Summary:
Crowley helps Aziraphale through the aftermath of captivity.
Notes:
Prompts: Isolation chamber; forced to stay awake; "leave the lights on"
Prompts Used: Isolation (kinda) and "leave the lights on"
I still have about five minutes till midnight here, so still only a day behind!
This one takes place in 1944, towards the end of the Second World War, when Hitler was growing desperate for the supernatural.
Chapter 8: Sleep Deprivation
1944
Aziraphale tried to hold his tea cup steady, but the rattling of porcelain gave him away to the demon sitting across from him. Crowley lounged on the sofa. He tried to appear nonchalant, but the angel knew the eyes behind those dark shades were trained on every movement.
After recent events, Aziraphale could hardly blame him.
Two days ago
It had taken two months to find Aziraphale, but Crowley had finally managed to track him down. The demon stalked through the empty building, senses trained for anything. But the place was eerily still.
He knew this was the place, though. That small spark of familiar grace led him down hallway after hallway, his boots echoing loudly in the silence.
Finally, he reached a door. It looked like all the others behind and and ahead, but the feeling of Grace was strongest here.
"I'm coming, angel.". He opened the door.
He was met with pitch black.
It took a moment for his serpent eyes to adjust. When they did, he could see a small ball of warmth huddled in the back corner of the room.
"Angel? Aziraphale?"
The ball shook, then unfurled slightly. It was a person.
"Cr-crowley?" a voice, small and broken, called from the darkness.
The demon shot his hands out in search of a light switch. "Angel, close your eyes. I'm gonna turn on the light, yeah?"
Yellowish light soon flooded the room, drawing a whimper from across the room.
Crowley froze. Now illuminated, the room around him was something straight out of a nightmare.
He ignored the cold metal slab in the center, flying past it. Yellow eyes narrowed and focused only on his goal. Not on the restraints dangling from the table, the tray of sharp objects next to it, not even on the rust colored pools scattered across the cement floor.
All he could see was the tiny cage, and the naked angel huddled inside.
Two days later
Crowley tried to appear relaxed, but in reality he was anything but. Every time he closes his eyes, he could see that room. He could see Aziraphale, trapped in that cage too small for a dog, much less a grown man-shaped being. Wings out, plucked near bare, infected wounds criss-crossing pale skin...
He shook himself out of the memory. That cage should be melted slag in the Pit, but he hadn't wanted to risk anyone Downstairs getting a hold of something etched with so much Enochian. So he'd done the next best thing- after getting the angel safely tucked the Bentley, he burned the whole damn place down with Hellfire.
Too bad the Nazi scientists had fled long before hed gotten there. He would have relished watching them burn with it.
The clatter of a tea cup being placed down too hard shook him out of his thoughts again. Aziraphale needed him here, now. He could push his own feelings down until later.
"Need anything, angel? How are your wings? Might need the dressing changed."
Aziraphale jumped at the sound of his voice.What did those bastards do to you?
"No, dear. They feel just fine. Please, leave them be for now?"
Blue eyes implored him, and he nodded. "Sure, angel. We can check them later." Crowley had been able to heal the wounds to Aziraphale's corporation, but demons could not heal wings, as they were part of the angel's true form. So they'd had to clean and bandage them the old fashioned way. Which, to be honest, had been an ordeal for both of them.
Aziraphale had been sensitive to noise and touch since his rescue. But worse than both of those was the bookish angel's newfound fear of the dark.
After healing his body and bandaging his wings, Crowley had tried to get the angel to rest. He'd reached for the lamp by the side of the small bed, but Aziraphale had begged him, "No! Please, dear, leave the light on?"
Ever since, he'd made sure to keep at least one light on for when the angel napped, which was a rarity only reserved for I tense healing.
Across from him, Crowley watched Aziraphale pick up the book that had been sitting next to his teacup. The angel opened it, but quickly snapped it closed and placed it back down. His hands were still shaking.
The demon stood slowly, making sure to telegraph his movements as he carefully moved closer to the skittish angel. Sudden moves were also on the no-fly list.
He knelt next to the angel's chair, settling beside his left knee. One long, thin hand carefully covered the shaking one that was clenched in the beige-colored lap.
