Familiar Comfort

Soft

Disclaimer: Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

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Five Times that Crowley Comforts Aziraphale, and One Time that Aziraphale Comforts Crowley

Chapter 3: Soft

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Saturday, a few hours before the end of the world:

Crowley had been discreetly following Aziraphale with his thoughts. The angel and he had a sort of connection, not that either of them would acknowledge it, and Crowley was using it to keep up with his friend.

He told himself he was just being vigilant, making sure that Aziraphale wasn't thwarting any Hellish plans. But really, he was making sure that the angel was safe, and at least mildly content. He could feel Aziraphale's anxiety coursing through him, but he was watching for anger or shock or sadness. Aziraphale was always anxious.

So, it didn't take him long to feel the extra pulse of anxiety from his friend, and his heart started to beat faster, even though he was simply sitting at his desk.

Was Aziraphale running?

Crowley quickly left his flat and hopped into the Bentley, using his senses to steer him toward wherever Aziraphale was. He stopped short by St. James's park, running over a curb and almost hitting a pedestrian. He ignored the look the woman gave him, locking the car and hurrying to vantage point where he could Aziraphale and, as it turned out, Gabriel.

Crowley used his enhanced demonic senses to listen to the conversation. Gabriel was explaining to Aziraphale that the war between Heaven and Hell had to happen. They didn't want to stop it, they wanted to go through with it.

Crowley scoffed. He had been telling the angel for years that Heaven wasn't to be trusted. The angels, with the exception of Aziraphale, hadn't lived on Earth, hadn't realized its brilliance.

He continued to listen, realizing that Gabriel was more of a dick than he originally thought.

Then he heard Gabriel point at Aziraphale's stomach and say "Lose the gut."

He felt a white-hot surge of anger at the purple-eyed demon. How dare he insult Aziraphale like that. Crowley would never say this out loud, to anyone, but he thought the angel was absolutely perfect. If he ever heard another person say something like that about his angel...

And then he heard Aziraphale mutter, "I'm soft."

Crowley bared his teeth and started making his way down the hill he was perched on, intending to maim, possibly kill Gabriel and comfort Aziraphale.

He stopped short when Gabriel appeared in front of his angel again. Crowley didn't have enough time to strain his ears to hear before Gabriel was off to Heaven.

Crowley pushed his anger down like he had at Warlock's birthday party, walking up behind a dejected looking Aziraphale.

"You're not soft, angel." He muttered, looking off in the distance rather than at his friend.

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Aziraphale hated seeing Gabriel. His boss was rather mean, if he was forced to admit it. He didn't mind straightforwardness, he was used to Crowley's nonsense by now, but Gabriel meant everything he said.

Crowley may insult him here and there, but Aziraphale knew that the demon rarely meant it. But Gabriel, he was nonchalant and rude and always said what was on his mind, no matter who he hurt.

However, Aziraphale wasn't one to shy away from his angelic duties.

So, when he saw Gabriel jogging past him, he ran to keep up, attempting to talk to his boss about his activities in relation to stopping the Apocalypse.

Finally, when he had run his fill, he asked his boss to stop, leaning over to catch his breath.

And he heard Gabriel explain to him that Heaven wanted the war.

Then, he listened to Gabriel call him fat.

Not that the archangel used those words precisely. But "lose the gut" hurt nevertheless.

When Gabriel jogged away again, Aziraphale found himself staring miserably at the ground, realizing that he had gone soft.

Then, Gabriel was back in front of him, asking him about the flaming sword that he hadn't seen since Eden.

And then the archangel finally went back to Heaven, leaving a saddened Aziraphale behind, alone, on the Earth.

Then, he heard a rustling of footsteps behind him. He could feel who it was before Crowley even stepped up beside him.

"You're not soft, angel."

..........

"Crowley, were you listening to a private conversation?" Aziraphale reprimanded halfheartedly.

"Obviously, Aziraphale." Crowley paused, turning toward the angel and taking off his sunglasses. "Don't listen to him. He's an arsehole."

"But Crowley..." Aziraphale started to argue.

"There's more to being an angel than being able to fight. You might not have six-pack abs, Aziraphale, but you're still an amazing... er... functioning angel." Crowley backtracked. He didn't mean to call Aziraphale amazing.

And, of course, the angel caught the compliment.

"I remember being an angel actually. Well most of it." Crowley turned away to look up at the sky, sunglasses still in his hand. "I remember creating stars, nebulas, whole galaxies. I remember having bright white wings and thinking that everything would work out, for the greater good." Crowley paused and looked down at the ground, a sad look in his eye.

"I didn't mean to Fall, angel." Crowley muttered. Aziraphale let out a soft little gasp and took the demon's hand into his own. Instead of pulling away, Crowley laced their fingers together. "I just asked questions. I just wanted to know why the Great Plan was what it was. I didn't rebel, I didn't fight, I didn't say the Plan was wrong. I just wanted to know why." He sniffed and looked back at Aziraphale.

"Anyway, the point is that you shouldn't listen to Gabriel. He's the kind of angel that thinks the only point in being an angel is to fight in the war. But you and I know that it's so much more." He paused again.

"He doesn't understand how... interesting humanity is. He doesn't know the pleasures of cars or music or, in your case, books and sushi restaurants. I'm sure he's never created a star or watched a galaxy swirl. He just shuffles through reports all day and goes for the occasional run, to keep himself in shape for Armageddon." He realized that he was rambling, and decided it was high time that he shut up.

"Anyway, the point is that you shouldn't listen to him, Aziraphale. You're not soft."

..........

Aziraphale felt a small tear welling in his eye as Crowley finished his little speech. He could feel that odd feeling again, the one that spread through his chest like fire, but he didn't give it much of a thought. He squeezed the demon's hand, trying to find something, anything to say to the demon.

"That was... beautiful, Crowley. I know you don't usually go for those kinds of words, but... well..." he paused, once again unsure what to say. "Thank you, anyway. I'm glad you... trust me enough to tell me how you... anyway, thank you. You're a good friend."

Crowley gave the angel a halfhearted scoff. If anyone, especially an angel or a demon, saw the two of them holding hand, or heard Aziraphale saying he was a good friend, his reputation, and his being in general, would be destroyed. Probably by holy water.

Still, Crowley stood in the park with his best friend, refusing to pull his hand away from Aziraphale no matter who may be watching.