A Demons Heartache - 1

Crowley had something that demons usually lacked – he had an imagination.
That was a good thing, made his job so much easier and much more fun. But with imagination came the possibility of imagining all kinds of things. Good and bad, however you defined those.

The demon was glad that he did not remember what he had dreamt.
Remembering why he woke with a scream in the middle of the night, why the heart of his human body was hammering against his chest and why he was bathed in sweat would have only made him feel more miserable.
He only knew that it had been a bad dream. Really, really bad.
Crowley tried to suck in as much air as possible into his lungs and suppress the panic that was trying to overcome him.
He gritted his teeth and felt blood running down his chin. Apparently the dream had been so dreadful and scary, he had materialised his fangs in his sleep. They had dug into his bottom lip, drawing blood.
„Blessitall...", he said and reached for his mobile. It was three o'clock in the morning.

On the day he and Aziraphale had made the „Agreement" official, they had agreed upon a codeword. One single word that was only to be uttered when the other one needed assistance immediately. So far he had only used it once in the 14th century, while Aziraphale had used it twice, once juts over a decade ago and once in the 1600s.

It took a while, the phone kept ringing and ringing, until finally, after what seemed to be centuries, Aziraphale picked up the phone.
„Hllo?", he muttered.
„Alexandria.", Crowley said, his voice almost a beg.
Aziraphale was suddenly wide awake.
„I'm on my way."

There was no need for further discussion or explanations. They had both agreed that if the other ever brought up Alexandria again, help was on it's way.
Crowley dropped the phone onto his bed and got up. He had to move. The adrenalin in his system needed him to be in motion. After a minute of walking around his bedroom in his silk shorts, not knowing where to put his hands, he heard the front door open being thrown open.
Aziraphale must have burned up at least six or seven Miracles to get here so fast.
At this thought, Crowleys heart suddenly beat stronger for just the one beat.
"What the hell is going on?", he mumbled to himself.

"Crowley? Crowley, where are you?"
The demon didn't need to answer, as Aziraphale had found him, still running around in his bedroom like a caged tiger, just seconds later.
"You're hurt!", the angel cried, approaching him.
"No, I'm not.", Crowley said, evidently having forgotten that blood was dripping from his chin.
"My dear, what's wrong? You're shaking. And you're bleeding. What's – Ow!"
Aziraphale had touched the demons shoulder, only to feel a burn, almost like acid, upon the touch. The angel took a step back, looking at his hand that was slowly mending itself.
Crowley stared.
"What was that?", the demon asked, confused.
"Emotion, my dear.", Aziraphale answered. "Apparently you are in quite an emotional turmoil. So chaotic in fact, that your soul is reacting."

Crowley didn't answer. Emotional turmoil, that described his current situation perfectly.
He hissed, turned around, clenched his hands into his hair. From one moment to the next, his body started to shiver again, tears streaming uncontrollably from his snake-like eyes.
"I don't know what's happening, angel. I-I was sleeping and suddenly... I don't know I woke up like this!"
Aziraphale ushered him towards the bed and signalled him to sit down.

"Alright, my dear. Just take a deep breath. You know our protocol, I have to ask you a few questions now."
Crowley nodded, digging his hands into the mattress.
"What kind of emergency is this?", Aziraphale asked
"Non-combat emergency.", the demon answered, remembering a rather nasty fight he had barely won when hell had decided to send a bunch of hellhounds after his angel.
"Are you about to discorporate?", Aziraphale wanted to know and Crowley shook his head. The angel sighed in relief.
After their agreement, Crowley had been the first to use their emergency codeword. The 14th century had been awful for both of them, but Crowley could have been discorporated had Aziraphale not stepped in.
The demon once again shook his head.

"I'm not sick. At least I don't think so. Sorry for the emergency call... I might have overreacted."
Aziraphale got onto his knees in front of Crowley searching for the demons eyes.
"My dear, you look absolutely dreadful. I'm glad you called, even though you're not in danger. And something is definitely wrong."
Crowley slowly calmed down. His body went back to normal, he stopped his almost-hyperventilating. His violent shivers stopped to be replaced by shudders.
Aziraphale tried touching him again; a hand on the shoulder. Nothing happened.
"You still feel hot but I think the worst is over."

With a quick 'I'll be right back, dear,' the angel left Crowley alone and returned with a wash basin and a cloth.
"You could have miracled that into being...", Crowley said as the angel slowly dabbed the cloth into the water to wipe away the blood from the demons face. He was too exhausted to even try and fight him.
"No can do, I'm afraid.", Aziraphale said. "I used up quite a few miracles to get here so fast. I'll have to refrain from magic for a while.
"Sorry.", the demon mumbled.
"Don't be."
Aziraphale continued cleaning Crowleys face, carefully trying not to touch the still bleeding lips of the demon.

"Now, dear. Get up and sit on the chair over there. Where do you keep your linens?"
Crowley raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"I am not tucking you back into these linens. They're drenched."
Crowley got up and suddenly, there it was again. A strike to the heart.
He groaned, lifting his hand and putting it on his chest.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
Aziraphale, sheets and linens abandoned, decided to guide Crowley into the living room and set him down on the couch. Something told him that a nice cup of tea was needed. And possibly physical mending of the demons heart.
"I don't know. It's been this way since I woke up. It's random.", Crowley mumbled. The adrenalin had worn off, he felt incredibly tired.
Curse these human bodies, he thought.

Crowley didn't know if Aziraphale had abandoned his 'no more miracles today' rule, or if he had really been gone to make tea – but there was suddenly a cup of Earl Grey in his hands. He felt the sofa dip as the angel sat beside him.
"Why don't you explain to me how you feel? Maybe I can figure out what's wrong."
"I.. Well, I was sleeping and apparently I had a bad dream. A very bad dream.", Crowley mumbled.
Normally he would drown anything in whisky or some other alcoholic beverage, but at this moment he felt quite English, the tea in his hands the only lifeline he had.
"And you don't remember what your dream was about?", Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shook his head. "It must have been something scary for me too get out my fangs... I think I screamed..."
Aziraphale knew fully well that in a few days Crowley would deny ever having admitted that, but he didn't care. He hated seeing the demon like this.
"And now?"
"It's... I don't know. It's as if someone rammed his hand into my chest, and squeezed my heart. It's almost like it's..."
"Aching?", Aziraphale suggested.
"For lack of a better word, yes."

The angel grabbed Crowleys teacup and set it aside.
"Do you want me to check?"
"Check? You mean..?"
"I'll just have a quick look. To see if your heart is fine.", Aziraphale assured him. For a demon, the prospect of having an angel have a glimpse at his body and soul was terrifying, even if you knew him for six millenia.
But he hated this feeling. So he nodded, bracing himself.

He felt Aziraphales cool fingers on his skin, directly above his heart. The angel closed his eyes and suddenly, Crowley could feel a burning sensation ripping through his body, a stench of holiness filled his nostrils.
It was over in a flash and he thought he had had it rough.

He hadn't counted on Aziraphale crying.
"I-I'm sorry, my dear. Transmission. I seem to have caught some of your heartache."
Crowley scowled.
"What exactly do you mean, angel?"

Aziraphale smiled, but it was kind of a sad smile. He wiped his cheeks.
"There's nothing wrong with your body, dear. But I'm afraid you're suffering from something else."
"I don't like where this is going, angel. Spit it out.",
Crowley growled, suddenly impatient.
"You're suffering from heartache, Crowley. And that's a side effect of being in love."
He shouldn't have asked.