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Aug. 18th, 2005 10:38 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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neutral_omensDate: August 19th, day.
Status: Private - Aziraphale, Crowley, and Co.Starring Adam as Crazy Visitor Number Five. (complete)
Setting: Tadfield Infirmary.
Summary: The angel wakes.
When he surfaced again, feeling as if it was moments later and yet an age, they were feeding ducks.
He knew it was a dream because there was a hand on his thigh, and the bag of bread he was holding was not really large enough to cover up what Crowley was doing, but somehow managed to anyway.
Aziraphale’s gaze slid up to Crowley’s serpentine one, visible behind his glasses if one knew how to look.
“I-“
“Ahoy!” a voice shouted and shoved him underwater, bludgeoning him with a bright orange lifejacket. Aziraphale bubbled.
Crowley was back in snake form, twining around him. A very large squid with an unpronounceable name floated by as Aziraphale squeaked.
“I-“ he said again, and sneezed. A miniature grim reaper with a tail watched him, and prodded him in the leg with a tiny scythe.
It acted as a match and set fire to him again, making him writhe. He was Joan of Arc, burning at the hands of those who had nice strong tea.
He screamed as he remembered she did, and then he was a witch with frizzy hair and a wand kissing an ugly young boy who was grinning madly and dressed in the most horrid colours.
He waved his wand arm and frowned as his skin grew transparent. The redhead looked so startled he jumped and banged his head on the low-swinging ceiling of the closet and fell over.
Aziraphale leaned over him, full of concern, and then hissed, sharp canines making their presence known. He could see his own black wings cover his suddenly-visible body.
He stopped and peered down at it. He looked dead.
Aziraphale closed his eyes and sunk down, through the floors to the hospital wing. He sat on the bed and found himself looking at his own body, asleep on the bed and murmuring something feverishly. He blinked. Oh. He was ill.
A familiar dark head was bent over him, mopping sweat with holy water and gloves over the bandages on his hands.
“With hol- ‘ater,” his body repeated.
Crowley, he thought, smiling despite his worry. How touching.
His body turned and repeated it, opening its eyes.
And Aziraphale stared back at Crowley’s blurry face.
“Hello, my dear,” he said faintly.
Status: Private - Aziraphale, Crowley, and Co.
Setting: Tadfield Infirmary.
Summary: The angel wakes.
When he surfaced again, feeling as if it was moments later and yet an age, they were feeding ducks.
He knew it was a dream because there was a hand on his thigh, and the bag of bread he was holding was not really large enough to cover up what Crowley was doing, but somehow managed to anyway.
Aziraphale’s gaze slid up to Crowley’s serpentine one, visible behind his glasses if one knew how to look.
“I-“
“Ahoy!” a voice shouted and shoved him underwater, bludgeoning him with a bright orange lifejacket. Aziraphale bubbled.
Crowley was back in snake form, twining around him. A very large squid with an unpronounceable name floated by as Aziraphale squeaked.
“I-“ he said again, and sneezed. A miniature grim reaper with a tail watched him, and prodded him in the leg with a tiny scythe.
It acted as a match and set fire to him again, making him writhe. He was Joan of Arc, burning at the hands of those who had nice strong tea.
He screamed as he remembered she did, and then he was a witch with frizzy hair and a wand kissing an ugly young boy who was grinning madly and dressed in the most horrid colours.
He waved his wand arm and frowned as his skin grew transparent. The redhead looked so startled he jumped and banged his head on the low-swinging ceiling of the closet and fell over.
Aziraphale leaned over him, full of concern, and then hissed, sharp canines making their presence known. He could see his own black wings cover his suddenly-visible body.
He stopped and peered down at it. He looked dead.
Aziraphale closed his eyes and sunk down, through the floors to the hospital wing. He sat on the bed and found himself looking at his own body, asleep on the bed and murmuring something feverishly. He blinked. Oh. He was ill.
A familiar dark head was bent over him, mopping sweat with holy water and gloves over the bandages on his hands.
“With hol- ‘ater,” his body repeated.
Crowley, he thought, smiling despite his worry. How touching.
His body turned and repeated it, opening its eyes.
And Aziraphale stared back at Crowley’s blurry face.
“Hello, my dear,” he said faintly.
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Date: 2005-08-19 08:32 am (UTC)"Angel, you're awake!"
The corners of his mouth twitched up in the shadow of a smile as he looked into the slightly unfocused blue eyes of his friend. He sagged with relief for a moment and then collected himself.
"Are you thirsty?"
He grabbed some water from the pitcher that Gabriel had left on the side table and poured it rather shakily into a glass. In his haste, a couple of drops splattered onto his bare arm and he hissed in pain. He turned his grimace into a smile before approaching Aziraphale again.
"Here. This is holy water and I want you to drink every drop."
With Crowley holding the bottom of the glass in one gloved hand and the angel's head in the other, Aziraphale was able to swallow most of the water provided. Then Crowley put the glass back on the bedside table and lowered the angel's head back onto his pillow. He felt his forehead again and while Aziraphale was remarkably cooler, the fever hadn't yet gone completely.
"You need to rest some more now. Sleep."
Crowley passed his hand from Aziraphale's forehead to his chin, forcing his eyes closed. He smiled again. It was a private smile meant only for himself.
He never noticed the young, golden-haired figure in the doorway and he never heard the whispered, "They'll be all right."