"Aziraphale, please, what happened to you? It might help, to tell me."
Blond curls, now clean and free of the blood that has matted them, shook roughly.
The serpent gave his hand a light squeeze. "Look at me, angel. It's ok. I just... I can't stand seeing you like this. I just want to help."
A drop of something wet splashed against his hand, and Crowley looked up to see tears streaming from unfocused blue eyes. The book seller's jaw was clenched tight in an effort to keep silent, and the sight nearly broke the demon.
"You were so strong, Aziraphale," he assured quietly. "You were so strong for two months. It's ok. You're safe now."
He watched as the angel slowly began to fall apart. The soft jaw unclenched, trembling in time with the wobble of parting lips. Blue eyes slammed shut. Long lashes quickly flooded in the unchecked tide of salty tears.
Crowley squeezed the angel's hand again as the first sob finally escaped.
He unfolded his long body from the floor and gathered Aziraphale in his arms.
Time faded for awhile after that. Nothing mattered except the two of them. Heaven and Hell could have stormed the shop, and it would not have been enough for Crowley to step away from his hurting angel.
Sobs eventually turned into hiccups, and Aziraphale pulled away enough to produce a ridiculous tartan hand hide from his breast pocket. He blew his nose, then balled the fabric into his lap and stared at it while Crowley settled back down on the floor next to him.
"It was-it was a summoning," the angel began quietly. "That is how they got me in that awful place."
"Germany. You were in Germany."
Aziraphale nodded. "Yes, I had guessed. They...they were..."
Crowley gave him time. He knew this would be difficult to listen to, much less to say.
"The... tests... They were awful. I still don't know what they were looking for," Aziraphale continued, his voice wavering just a little. "But then one day, they were all just...gone. I don't know what happened, or how long I was there before you found me, but... well, when you did, I thought I had imagined it. I thought that I had finally gone mad.
"It was so dreadful there, in that-that tiny space, in the dark. What if I did imagine you, Crowley? What if I'm still there? What if Ihavegone mad? What-?"
Cool hands gently settled on either side of the angel's face, and Crowley forced him to look up. The glasses had disappeared, leaving wide, golden eyes searching frightened blue.
"You listen to me, angel," he growled. "Can you feel this?Thisis real. I'm real. You are safe, in your little bookshop, with your posh biscuits and tea. You are safe, Aziraphale. Those Nazi bastards will never touch you again, I swear my damned soul on it."
Blonde curls bobbed as the angel nodded his head, his own hands coming to cover the ones already framing his soft face. His grip was nearly painful, but Crowley did not care. The action seemed to help ground the angel in the present.
I'm so sorry, dear boy. I didn't know what came over me. Iknowyou saved me from that dreadful place. It's just... When I close my eyes, it feels as though I am there."
Crowley understood- he'd experienced his own flashbacks. His own memories were bad enough- he could not imagine what the angel was reliving.
"You're out, angel. I promise."
They sat like that for a few more moments, Aziraphale breathing in time with Crowley in a calming, steady rhythm. Eventually Aziraphale patted the demon's hands, and the serpent reluctantly let go.
"I'm all right, dear."
Crowley smiled sadly. "No, you're not. But you will be."
The demon straightened and ran a hand through his carefully coifed red hair. Unsure of what to do now, rocked back on his heels. "What do you need, angel? You want me to get out of your hair for a bit? Let you rest?"
Panic flashed across Aziraphale's face for a brief second. "No! Um, resting does sound rather tempting, but...well... I frankly can't stand the quiet. Could you, perhaps...?"
Crowley followed his eyes to the novel Aziraphale had been failing to read all evening. He picked it up, a well-read copy of Winnie the Pooh.
Two strides easily brought him back to the couch. He collapsed into the corner, the hand not holding the novel patting the empty cushion next to him. "Come on, angel. That chair cannot be comfortable."
It only took a moment of hesitation before Aziraphale eased to his feet and moved to the couch. He sat next to Crowley. They weren't quite touching, but were still close enough that a subtle movement would cause the barest of contact between a should or a thigh. Just enough to ensure that the other was indeed there.
Crowley opened the book to the marked page and began reading.