A/N: You guys wanted a continuation from parts 9, 11, and 13, so here it is! This picks up the story after Crowley rescues Aziraphale from the cult who had kidnapped him to "extract" his power and, after a minor car crash that nearly kills them all, is able to get his angel home. This "whump" is the caretaking that follows ^_^

It's also told from the POV of the bookshop! Sentient Bookshop and Sentient Bentley are my absolute favorite head canon! The basics are: the bookshop calls Crowley "Dearboy" because it thought that was his name for the longest time. It's able to do a bit of miracling on its own because of all the angelic influence in the place from Azi having lived there so long. And the best part: Aziraphale and Crowley are absolutely clueless to any of this, which the bookshop and Bentley find hilarious.

If you enjoy this, check out my first work with the two of them as primary characters, Soul of Vellum, Heart of Chrome.

Also check out the Good Omens whumptobers by Lady Wallace, as she did a fantastic sentient Bookshop piece for day 27!

#29: Reluctant Bedrest - After finally getting Aziraphale home from the cult that had been keeping him prisoner, Crowley is left to tend to his angel. Aziraphale isn't the best patient when it comes to staying in bed and resting, but Crowley has an ally to help keep an eye on them both. Even if neither of them know it. Part 4 of 3.

PART 4/3

The bookshop watched Dearboy bring Aziraphale inside, fretting with so much fretfulness that the glass panes in the windows were rattling slightly. Neither the snake-eyed demon nor the bookshop's beloved angel seemed to notice, though the Bentley naturally pointed it out at the first opportunity, along with an admonition to calm down and take care of their beloved pair. The Bentley wasn't often the voice of reason—quite the opposite—but this time it was right.

Aziraphale was clearly alive and that was, of course, the main thing. As for what had happened to him, the Bentley couldn't give many details other than how the angel had been restrained when it busted through the wall of the compound to rescue him and Dearboy.

The thought of Aziraphale strung up on some horrid pentagram, muzzled and barely alive, made the bookshop quiver again with rage and alarm. As did the next bit of the story, how the Bentley had been in a terrible wreck on the way home thanks to the cult leader. But, as the Bentley pointed out in exasperation, it was obviously back in tip-top condition, else it wouldn't have made it back to Soho.

This was a good point, so the bookshop tried once again to wrench its attention back to Aziraphale and Dearboy.

The demon was getting Aziraphale up the stairs into his infrequently used bedroom; the bookshop saw Aziraphale shiver, so it cranked the temperature up a few more degrees.

"Easy does it," Dearboy murmured, settling the angel carefully down on the edge of the bed, then squatting down in front of him and taking his hands. "Angel?" he asked in that careful voice that always made the bookshop settle with a creak of content. "What- what do I need to do?"

"Oh, nothing, my dear boy," Aziraphale sighed, looking down at their hands. His face was tight with emotion, though. He would be needing tea, or else something stronger, so the bookshop quickly checked the cupboards to make sure it was well stocked with both. Maybe a bit of that Chateau Greysac it knew Dearboy liked so much, as a thank you for rescuing Aziraphale.

But first, it needed to know what had happened to the angel. The bookshop creaked in impatience, then immediately felt bad when Aziraphale tensed and jerked his head up to check the doorway.

"It's just us," Dearboy reminded him. "Alright?"

"Yes, dear me, so- so silly of me," Aziraphale chuckled weakly. "Afraid I'm a tad bit jumpy..."

"Angel... what- what did they do to you? Are you... are you hurt?"

Aziraphale sighed and closed his eyes. "Just drained," he whispered. There was a moment of silence, then he peeped his eyes back open to see Dearboy watching him. He took a shuddering breath then managed to choke out, "They took my power, Crowley... they just... took it."

"How?" Dearboy asked carefully. "You still had plenty after the accident, so... they didn't take all of it?"

"I don't know how it worked," Aziraphale admitted with a shudder. "But it was horrible. The pentagram was part of it, and- and there was a spell they used. I've never heard it before. But when they did it, it was like... I felt it, all my power, you know it's usually just a normal part of you, all through your being?"

Dearboy nodded, face unreadable.

"Well, I felt it... moving. Gathering. It was like the spell was pulling it all in on itself into a little ball, and that- that- oh that horrible-" He couldn't go on, a shaky hand releasing Dearboy's to rub over his jaw. He must have been talking about the muzzle that Bentley had mentioned. Tears danced in the angel's eyes as he whispered, "I felt it in my chest, then moving up into my throat, and oh Crowley it burned so badly... this corporation doesn't usually have so much concentrated power in one place, you know. And once it was all in my throat, they- they had some sort of syringe, I don't know what sort or where they got it, but- they... they just took it."

He closed his eyes and seemed to crumple a bit. Dearboy was off his haunches in a second, sitting on the bed beside him with his arms wrapping the angel in comfort and protection.

"You're safe now, though," Dearboy murmured, taking the words right out of the bookshop's, er... mouth. "And they're all dead. And they didn't get all of it, so that's something."

