Chapter Text
Crowley wakes up one morning after the Apocalwasn't decidedly not himself. Everything smells different; rather dull almost. And the light doesn't bite into his eyes like it tends to when he first wakes up. Even the noises sound muffled - just different. Maybe he is getting sick; Demons don't typically get sick, but perhaps he's been on Earth long enough that maybe something has finally gotten to him.
When he forces his way out of bed 15 minutes later and to the bathroom, spurred on by a rather insistent bladder, his hips feel so stiff. And he doesn't start to understand things until he looks in the mirror. He blinks a few times just in case he's still asleep. That's not his face reflected back at him. It is, but it isn't.
Two wide brown eyes are staring back at him, looking very young, and far too human. His pupils are round which is bizarre. Even his tattoo is gone. His skin is freckled like always, it's smooth and unblemished and it's all wrong. He stares at the mirror in confusion wondering just what sort of mishap he's gotten into now. This feels like a dream but the features in the mirror refuse again to resolve into his, so it's more like a nightmare then.
He needs to think. Crowley knows that much. Yelling at his plants has always helped him get his thoughts in order, but at the moment he can't even feel the terror anymore and it's just no fun yelling just to yell. After a while, he gives up. His throat is sore, and he's no closer to having an idea. Heaven and Hell have left them mostly alone since they averted the Apocalypse.
He bumps into one of the plants when he turns to go and it tumbles of the stand, sending dirt all over the floor. Crowley sighs at the mess and wills it back up. Or at least he tries too.
The plant and the pot do nothing. He tries again.
"None of that." He says, snapping his fingers. but nothing changes.
He backs away wide eyed and tries to do anything, even a simple miracle, but nothing continues to happen.
He stumbles out of the room, still not quite used to having hips this limited and claws at the phone. He kicks the corner of his desk and a sharp pain bites at him. He dials the bookshop hoping around on one foot while trying to figure out how such a small thing can hurt so much. The phone rings and rings. He hangs up harshly then dials back again and again, until finally Aziraphale picks up.
Aziraphale's voice is tinged with irritation "A.Z. Fell-"
Crowley cuts him off before he can finish his greeting. He doesn't care about opening hours. "Aziraphale!"
"Crowley, are you okay?” The irritation dies away and is instantly replaced with concern. “You could have called my personal phone in the back room you know. It's far too early for the bookshop to be open."
"Aziraphale, I don't need a lecture." He groans. "You haven't noticed anything particularly strange, have you?"
"Strange, like what, the kraken levels of strangeness?" Crowley thinks he can almost imagine the look on his face, but he's too caught up in worry. "Not particularly, no."
"Nothing wrong with you then?"
"No. I'm hale. My dear boy, what's this all about?"
"Just me then." Crowley curses when the words slip out in his panic. Aziraphale will catch that.
And like a shark sensing blood in the water, he does. "Just you? I don't think I like the sound of that.”
"Get to my flat.” He finally says. He hasn't an idea of why this is happening to him; but if anyone was to see him in this state, he would rather it be the angel. “I think you'd better see this for yourself."
<~>
Aziraphale comes a short time later, knocking politely at the door. Crowley has been pacing the hallway since he hung up the phone and working himself up into a proper frenzy, trying to do things he knows he can't do and think up some reason that his "person shaped" body is suddenly an actual person.
"Aziraphale!" Crowley cries, flinging open the door.
"Oh, goodness gracious." Of course Aziraphale notices immediately what the problem was; would have known even if he was blind. Crowley didn't feel like Crowley. He simply felt human. His hair was still red, though it's luster had faded some, and his body looked mostly the same, but those eyes were far out of place - too normal.
"My powers are gone. My wings are gone. You see these eyes?" Crowley pointed. "Wrong. Wrong. Everything is quite wrong!"
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. "This is hardly a conversation to have on your doorstep.”
“What, would you like a cuppa? Get in here and help me figure out what's going on.” He growls.
“Honestly dear, I understand why you're worked up, let's go into the sitting room and we'll try and sort this out.” Aziraphale steps in and closes the door behind him.
"You think I have a sitting room? What's the point? I just come here to snooze. And it's not like I sleep every day." He twists his face up. "Well, the plants get watered, but it's not like I do much living here, let alone 'sitting'.
"Well, where do your guests sit?"
“Guests?" Crowley stares at him, bewildered. "I don't have guests. You're the only company I keep, and we spend most of our time in the backroom of your bookshop.”
“Fine then." Aziraphale rolls his eyes. "Where do you sit?”
"I have a chair in the office, or there's the bed, I suppose."
"Right, your ridiculous throne." Aziraphale pushes past him into the rather barren kitchen, and Crowley almost gasps at the tingle from where Aziraphale had brushed against him.
"Where's all your stuff?" Aziraphale turns on him and Crowley tries to collect his thoughts and not focus on the pins and needle feeling.
