probably build one for the angel who'd screwed up the Apocalypse. Either way, Crowley had to find him, fast.
The demon's eyes swept over the landscape, watching the colors rapidly turning cooler. A hunting blind was tucked into a little copse of trees packed tight together, traces of heat still inside from where the hunter had been sitting, waiting. So it must not have been too long ago, or the colors would have faded into the rest of the background. Crowley stumbled to a stop and looked wildly around. He was on a ridge. If the hunter had shot Aziraphale from here...
Crowley hurried to the edge to peer over. His eyes widened.
"Angel!"
Aziraphale lay on his back, unmoving, as Crowley scrambled down the embankment to reach his friend. The angel's eyes were closed, but Crowley's reptilian vision showed him the barest hint of warmth still. There was time, he told himself over and over. There was time, he could still save him. The demon splashed to a stop next to the motionless angel, taking in the predicament. The human was very dead, a crossbow at his feet and a pistol missing from an ankle holster. But there were no wounds on Aziraphale. It seemed that the hunter had missed; the angel had not. Good on him.
Nothing else was good, though. Aziraphale's wing was frozen to the ground in the pool of water, the fingers of his outstretched hand a sickly blue-grey of frostbite. His wrist still bore the metal ring that blocked his powers, which Crowley immediately ripped away and crushed into pieces in his furious grip. Carefully, the demon used just enough Hellfire to melt the ice around Aziraphale's wing, sweating with the concentration of not letting a single bit of the flame come near the actual feathers. It was ticklish business but he managed to free the wing (with a good bit of ice still attached, but they could worry about that later).
Without a second of hesitation, Crowley gathered the terrifyingly cold angel up in his arms and flew.
o.O.o
Bitter cold.
Mostly frozen water running over his wing, trapping him in ice.
Chattering teeth, pins and needles in his skin.
Everything fading, confusion...
...nothingness...
Crowley.
Crowley? Aziraphale blinked his eyes blearily open to see the demon hovering over him. He seemed to be saying something, but Aziraphale could only stare blankly. The words washed over him, something about miracles, something about heat. The angel considered reaching out to calm his obviously distressed friend, but his joints felt locked in place. He held still, not even moving when Crowley waved a hand in his direction. Aziraphale wasn't sure what he'd done—wasn't that the demon's way of miracling things?—though some part of his foggy mind told him the wet fabric against his skin had disappeared. His wings were still out though. They were so cold. He should really put them away, the sodden feathers couldn't be a good thing, but Aziraphale was too tired.
Now Crowley was crawling onto the couch with him, wrapping his body around Aziraphale's, which felt like it ought to be improper since Aziraphale had nothing on, but that thought was too much trouble to articulate. The demon's teeth were chattering; the poor dear, he had to be freezing, he got cold so easily, and yet his body was like fire against Aziraphale. It burned, and the angel instinctively tried to pull back with a whimper.
"S-sorry, angel, it's all I've g-got, you g-gotta warm up or you'll d-d-d... you'll d-die."
Hmm, the words were starting to make sense again. Aziraphale didn't move as Crowley pulled a heavy blanket over them, his heart sluggishly pounding in his ears as though the blood was just starting to flow anew. A minute later, he whimpered again as his fingers and toes began to burn in earnest.
"Ang-angel, will you p-please come b-back?" Crowley groaned next to him. His skin felt like it was pulsating against Aziraphale's, a current of something that felt too much like Hell for comfort. Where he made contact with Aziraphale's wings, the slightly charred scent of smoldering feathers filled the cabin.
The hunters' cabin. Yes, there had been hunters. They'd put that horrid bracelet on him, it kept his wings exposed and the rest of him helpless- wait, he'd been in the woods. Aziraphale blinked slowly, looking around again.
"Crow-ley?" he croaked.
The demon froze, then lifted himself off of Aziraphale to regard him. The absence of his warmth made Aziraphale shiver, so Crowley quickly lay back down.
"You with me, angel?" he demanded. "C-can you miracle your wings away yet?"
Oh. Yes, he really ought to do that. They were so cold, putting them back in the ethereal plane would be good, wouldn't it? Or could he just use a miracle to warm them up? Oh... oh, that's what Crowley had been saying when he first woke. Yes, he was cold, he needed to warm himself up- good lord, Crowley was freezing himself to get Aziraphale warm! The angel inhaled sharply as his mind struggled through the hypothermia-induced fogginess.
He had to close his eyes and focus with all his might, but Aziraphale finally felt his wings disappear from the physical plane, and much of his discomfort along with them.
"C-Crowley," he murmured, teeth starting to chatter now as his body seemed to regain feeling, the cold coming back with a vengeance. "S-so... c-c-cold..."
"Good," the demon said. "Good, that m-means it's working..."
"You're f-freezing..."
Crowley snorted and didn't move. "Leave it to you to worry about that," he muttered. "C-can you miracle the rest yet?"
Aziraphale tried, he really did, but he was still hazy and exhausted and after a second he slumped and jerked his head to indicate a negative. "S-sorry," he whispered. "You d-don't have to-"
"S-shut up. Is the H-hellfire too much? K-keeping it low but y-you need heat..."
Aziraphale shook his head. The Hellfire glowing under Crowley's skin did hurt, but so did his hands and feet even without that, burning worse as feeling returned.
But he was alive. The Hellfire and shared body heat did the trick, along with the more ordinary fire Crowley eventually got up to stoke, and the dozens of thick flannel blankets he procured from nowhere, and the hot tea he all but poured down the angel's throat to help warm him from the inside. Gradually the mind-fog disappeared and Aziraphale tiredly brushed the rest of the cold away. Eventually he would want to go home and get out of this awful place.
But for now, he was finally warm, and well taken care of, and Aziraphale closed his eyes to the sight of Crowley settling in beside him to watch him through the night.