Crowley is jolted back into being awake, which at first he deeply resents.
He's never liked being woken up quickly (who does?), and he knows he was deeply asleep and that for once he'd needed to be deeply asleep, that he was recovering from something. For the first fuzzy few seconds after he's shoved roughly off his pillow and onto the bed that's all he's aware of. He doesn't make a sound beyond a protesting mmphfnrgh that gets muffled into the pillow.
Wait, there's a pillow here. So what was he lying on a second ago?
Aziraphale.
He wakes up more at that thought, protective instincts that have worked overtime for centuries kicking in well before memory of recent events catch up to him. Aziraphale is next to him, and breathing, so none of the worst has happened; good.
But then memory does catch up, and so do other details: the ragged, anxious sound of the angel's breath, the way the sheets are drawn up an gripped, tension an almost tangible presence.
Crowley doesn't have to think. He sits up at once, scoots over, wraps his arms around Aziraphale from the side and pulls him in. "S'okay. S'okay, angel. We're here. We're both here."
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timeasmymeasure
good lord why it's wonderful. Besides it's revenge for the existential crisis I gave Crowley, yes?;)
Date: 2020-01-08 03:39 pm (UTC)He's never liked being woken up quickly (who does?), and he knows he was deeply asleep and that for once he'd needed to be deeply asleep, that he was recovering from something. For the first fuzzy few seconds after he's shoved roughly off his pillow and onto the bed that's all he's aware of. He doesn't make a sound beyond a protesting mmphfnrgh that gets muffled into the pillow.
Wait, there's a pillow here. So what was he lying on a second ago?
Aziraphale.
He wakes up more at that thought, protective instincts that have worked overtime for centuries kicking in well before memory of recent events catch up to him. Aziraphale is next to him, and breathing, so none of the worst has happened; good.
But then memory does catch up, and so do other details: the ragged, anxious sound of the angel's breath, the way the sheets are drawn up an gripped, tension an almost tangible presence.
Crowley doesn't have to think. He sits up at once, scoots over, wraps his arms around Aziraphale from the side and pulls him in. "S'okay. S'okay, angel. We're here. We're both here."