"I told you, I'm hardly ever here." He shrugs like he's not to blame for the lack of, well, anything.
Aziraphale snaps his finger, the room becomes more furnished and cozy than Crowley has ever bothered with making anything in the past.
"And it never mattered before. When I needed something, I just made it. Like you just did. Hell was all about doing stuff just to be selfish." His eyes looked far too wide and he tugged at his hair. "And now. Well. I can't do any of that and I have no idea why. I'm human, angel. Why am I human? I can't even walk right. And my stomach is all noisy.”
"When was the last time you ate?" Aziraphale guides him into one of the kitchen chairs that hadn't been there a moment before. There's a padded seat cushion. It's tartan.
Crowley sits forward in the chair. "Why would that matter? Now's hardly the time to think about snacks, focus, Angel."
"I am focusing." Aziraphale says primly. "Humans need to eat. You're human now. Therefore YOU need to eat. Surely even you've heard of a rumbly tummy."
Crowley pauses as Aziraphale stands across the table from him. That is a good point. "You think I'm going to have to do all the people stuff now?"
"It's a good idea, to be on the safe side, at least until we figure this out."
"You suppose it's my lot? That did this?” Crowley rests his head on one of his hands.
"Can they do that?" Aziraphale turns the thought over as he sits across from Crowley.
"Well, I don't think so, but I'm not really going to call them up and ask.” He huffs. "What do people even even do?" Crowley scratches at his head. "I keep my plants alive through sheer intimidation, how am I supposed to keep this thing-” He indicates his body, “functioning until we figure this out?"
"Well, I suppose the old fashioned way. I mean, the humans are obviously doing something, so clearly you can too." Aziraphale gestures as he talks. Like it's just that easy.
"Oh, this is worse than having a pet." Crowley moans. There's all this responsibility. He didn't sign up for any of this! It's not fair!
"Oh! Children!" Aziraphale points. "There are many a human out there who suddenly find themselves caring for new children. I'll get some of those books. There's probably not a "My corporation has suddenly become human, what to do' book.”
"Humans for Dummies, that's your plan?” Crowley raises an eyebrow.
"Dummies?" Aziraphale sounds confused. "I'd hardly call you a dummy."
"It's the title of a book series." Crowley frowns at him.
"I thought you didn't read."
"What, did you think I just waved my hands at the computer and it did things?"
"Don't you?" Aziraphale raises an eyebrow pointedly
Crowley gapes at him. "That's not the point!” He flops back in the chair moodily and crosses his arm. “I still had to learn some stuff. Becoming a nanny overnight was hardly simple."
"Well then I suppose you don't need those books." He looks a little bit sad about it. He'd thought it was a good idea. And he did so love looking for books. Aziraphale stands and walks over to the fridge, Crowley trailing behind him
"Eat a sandwich or something. You're not going to figure this out on an empty stomach." He opens the the door and blinks rather surprised at the full fridge and then the smell hits him. "Crowley, your refrigerator isn't even plugged in! None of this is edible now!" The smell wafting out is spectacularly unpleasant.
Crowley looks over his shoulder into the fridge. "That's never mattered before. I suppose whatever was keeping it working went away with the rest of my powers."
Aziraphale closes the fridge with it's unpleasant smells. "I'm not cleaning this mess up."
"I'll get some human to do it later."
"Crowley," He says pointedly. "You ARE a human right now."
"That's the bloody problem." He paces around the room, full of nervous energy not quite sure how to calm down. He isn't sure he wants to.
"Don't use that tone with me."
"Don't use that tone." Crowley mocks back in a higher pitch before switching back to his regular voice. "I think the situation calls for it. If anyone gets to state the obvious in a snide tone, it's me."
Aziraphale shoots him a look at which lesser men, smarter men would crumble at. "Well, how's this for obvious, you have no idea what is happening. You called me."
"Of course I called you. You're you.” Crowley finally sits back at the table. “And I was a nanny. Surely I know enough to not get myself dis-incorporated."
"Killed." Aziraphale says once he's gotten over the 'you're you' comment.
Crowley pauses again. "Wot?"
"If you're human right now and you die, then that's it. There is no coming back."
"Bugger. Game over." He pauses, chewing on his lip. "Do you think I have a soul now? I think I'd prefer non existence to either of my opinions if that's the case."
"Let's not dwell on that. You're not going to die." Aziraphale reassures him. "Not if I have anything to say about it."
"Maybe that's Hell's plan. Or Heaven's. Who knows? Surely someone knows that I have no chance of making it as a mortal... Kids figure this stuff out, but then kids bounce back and they're much less breakable." He groans.
"Between the two of us, surely we can keep one body alive while we sort this out and set you back to rights."
