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Aziraphale is never late.
Crowley is driving through the streets of London at top speed, bending the laws of physics around him to avoid collisions, because Aziraphale is never late. The angel positively loathes tardiness, views it as a sign of disrespect.
Crowley banks the wheel hard as soon the shop comes into view (not on fire - it’s not on fire - he’s fine), switching quickly between the throttle and the brakes to drift the Bentley into a gap between cars that miraculously widens to accommodate it. He hops out, strides towards the door and pounds on it (knowing Aziraphale will forgive him an overreaction if all is well).
“Angel, you in there?!”
With no immediate response forthcoming, Crowley banishes the door and storms into the shop. He briefly notes the fact that it's been ransacked - tables upturned, shelves knocked over - before his eyes lock onto Aziraphale, pale and trembling, clothing and hair rumpled and askew, staring at his hands and completely unaware of Crowley's arrival.
Crowley closes the gap between them faster than humanely possible. Landing on his knees in front of him.
“Aziraphale!” the angel blinks and slowly -far too slowly- looks up from his hands. Crowley grabs his chin and pulls his face close to study him.
Aziraphale barely reacts. His pupils are blown, not focusing, and his forehead is covered in a sheen of sweat. If Crowley didn't know better he would think the angel were drugged out of his mind.
Just in case, he summons a demonic miracle to clear Aziraphale’s system, cursing when it has no effect. Aziraphale’s head still hasn’t moved from where Crowley guided it up, although he’s blinking now. Crowley leans forward, he places one hand on Aziraphale’s knee and cups his cheek with the other, guiding the angel to look at him.
“Angel…” Aziraphale’s blue eyes are still unfocused, and watery. There’s some recognition there, which Crowley is thankful for, but Crowley has never seen him look this lost. “...what happened?”
Aziraphale’s face crumples, he glances back and forth around the room as if he expects a threat.
“Michael ambushed me. She said she figured out why I’d changed, that she knew how to fix it…” his hand shifts to grip the one Crowley is resting on his knee. “She brought others- there were too many- they injected me with… something. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think - not properly.” he shakes his head, as if to clear it, distraught. Crowley rubs his knee, gently, trying to soothe.
“They asked questions- about you, and I answered - I couldn’t stop myself… then they left and…. I- wanted to warn you - they know where you live but I couldn’t remember your address. I told them but I couldn’t recall…” his eyes lock onto Crowley’s, focusing on him for the first time. “I’m forgetting other things too.”
The angel grips Crowley's hand in panic, still trembling. Crowley tries to shake the sensation that he's been stabbed, tries to ignore the voice in the back of his head howling that he's losing something more precious than blood, and faster than he can do anything about it.
“Angel it’s OK, we’ll work it out. We’ll stop it, or we’ll get it back…."
They're empty platitudes, a pathetic attempt to soothe -both of them really -but it's all he can offer.
"But I’m losing it all so fast.” the Angel reaches his other hand up to card his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “Like your hair, when did you cut it? It was longer wasn’t it? I prefer it longer I think.”
Crowley tries to reign in his panic. Whatever this is, it must be possible to undo it. There’s always a way.
Aziraphale continues stroking the side of Crowley’s face. Stares at him with drug-addled wonder.
“My dear, dearest. I love you, so much. They- they asked that. I had to tell them, I couldn’t, I couldn’t lie.. couldn’t seem to stop talking either … I’m sorry….” He tilts his head like he’s belatedly realized the significance of what he’s said. His eyes widen “I’m so sorry… this isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”
“Angel…” Crowley’s voice sounds strangled even to his own ears. It's too much. It's too far beyond what Crowley is capable of dealing with. He's going to find Michael -he's going to find everyone involved in this - he's going to make them undo this and then he was going to tear them apart for having dared.
“I've loved you, since the ark I think, you know, and you cared so much about the children… I wanted to - I thought you might feel the same but you never said anything - and you had so much more to lose… I wanted to tell you for so long…”
Aziraphale can't seem to stop babbling, becoming more distraught as he continues.
“It’s OK if you don’t… Did I… Oh dear I cant seem to get anything straight. Everything’s fuzzy and my head hurts, did I get you the holy water? You never ask for anything… but I couldn’t. Crowley, I can’t lose you… I’ll get it for you I promise, just please don’t leave me. You go too fast for me.”
Crowley grits his teeth and takes a deep breath. He turns his palm to clasp Aziraphale’s hand, and brings it to his lips. He kisses it, softly, reverently.
“Angel I love you. I’m not going anywhere I promise.”
Aziraphale beams at him. (Crowley’s heart whimpers like a dying animal.)
“You do, darling? Me too.. for such a long time. Oh, I’m so glad. Dearest. Only I’m so tired, and my head hurts.”
Crowley leans forward, up onto his knees, and kisses the angel chastely on the lips - earning a bleary-eyed smile for his troubles. Still holding his hand, Crowley moves beside him on the couch, and maneuvers them both until they’re laying down with Aziraphale held tightly in Crowley’s arms.
“Don’t want to forget” Aziraphale murmurs, losing the battle to stay awake. “Don’t want to lose you.”
Crowley is glad the position hides his face from view, he can feel wetness on his cheeks. He holds onto Aziraphale tighter.
“Go to sleep, angel, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
The angel’s breathing slowly evens out as Crowley feels him relax in his arms.
Crowley knows he should get up, should make plans, but he can’t bring himself to move. He worries doing something will make this real. Thinks perhaps if he goes to sleep there’s a chance this might all have been a horrific nightmare.
He closes his eyes.
***
When he opens them again Aziraphale is standing over him, looking confused and a little put out.
“Crawley? What are you doing in my shop? Why do I feel so groggy… Did you do this? Crawley are you crying? Demon’s don’t…oh dear, are you alright? Please don’t. Can I help?”