Small Miracles (Good Omens: Aziraphale (M)) Complete 8/24

[matilda3948]

Hi all! Hopping on the Good Omens bandwagon. While I do adore sneezy!Crowley, I also like the idea of him looking after a sick angel. And I was interested under what circumstances an angel might catch a cold. Not sure if I'll leave this as a one-shot or have a second part. Hope you enjoy!

"Small Miracles" 

Normally Aziraphale would prefer to spend a chilly, rainy day like this in his wonderfully cozy bookstore with a steaming mug of cocoa and one of his many newly acquired books. However, he’d been given a nice little assignment from Heaven: three minor illness healings. The sort of miracles no one attributed to divine intervention but a stroke of good luck or one of those silly holistic medical interventions that humans seemed so fond of these days. He smiled to himself as he locked the door behind him and opened his umbrella. Yes, Aziraphale liked performing these small miracles and, with any luck, he’d be home in time for time for tea. The angel decided to try the tube first—both because of the inclement weather and its high concentration of people. No doubt he would find a few people in need of a little miracle.

Two stops later and a smart looking business man stepped onto the train. The car was crowded so he opted to stand, occasionally grabbing the overhead bar for balance with one hand; his other hand was busy regularly bringing a rumpled handkerchief to his obviously cold-plagued nose.

Oh dear, Aziraphale thought. Poor fellow looked as though he was on his way to someplace important and was feeling perfectly miserable. He needed to be tucked into bed with a hot water bottle and a cup of tea rather than on the damp and crowded London Underground. The angel felt a wave of sympathy for the young man as his head jerked forward into the waiting handkerchief.

huhhNGZTshh! HuhGNTSH!

“God bless you,” Aziraphale said.

“Hm? Oh, thag you,” he said, noticing the angel for the first time. “Sorry. I’ve got a rotten cold. Would have loved to stay home, but I just started this new job and can’t afford to call in.”

The train began to slow and Aziraphale decided this was his stop. He stood and patted the man on the shoulder as he waited for the doors to open.

“I do hope you feel better,” the angel said, using the brief moment of contact to heal the man.

The weather hadn’t improved much when Aziraphale came up to the street level. Feeling rather good about his recent miracle, the angel decided he deserved a treat. There was a lovely French bakery about three blocks away that served the only decent macaroon this side of the English Chanel. He hadn’t been walking long when he noticed a frazzled looking woman pushing a pram with one hand and trying to pull along a screaming toddler with the other. His heart went out to her—navigating the city with two young children (one of whom was having a rather impressive tantrum) had to be an exhausting endeavor.

“Peter, mommy is begging you to calm down,” he heard her say. “Please, we’ll be home soon and then we can—ahhKitchhew! Oh, God help me,” she sighed to herself.

Well, surely that had to be a sign, he decided. A quick little miracle and the woman’s wallet appeared on the sidewalk in front of him. He grabbed it and called out to her.

“Excuse me, madam!” She turned around looking ready to yell at whoever was harassing her on the street, but stopped when she saw he had her wallet in his hand. “Uh, this just fell out onto the pavement,” the angel said. Relief and exhaustion passed over the woman’s face.

“Oh, thank you,” she said. “I don’t know how that happened.” She tucked it back in her purse and took out a few tissues. “As if this day could get any worse,” she said, wiping her nose. “I’m sick, the baby’s sick, and Peter hasn’t stopped screaming for the last two blocks. If I’d lost my wallet on top of it I don’t think I could have handled it.” She seemed on the brink of tears by the time she finished speaking.

“Mothers have the hardest jobs,” he said, patting her arm and bestowing a bit of healing in the process. “I hope your day gets better and that these two (he gently touched a finger to the top of each child’s head) are in better spirits soon as well.” In fact, Peter had stopped carrying on almost instantly and Aziraphale knew the baby would be well by the time they reached their destination. The woman blinked in surprise at Peter who now stood peacefully at her side.

“You’re like my own little guardian angel,” she said to Aziraphale.

“Ah, not quite,” he said with a smile. “Take care.”

