Good omens one shots

15 ; c×a - demons can get sick

Aitana_b_g_888

Sick crowley owo

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Aziraphale picked up a box of tissues from his nightstand. "I don't think I'll ever need these..."

And then he tossed them into the trash, without so much as a second glance.

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Aziraphale was downstairs, sitting at his little desk on the rickety wooden chair that had been there for several decades. Customers were scarce today, not that he needed them.

It was about 6.24 when his phone rang, playing a song that he only put on one contact.

"Crowley!" He smiled when he answered. "How nice of you to call, dear."

"I need you to come to my flat," he deadpanned.

"W-What?"

"I need you," He hissed, pausing. "To come to my flat."

"Oh," Aziraphale said. "Why?"

He waited for an answer, but was met by a low continuous beeping noise. Well, that was rude, Crowley had hung up.

"Fine, then," Aziraphale huffed, worry building in his chest.

He stood from his chair, pulled on his coat, and started for the door. He was going to call for any customers to leave, but of course, there were none, miraculously.

The door slammed shut, the 'CLOSED' sign slapping the window harshly. Aziraphale stepped out into the sunlight, and vanished.

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Crowley's flat was very messy. There were tissues all over the floor of the kitchen and dining room, crumpled up and piled together as best they could be.

Aziraphale stepped around them, making his way towards the plant room. The door slid open, and he basically fell inside to avoid a pile of tissues.

All of the plants started shaking vigorously, and that's when Aziraphale noticed how out of hand they had gotten. There were brown spots all over their leaves, vines grew up the walls and ceilings, soil spilled onto the usually clean floor. There were even a few plants with broken pots, now growing roots on the tables.

The angel walked through the other door, leading to Crowley's bedroom. There was his phone, on the nightstand. A pile of blankets, and under them all, something was breathing.

Aziraphale crept up to the bed, looking around for some sort of opening. He spotted red-brown hair, and, after moving a brown comforter, Crowley's eyes were visible. They were closed, though.

Rude. He was being exceptionally rude today. First he hung up, and then he doesn't even bother to be awake.

Aziraphale turned to leave, but then he saw a flash of yellow, and looked back down. Crowley shot upwards in bed, looking at him.

"Angel," he smiled, wiping his forehead. "You came."

"Oh, well, of course, dear," he said, walking back to him. "Why did you need me?"

"Mm," Hummed the demon, closing his eyes and falling back into a pillow. "I don't feel right."

"Like... a sickness?" Aziraphale laughed. "Dearest, we can't get sick."

Crowley sniffed. "Yes, we can! We are in vessels, you dimwit. Human vessels."

Aziraphale looked down in defeat. "Oh, right."

"I feel so lightheaded," he groaned, covering his face with his hands.

"Perhaps you should take some medicine," Aziraphale said, doing his best not to look at the demon's bare chest. It was hard, you know.

"I don't take pills," Crowley growled, glaring up at him. "I don't trust them."

"What about the syrup?"

"Tastes and burns worse than diluted Holy water. I'll pass."

"Well how the fuck do you expect to get better if you won't take anything!?" Aziraphale said loudly, glaring right back at him.

Crowley looked stunned. "D-Did you just... dis you just say 'fuck'?"

"What? N..." he glanced around the room nervously. "No, I didn't."

"Yes," Crowley grinned, sitting up. "Yes, you did."

"N-"

"Oh my Go- Satan!" Crowley smiled. "This is amazing, have to say."

"What!? I didn't even say fuck!" Aziraphale said, exasperated.

The other gasped dramatically. "You did it again!"

"You are such an infant!" The angel said, turning red. "Quit trying to embarrass me and get better so I'm not bored all the time."

"How the fuck am I supposed to get better without any help?" He mocked, smiling slightly.

"Fine! You want help?" Aziraphale asked. "I can give you help, please I just... don't bring it up again."

"Deal. I'm cold."

"You have 6 blankets right here..." he said incredulously.

"Yes, I do," said Crowley. "I'm cold."

"Oh, for God's sake...." Aziraphale sighed, miracling more covers. "How's that?"

"Warm," he smiled genuinely, curling under them until there was only red hair poking out.

"Sounds nice," Aziraphale smiled, wondering to find more tissues in his room.

"Don't go snooping..." Crowley warned, yawning. "You're... going to find something you don't like..."

"Just sleep, darling," Aziraphale said sweetly, looking through a stack of notebooks for 'tissues'.

Crowley was a good artist. No shit, he was, as much as he'd hate to admit it... there were several sketch books. Aziraphale looked through all of them. Four out of five were drawings of wings and demons and blood and dead animals. One of them, though, had only 3 pages drawn on, and all of them were Aziraphale.

"Well, I'll be damned," Aziraphale said, running a hand across the last drawing's date. It was yesterday.

That was almost as embarrassing as the lockscreen on Aziraphale's phone, which was a picture of Crowley, caught while he was still asleep.

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MKAY SO LIKE SORRY IT WAS SHORT AND -OR + I

BUT UHM THANKS FKR READING ANYWAYS???
ik it was not exactly what you requested but I tried, okay?