“Right," Crowley looks up. "Because the two of us have a history of doing a bang up job of dealing with things.” Crowley's fingers tap on the table top nervously, “This will be an utter disaster. We haven't a chance.”
“Stop panicking.” Aziraphale snaps. He's a little touchy about that. He knows they haven't been the brightest, but he thinks they do alright for themselves.
“I'm not panicking!”
“Yes, you are, dear. Your leg has gone all bouncy.”
Crowley frowns and forces his leg to still. “You'd be panicking too if you just woke up like this one day. This is so much worse than the Fall." He folds his arms on the table and drops his head down on them "That was a one time and then done kind of thing. My powers, poof. Wings, gone.”
“You've already said that dear." Aziraphale eyes him warily. "Oh, maybe you do need a cuppa.”
“I don't need a cuppa." Crowley raises his head with a huff. "I need answers, and I need to not be human.”
“You will. We'll figure this out.” Aziraphale glances around. "Though not here. It's all dark and dreary. Are these walls concrete? You'll trip and knock your brains right out of your head."
"Ha. You said I have a brain. I have never had one intelligent thought in my life and you know that." Crowley quips automatically.
"Well, you did call me."
"In a moment of panic. I thought whatever had happened to me had happened to you. I would have never called you otherwise."
"You were worried, and for me."
Aziraphale smiles at him and Crowley's chest does something funny, beating rather too fast and his stomach feels like someone is trying it in knots as he sits there.
"You made a funny look.” Aziraphale leans forward. “What's wrong?"
"I have no idea." He says, a little bit breathless. "Maybe you're right, maybe I should eat something. I'll call for take out."
"And pay for how?”
Crowley's face falls. He feels suddenly lost. His powers are gone and he keeps having stark reminders of this. He can't think.
“All right." Aziraphale says after a moment, pulling him out of his thoughts. "We're going to get some food into you, and then we'll come up with our next step.” Aziraphale snaps and a plate springs into existence.
“Is this peanut butter and jelly?” Crowley pokes at the bread. “This is child's food.”
“Eat it. It's nourishment, at least.”
Crowley scoffs at that. "I'm not in short trousers."
"I know you aren't. But listen to me, for once."
"Angel, I always listen to you, I just don't always do what you say." He pokes at the plate. Real food would be better, but this would do for now, he guesses.
Aziraphale tiskes. "No, I can't leave you to your own stubborn devices. If it is Hell behind this, they know where you live, it would be irresponsible to leave you here."
Crowley glances at him warily, wondering what's happening now. He knows that tone.
"Please, Crowley for my sake, come with me. There is a flat above the bookshop that I hardly ever use.”
Crowley picks up the sandwich just to have something to do and chews angrily. Trust Aziraphale to find his weak spot and phrase it like Crowley would be doing him a favor. His feelings are all out of whack, and he rather feels like he doesn't know how to describe them anymore, the sandwich is helping some, but the peanut butter sticks to the roof of his mouth in a rather unpleasant way and he has to force himself to finish it.
Tired. He finally identifies. He's tired, absolutely knackered. He's worked himself up into such a state, and 6,000 years are weighing upon him.
“This flat of yours got a bed?” He's too exhausted to argue. He doesn't want to leave his flat behind, and be looked after. He doesn't want to give up his independence, although he knows it's smarter. Hell would take advantage of his current status if they were to find out. Or maybe they caused it and they already know.
“It does have a bed. Though you'll have to leave your car here. It's far too noticeable, and with the way you drive, you'll kill yourself on the road. We'll take a taxi back.”
“Wot, someone takes away my powers and I lose my car too?” Crowley whines.
“I know your car is precious too you, but you're precious to me... I'd never forgive myself if you wrecked it now.”
Crowley frowns sullenly.
"It's only until we figure this out." Aziraphale says. "And really once you've had a chance to think; you'd never forgive me if I let you wreck that car with the way you drive when you can't imagine it fixed."
Crowley crosses his arms and pushes away the empty plate, admitting defeat.
Aziraphale idly watches him pack a bag, there isn't much for him to pack, he never bothers with making things until he needs them, though he does have a few things he's fond of.
“What about my plants?” Crowley fiddles with the bag handles.
“I'll see that they're taken care of. The fridge too. Come now, there's a cab waiting for us downstairs.”
Crowley reaches for his sunglasses and puts them on, then scowls. “How do people see with these on?” He pulls the shades off.
“There is a reason most people don't wear sunglasses inside.”
“I don't like this at all, angel.” He pouts.
“I don't either. But we'll figure this out.” Aziraphale picks up the bag like it weighs nothing, and since it's mostly empty, that's fairly accurate. “If that's all, then let's get a move on. No point in standing here wagging our chins.”
“Says you. You're not the one having to uproot their entire life.” Crowley pouts.
“It's only for a little while, dear boy.”