The bakery smelled absolutely heavenly (and he should know) and the angel closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. This was just what he needed after a productive morning of performing minor miracles. As he approached the counter the angel surveyed his many options.

“Oh my, these all look marvelous don’t they?” he said to no one in particular.

“Try the lime and ginger ones.”

He turned his head and saw a young woman sitting at the corner table.

“Trust me,” she said. “Sounds a little strange, but they’re wonderful.”

“I certainly will. Thank you,” he said. The angel glanced at the array of textbooks and notes spread out over the table and surmised she was a university student. From what Aziraphale knew of women’s fashion and hairstyles, this young lady fell into the category he’d heard of called “hot mess.” He assumed that as a result of fatigue and an abundance of pressing concerns, the person in question was unable to pay attention to mundane things like changing out of one’s pajama bottoms, properly styling one’s hair, and a reliance on multiple layers of comfortable soft shirts and hoodies. “Exams?” he asked.

“Yeah. I just needed a break from the library and my dorm room. Thought I’d set up here for a little while.”

“It is quite charming here,” he said.

“Nothing goes with organic chemistry quite like pastry,” she said.

“I think you’re on to something there,” he said. She nodded and stifled a yawn against the back of her hand. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” he said.

When it was his turn to order, Aziraphale’s original plan to just get three or perhaps four cookies tuned into a sample pack of 18 exquisite, perfectly round confections. He reasoned that he’d take some home and share them with Crowley when he came around for drinks that evening. For now he would enjoy a cup of tea and one or two…maybe three cookies…in the shop before making his way back home. He had just settled in at a little table when he heard the young woman he’d been speaking to cough. A few minutes later and he saw her duck her head into the folds of her scarf and nearly silently stifle a sneeze. In fact, as the angel enjoyed his meal he began to realize that the poor woman was very likely suffering from a cold. While technically he’d already performed his three prescribed healings, Aziraphale reasoned that the baby was so small that it really should only count for a fraction of a miracle—half a miracle at most. And the poor dear was being responsible and studying for exams. It would be a pity if all her hard work was ruined because she was too ill to perform well on her tests. Really, what harm could come of it?

**

Aziraphale sighed with relief when he stepped inside his shop and locked the door behind him. He’d begun feeling slightly odd on his way home and was looking forward to putting his feet up.

“I started without you, Angel!”

“Crowley! What are you doing here?”

He turned the corner and found the demon sprawled across half the sofa with his feet propped up on—was that his new pile of first editions? How could one be so disrespectful to such precious things?

“Did you forget?” Crowley asked, nodding his head towards several bottles of wine. “Not like you to forget a ’47 burgundy.”

“Yes, well I’ve had a long day,” he said with a sniff, nudging the demon’s feet off his treasured books. It was only the fact that Crowley at least had the decency to start a fire that kept Aziraphale from being completely put out.

“Yeah, what good deeds were you out sowing today? And are those cookies?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes but bent down to put the pastry box on the table nonetheless. However, when he stood the most unusual sensation swept over him—a sort of unsteady tipping of the floor coupled with an uncomfortable pressure between his eyes. How odd.

“Angel?”

He opened his eyes (though he didn’t remember closing them) to find Crowley standing in front of him, his mirrored glasses a few inches from his face.

“Sorry, dear. What did you ask me?”

“What’s wrong?” Crowley repeated and nodded towards Aziraphale’s favorite chair, encouraging the angel to sit. It was a good question, Aziraphale had to admit to himself. He accepted a glass of wine from Crowley and took a sip.

“Oh, that’s marvelous,” he sighed. “Bit rough on the throat though, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t.”

 “Isn’t it?” He had detected a distinct pain just near his Adam’s apple when he swallowed. He shivered and took another sip.

“Alright, what is going on with you, Angel?” Crowley demanded.

“I’m not sure exactly,” he admitted. “I feel a bit…a bit fuzzy actually…and chilled. Plus, this odd sensation just here,” he said, pointing the bridge of his nose. “From what I recall, it’s almost as though…” he paused and sniffed as though testing something. “Yes, I do believe I’m going to—huhTschhoo! Oh dear, excuse me. I think…yes—again…uhh huhTSHHoo!” The handkerchief that Aziraphale carried almost exclusively for fashion’s sake was suddenly very needed.