"They did, though," Aziraphale sighed as he leaned into the safe hold. "Or it seemed like it. Only once a day, and by the next morning it was all replenished but every time it left me more and more exhausted. If you hadn't come, Crowley, I- I think they intended to keep going forever. I'm an angel, I- I'll never run out of power, so long as I can recharge somewhat. I didn't know if you'd managed to escape that warehouse or how you would ever find me even if you did, I thought I was never getting out of-"

"Hey, hey!" Dearboy spoke up as Aziraphale grew more and more upset. "I did get out and I did find you. And you're home with your books and your- oh, look, see there's even a box of chocolates right here on the bedside table."

Aziraphale rubbed at his eyes but took the offered box with a watery chuckle. "That's very kind of you."

You're welcome, the bookshop thought, already knowing Dearboy would accept the credit for having brought the chocolates, but that was alright.

"And I'll fetch us a bottle of wine to go with it," Dearboy said. "While I'm doing that, you are going to put on some pyjamas and get in the bed, and you're not leaving it until you're fully recovered. No, don't argue," he said louder as Aziraphale opened his mouth to do exactly that. "You need rest, and lots of it."

"But- the store..."

"Is closed, just the way you like it," Dearboy pointed out.

"But-"

"No buts. You, pyjamas. I'll be back in a tick."

Dearboy fixed Aziraphale with another bossy glower then slithered down the stairs to the kitchenette. The bookshop had two glasses waiting on the counter, along with a corkscrew and the book Aziraphale had been reading before dashing out after Dearboy in such a hurry. As an afterthought, it piled another quilt on the chair beside all of this so the demon could take it back upstairs with him. Aziraphale tended to nest when he was upset, so the more blankets, the better.

With all of this accomplished, now feeling a little better for knowing the story and a little angrier for the same reason, the bookshop settled in to watch over its occupants.

O\[]/O

Aziraphale was a notoriously awful patient, always thinking he was quite ready to be back up on his feet long before he actually was. Dearboy was standing guard—er, keeping him company—but he did love to sleep, that demon. And so the bookshop would have to stand guard as well over the next few days, thwarting the angel on several occasions when he tried to sneak out of bed. The bookshop watched as, nearly a week from being rescued, Aziraphale stole a glance at Dearboy in a chair nearby that was tilted back against the wall on two legs. The demon was snoring soundly, as Aziraphale was supposed to be doing but of course wasn't. The angel pushed the blankets back and crept out of the bed. He started to tiptoe for the door as quietly as he could, which of course wasn't very quiet when the bookstore made sure to creak as loud as it possibly could with each and every footstep.

When that still didn't wake the demon, the bookshop waited until Aziraphale's hand was on the door before it knocked the chair out from under Dearboy with a crash.

Dearboy leaped to his feet with a shout, brandishing the wineglass he'd been holding like a sword until he saw Aziraphale with his hand sheepishly on the doorknob.

"Oi!" Dearboy grumbled. "Where are you going? Back in bed! If you fall down the stairs again-"

"Oh, Crowley, but I simply must mind the store. What if someone thinks I've gone on holiday for being closed so long, and tries to break in and steal my books?"

"No one is going to steal your books, angel," Crowley said with a groan.

It was quite true. A few people had been giving the store quizzical looks over the last few days, some even going to press their faces to the door. That had been great fun, as the Bentley projected some of Dearboy's demonic energy into the store in the form of monstrous specters right in front of the glass. So far two of the peepers had fainted, much to the bookshop and Bentley's glee.

"Besides, I..." Aziraphale broke off and looked away.

Dearboy frowned. "You what?"

"I just... I don't want to be trapped in the same room for much longer," he admitted softly. "Can't we at least go downstairs? Open a window? There's plenty of couches, you know, and after all I've been resting for days. Please, Crowley, I just don't want to feel like... like a prisoner in my own home."

Drat. The bookshop couldn't very well argue with that. Neither, obviously, could Dearboy, who slumped a bit with obvious guilt.

"Yeah, alright then."

But he still hovered right beside Aziraphale as the angel took step by painstaking step down to the main level, at the ready to catch him if need be. The shop had cleared off the comfiest couch of the books that had been piled on it, draping an extra throw blanket over the back for extra coziness.

"Shall I... erm... fetch some cocoa?" Dearboy offered as he got the angel settled onto the couch.

Aziraphale smiled up at him gratefully. "That would be lovely. Crowley," he added as the demon turned to go.

Dearboy turned back, waiting expectantly.

Aziraphale's smile softened, eyes growing warm. "Thank you," he said. "For rescuing me."

"That's the Arrangement," Dearboy said with a shrug. "Though if you're really starting to feel better, I'm going to shout at you for taking my place to begin with."

"Oh," Aziraphale coughed and leaned back on the couch with a rather larger than necessary wince. "I'm not feeling that much better."

"Hmm." The demon fixed a suspicious glower on him, but then hurried on to the kitchenette to fetch the cocoa.

At least Aziraphale's admission that he really wasn't all that better yet was cause enough for Dearboy to continue showering him with care and healing. It did the bookshop's heart good to see its favorite two beings on the couch, cupping steaming mugs for Aziraphale to drink and Dearboy to pretend to drink even though they both knew he didn't actually like it half as much as wine. To see the demon piling blanket after blanket on Aziraphale when the angel dozed off without meaning to, still more worn out than he wanted to admit. To watch Dearboy leap to defend him from imagined captors when a particularly bad nightmare woke him up.

To see the unspoken devotion the two had for each other, and to know that long after the bookshop was able to watch over its angel, Aziraphale would still be in good hands.