<~>
They pile into the back seat of the taxi and Crowley is glad that at least out here he can wear his shades without running into the wall. The close proximity to Aziraphale makes that funny feeling come back. He doesn't know how to describe it, it's like pins and needles, and like burning. It's confusing, and he doesn't like feeling confused, it makes him feel weak. He always wants to know things, and not being able to identify how he's feeling makes him want to rip his hair out.
Thankfully the ride is short. Aziraphale ushers him into the shop, and locks the door behind them.
“Upstairs we go.”
“Been upstairs, wasn't for me.”
Aziraphale looks at him dryly. “You know what I mean. You're a bit cranky.”
“A bit cranky?" Crowley looks offended. "I'm not some wee little child. You'd be out of sorts too if you woke up one day suddenly mortal.”
Aziraphale tugs him up the stairs. “You'll feel better after a nice nap.”
Crowley makes faces behind him as they walk. Really, he does want a nap. He just doesn't like being told what to do.
“See,” He says as he pulls Crowley into the bedroom. “I've got a bed.”
Crowley looks it over. “S'all dusty. Is the mattress soft at least?” He asks petulantly.
Aziraphale sighs and snaps his fingers, the dust clearing, the bed becoming more elegant, with soft jersey sheets. pillows galore, and thick comforters. “Better?”
Crowley sinks onto the bed. “Oh sweetness. This bed is amazing.” Crowley digs under the mountains of blanket, cocooning himself. It was so warm. So soft. “Oh, angel, you've got to feel this.”
“It's just a bed.”
“Not just a bed. This is incredible. I thought my bed was fantastic. Come on, I know you. You like to treat yourself.” He closes his eyes and pats the bed. “You want to try this.”
Aziraphale sits down primly on the side of the bed. “It's a nice bed.”
“No, you've got to lie down to get the whole experience." He says. "Close your eyes and just feel. S'amazing.”
Aziraphale does as instructed and Crowley's mouth suddenly goes dry. The heat is back.
“Aziraphale.” He says shakily.
“What is it?” Aziraphale's eyes pop open as he sits up and looks to Crowley.
“Dunno.” He sits up too and looks back at Aziraphale. “I think it's you.”
“Me? What?” Aziraphale blinks.
“I, er, you make me feel all,” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Tingly?”
“Tingly? You think it's cause I'm an angel? I think that's the same phrase Madam Tracy used. It's possible it's how humans react to angels."
“It's like, all warm, and kind of feels like pins and needles. Worse when you touch me, it almost feels I've been burned.”
“Oh, well that's no good. We'll have to be more careful then.” Aziraphale climbs out of the bed and Crowley feels strangely like something has been ripped away from his very being.
“You, you take a nap. I'll look into this. I'll be right downstairs. You'll be safe here. If you need me, I'm just a shout away.”
“Nap, right.” He adjusts the blankets around him, pulling them closer and has the strange urge to beg Aziraphale not to leave.
Aziraphale turns off the lights and pulls the door so that it is open just a crack, then heads downstairs to make a few phone calls.
Crowley sits in the dark, trying to make sense of all the feelings he is feeling. It's so overwhelming, he wants to cry and to scream. He is exhausted, but he can't sleep. And the burning is gone, but that heat, it's still there inside of him and he doesn't know what his body needs.
“Ugh.” He buries his fists in his eyes. If his thoughts would just calm down, then maybe he could get some rest. He flips over in the bed. He does like sleeping on his stomach, and his human body needs to breathe. He shifts ever so slightly so that he is no longer smothering himself in the pillows and gasps when he feels something shoot through him.
He moves again, feeling it burn through him. It is a good sort of burn, he decides as rocks again tentatively. He has to bite his lip to muffle the noises he makes. He buries his face back in the pillow as he ruts against the mattress, careful of the noises he makes. It isn't enough, he needs more. He pulls one of the blankets off of him and balls it up, shoving it between his legs.
Oh. Yes. He pants at the delicious friction and the lack of oxygen makes him feel dizzy. He tilts his head back so that he can breathe without stopping.
If Crowley could think properly, he'd be embarrassed, to be seen humping against a blanket that Aziraphale made for him. But the thought sends waves of pleasure through him; Aziraphale made this bed for him. The heat keeps building up. He is here, in Aziraphale's shop, and the angel could walk back in on him at any second, and that makes him whine.
He wants Aziraphale to see - and isn't that something he'd have to explore later, some time when he isn't trying to muffle the noises coming from his mouth and the bed.
And then it's like something explodes. His mind going blank and his body stilling. It's glorious. Oh, oh, this is why humans do this so much. He's never bothered with it before. Didn't see the point.
It doesn't matter now. Everything is soft and fuzzy. He feels good and his thoughts are quiet. He rolls over, and pulls the blanket out; his breath coming in little pants. His thoughts stay quiet, and finally, he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.