“Are you sick?” Crowley asked incredulously.

“It appears I might be. I can’t imagine what else—heh…uhh…once more…huh huhTISHHoo! Oh, goodness. I’m so sorry.”

“When was the last time you were si—wait a second. What were you doing today?” the demon asked.

“Working,” Aziraphale said with a sniffle.

“Yes, but working on what exactly?”

“A few minor miracles. Just small things really.”

Crowley smirked—his angel was only cagey like this when he’d done something he shouldn’t have.

“What sort of minor miracles?”

“Oh, nothing that would interest you,” Aziraphale said, rubbing his nose in his handkerchief. It really wouldn’t do to sneeze again now that Crowley seemed to be putting two and two together.

“Wouldn’t happen to have been healing miracles by chance?”

“Alright, if you must know; yes, healing miracles,” the angel said.

“How many did they give you?” Crowley now seemed to be fully enjoying himself. “Two? Three?”

Huh ehh…huhhTSHHoo! Aziraphale held up three fingers as he was otherwise occupied. huh ehhpTISHHoo!

“Oh my,” he sighed. Crowley snapped his fingers and a clean handkerchief appeared on the angel’s lap. “Thank you, dear.”

“So, how many did you actually do? Healing’s an empathic miracle, you know. There’s a reason they put a limit on it.” Aziraphale had, in fact, forgotten that fact. “Come on, true confess. How many?” He mumbled something unintelligible. “Didn’t catch that,” Crowley said. “How many?”

“Fine—37.”

“37? Angel!”

“I’ll admit, I got a bit carried away.”

“Ten is getting a bit carried away. 37 is just madness,” Crowley said standing up.

“There were just so many.”

“Well yes, Angel—it’s called cold and flu season for a reason.”

“My head is rather achy.”

“I bet it is.”

Aziraphale felt a blanket being draped over his shoulders from behind and his heart swelled near to bursting when he felt Crowley’s fingers thread through his hair and begin to massage the base of his skull. For a few minutes there was no noise except for the rain pattering against the windows, the crackling of the fire, and the occasional soft sniffles of the angel. It was the sort of comfortable silence they only enjoyed with each other. Aziraphale was disappointed that his nose seemed determined to ruin the peacefulness of the moment—he’d just been pondering drifting off. However, the nagging tickle in his sinuses refused to be ignored any longer and he was forced to pick up his handkerchief in anticipation of the inevitable.

“Heh eh—excuse me, dear, but I hehh huh…uhh huhTSHHoo! huhPTSHHH! EhhKTSHHoo! huh…oh, dear me…heh Huh ehh…huhhTSHHoo! hehTSHHOO!” He straightened back up, flushed and teary eyed.

“Salute,” Crowley said, flopping back down on the sofa. Aziraphale glanced at him in surprise. “Best I can offer,” the demon said with a shrug. “The others make me itchy.”

“Thank you, dear. It’s most appreciated.”

Edited August 25, 2019 by matilda3948

[curlyq9393]

This is so sweet that it makes my heart hurt, oh my goodness gracious! I love everything about it, especially how perfectly you capture Aziraphale. I would adore a second bit if you feel like writing it!

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

Ahhhhhh this is so freaking cute my poor soft angel. You nailed them. I just die hearing Aziraphale call Crowley "dear" ^^

[Masking]

Aziraphale is SO CUTE here. I love his helpless little fits. Of course he would catch a cold because he overexerted himself healing people! Crowley needs to take care of him. ❤️

[Fuzzy&Warm]

Ahh! I love it!  Much as I love how much we've all been whumping on Crowley it's great to see some Aziraphale fic too and of course he would over do it helping everyone out, especially the kids, barely counts as a miracle really. 

[Nervous-Bean]

Omg this is so adorable I absolutely love it too pieces! 

[Zwee]

Ughh this is so cute! Every one of their little quips are perfect and sweet! I love how you can just feel how fond they are of each other. And it's so true to character! Love it!

[ProfessorBiscuit]

The dialogue is perfect; you absolutely nailed their characterization!!! This is so lovely and adorable and I would be delighted if you choose to write more!! ❤️

[TheCakeIsAlive]

Oh that bloody adorable angel. :inlove: 37 healing miracles indeed. Ohh, and you wrote him so adorably prim and both of them so very them. EEE!  Love it. 

[Glowie]

This is seriously cute!! I think sneezy Aziraphale is my new favourite thing. 😆

[Shay]

Aziraphale really did go overboard. It does seem like him to want to help everyone and the poor thing is suffering now for it. Cute story.

[matilda3948]

Thank you all for the comments. I wasn't sure if I was going to write a second part to this or not, but I had some thoughts. Hope you like!

 

“I have to say, this is starting to become a bit tiresome,” Aziraphale says after tumbling through another fit of sneezes. He muffles a series of wet little sniffles into a handkerchief.

“Well, maybe this will teach you not to go on a miracle bender next time you get an assignment from upstairs,” Crowley says, topping off both of their wine glasses once again.

“Yes, yes. I’m a fool getting my comeuppance. You’ve made your point.” The angel frowns when he hears how airy and low his voice sounds. “Oh dear, I’ve gone all raspy.”

“Maybe we should switch over to tea—or you should switch over tea,” Crowley says. He glances over at Aziraphale and frowns when he sees the angel looking flushed and drowsy. While he’s accustomed to seeing that look from Aziraphale, he knows it doesn’t have as much to do with the wine as it does with the ridiculous overexertion he’d put himself through that day. In short, it wasn’t a contented drunken stupor. The demon gets up and goes to put the kettle on, not entirely sure Aziraphale has even heard him earlier; a theory confirmed when the angel startles slightly when the cup and saucer are placed on the arm of his chair a moment later.

“Oh, thank you, Crowley. Very thoughtful.”

He waves off the gratitude and then adds a couple logs to the fire before settling back in with his wine.

“Can you remember the last time you were ill?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley blows a huff of hair through his lips and thinks back.

“Oooooh boy, let’s see…it’s been a while. Oh, I know! The winter of 1713. I think it was freezing and damp the whole world over. Seemed like it followed me everywhere I went. Rio—it was cold and rainy in Rio, for Satan’s sake! Cough, aches, chills that made my bones rattle. Ended up changing into a snake just to curl up and sleep it off.”

“Poor dear,” Aziraphale says. “Sounds ahh awful.” His nose prickles sharply around the edges and he picks up his handkerchief before tilting his head back as his breath hitches several times.

uhh huhahh…huhMNTSHH! huhMPTSHHH! huh ehh EhhNKTSHHoo! uhMFSHHoo!

“My goodness. Excuse be,” he mumbles.

“Gesundheit, Angel.”

When Aziraphale didn’t respond with a “thank you, dear” or something similarly saccharine and shivered violently instead, Crowley frowns deeply.

“Trade places with me,” he says. “You should be closer to the fire.”

“You’ll get chilled,” the angel says. “This sort of weather is difficult for you.”

“I’m not the one who’s shivering.”

Aziraphale looks puzzled, then raises a hand to eye level and sees that he is, in fact, shaking. But, chill or not, he won’t displace Crowley from his favorite spot closest to the fire. As though he’s read the angel’s mind, Crowley shifts and places a pillow on his lap.

“C’mere, Angel,” he says. “And bring your blanket.”

He curls up on the sofa, resting his head on the demon’s lap with a congested sigh. Aziraphale’s eyes drift shut as Crowley’s hand comes to rest on his forehead.

“Mm. I’m sorry you were alone the last time you were ill,” Aziraphale says. “It’s much better having company.” His voice cracks on the last word and he turns his head, coughing harshly into his fist. Despite the scratchy heat in his throat, he is more comfortable closer to the fire, tucked under his blanket, and with Crowley absentmindedly running a hand through his hair.

“Angel? Do you remember the last time you were sick?”

“No. That’s why I asked you earlier. It’s been quite some time for me I think.”

“Not as long as you think.”

The angel opens his eyes and is met with his own reflection in Crowley’s mirrored sunglasses.

“You remember?” he asks.

“Yep. 1985. Care to venture a guess how it happened?” The playful tone and the way he continued to card his fingers through the angel’s hair was doing more to sooth Aziraphale than the wine and tea combined.

“No idea, dear,” he whispers.

“Well, you were given an allotment of healing miracles and, you being you, went ahead and did five times for than you were supposed to and ended up—”

  huhMFSHHoo! huhIHHMFSHoo!

“Yes, exactly like this,” Crowley adds, flicking a hand and drying Aziraphales handkerchief.

“You’re kidding?”

“Hand to…whomever. Would’ve thought you’d leaned your lesson after that, but—”

 hehhTSHHoo! MPTSHHH! NKTSHH!

“—apparently not. Gesundheit.”

Aziraphale blows his nose and struggles to clear his throat. When Crowley’s hand comes to rest on his forehead they both note that Aziraphale is feverish.

“I’d forgotten that.”

“Obviously.” It’s quiet for a minute or two before Crowley says, “You can be too reckless, Angel.”

“Me reckless?” Aziraphale sputters. “What about you?”

“I’m built for it—it’s my nature. But you…”

“I know the rest of them think that about me, but I never thought you did, Crowley!” Aziraphale sits up, fighting his way through a wave of dizziness. The demon is thoroughly confused by the sudden turn of events and tries to wrap his head around it.

“What are you talking about? The rest of who?”

Although Aziraphale is determined to keep up his side of the argument, his nose has other ideas. The first sneeze is sudden and he angles his head towards the floor. Three more rush out one on top of the other and he’s left lightheaded and embarrassed. He feels hands guiding him back down to the sofa and Aziraphale is appalled to find there are tears running down his face.

“Aziraphale? Look at me,” Crowley says. He’s crouched on the floor so he’s at eye level. When Aziraphale shakes his head, the demon sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Please, Angel.”

When he finally looks up, he’s met with Crowley’s yellow eyes and eyebrows raised in obvious confusion over the little outburst.

“I’m sorry,” the angel mutters. “It’s just that I know the other angels think I’m…soft and not up to the same tasks as the rest of them.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Crowley says. “All I meant was…you’re too good sometimes. Too good for your own I mean.”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” he says, but gets up so Crowley can sit back in his place and then he places the pillow in his lap again.

“You’re only feeling ill because you helped too many people today. That’s all I meant.”

“I suppose I was being a bit defensive.”

“Save your voice, Angel.” Crowley goes back to playing with the head of pale blonde hair resting on his lap. He knew the cold wouldn’t last long—that Aziraphale would heal with characteristic divine speed, but the next day or two he’d burn through whatever he’d picked up from the three odd dozen people he’d healed.

“You’re being awfully nice to me,” Aziraphale says.

“Hey! I’m always nice to you.” Their eyes connect for a moment before Crowley relents. “Alright, the truth is I feel a little guilty.”

“Whatever for, dear?”

“You know that thing your nose is doing right now where one side is running while the other feels full of cement?”

“Mm, it’s awful.”

“Well, I invented that.”

“Of course you did.”

[Shamaël]

Oh my God this is soooooo good! I love both parts and especially the end. The interaction between the characters is perfect and even if I prefer fics where Crowley is sick, the discussion between the angel and the demon and the way Crowley takes care of Aziraphale is brilliant! IThank you!!!

[Glowie]

*dreamy sigh* I love this, thanks so much for writing more! I’m obsessed with these two right now, and seeing Aziraphale all sick and vulnerable makes me melt. 😍

[SterlingSilver]

Ughhhh, this is beautiful~~~~ You write them both so accurately, and have their dialogue totally down pat. Aziraphale nearly squeezed my heart out of my chest, being so cute and vulnerable. Thank you so much for sharing this, Matilda!!

[angora48]

I FINALLY just got around to watching Good Omens (so many shows, so little time,) and this is absolutely splendid! Absolutely adorable. Both are wonderfully in character, and you struck a great balance with their relationship. And I love the reason you came up with for how Aziraphale got sick! Thanks for this terrific fic!