Commission fic for Kingcitrus Hope you enjoy this ^_^

No Good Deed

A Good Omens Fanfic

There are consequences for demons who don't stick to the status quo. Crowley finds out the hard way that, when working for Hell, it's literally true that no good deed goes unpunished. Hurt/comfort, friendship (Gen)

The last child was handed over to the grateful, teary-eyed parents and Crowley watched Aziraphale breathe a sigh of relief.

He too felt the relief of finishing this job. Crowley had a particular hatred for people who hurt kids, so when he had found out about the creep going around town, stealing children away, and when the police seemed to have no leads, he'd instantly recruited Aziraphale to help him track the children down.

After a couple long, harrowing days, they had finally managed to recover the kids, more or less, safe and sound, and garnered the gratitude of the parents.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" Aziraphale asked quietly as they started to walk away before the authorities showed up and began to ask questions.

"Ngk," Crowley said, not wanting to commit to saying anything was good, or even letting the word so much as slip from his tongue, but he had to agree with the angel.

As bad as it was for his reputation, he had to admit that, sometimes—very rarely—it was indeed good to be good.

A tickle started in his throat and he cleared it in annoyance. See, he was allergic to just thinking that deplorable word!

"Would you like to join me for supper?" Aziraphale was asking him with a small smile. "A little celebration? I know this lovely bistro nearby."

Crowley considered it, but decided he'd already spent enough time with the angel for one day. Better not to risk any longer. "Yeah, maybe not tonight. I've got some tempting to do and all." At Aziraphale's crestfallen appearance, Crowley amended with a roll of his eyes, "But what if tomorrow I bring a bottle of something over to your place to celebrate?"

Aziraphale's face lit up. "That sounds lovely!"

Crowley let out a surprise cough before he could say anything else, the tickle back in his throat. How annoying!

Aziraphale frowned in surprise. "Are you all right, my dear?"

"Fine, just dust or something," Crowley muttered. To be fair he was also feeling rather tired.

Aziraphale eyed him another moment before he said, "Well, I suppose I'll let you go then, dear. Have a good night."

There was that word again, Crowley thought, wrinkling his nose. "Yeah, you too," he mumbled and shoved his hands in his pockets, heading over to where he had parked the Bentley.

He drove back to his flat, thinking again of the kids. He really was glad they had been able to save them. Thank Satan for his Arrangement with Aziraphale—or, rather, probably not, as Satan didn't have anything to do with it, thankfully.

He sighed as he parked on the side of the road in a place he would definitely get a citation, and got out of the car. He was suddenly feeling very tired. Maybe he would have to just get back to tempting tomorrow; and he would have a lot to make up for considering everything that had happened that day.

For now, though, he was going to relax and see what was on the television.

Which is exactly what he did, but Crowley found as he sat and tried to enjoy the shows, the ticklish feeling in his throat continued to come back and he didn't know what was going on. His chest was also feeling tight, which was even more disconcerting.

But Crowley mostly just tried to ignore it. After all, what could possibly have affected him like that? It was probably just some dust—there'd been a lot of it in the basement they had found the kids in.

He fell asleep out of boredom and weariness at some point while watching a ridiculous game-show and didn't wake up until the next morning where he felt groggy and his throat continued to feel scratchy and raw.

In fact, as soon as he started stirring, his chest tightened and hitched against his will, forcing him into a spontaneous coughing fit that left him gasping for breath.

What the heaven? Crowley wondered in confusion as he got his breath back. He hurried to his rarely used kitchen and grabbed a glass, filling it with water and drinking it. It helped ease the feeling in his throat slightly, but the fact that it was there at all was disconcerting. He tried to think about what could have possibly caused this, and how to fix it, but he was coming up with nothing.

It didn't matter, Crowley finally decided, he would just have to go about his usual routine anyway. In fact, he needed to find something to bring over to Aziraphale's shop that night.

Crowley made ready to go out, grabbing his jacket and ignoring the ache in his chest that was making him want to cough. He hoped this wasn't going to turn into a problem.

He went shopping, all the while muffling coughs that didn't seem to want to stop in the crook of his arm, making people around him eye him warily. He glowered at them from behind his sunglasses, and bought a very nice bottle of wine that he was sure Aziraphale would appreciate.

Crowley rubbed his chest, already sore from just the small amount of coughing he had done that day, and went on his way to the bookshop.

He arrived a little earlier than he had planned to, but Aziraphale didn't mind, seeming very happy to see him as he glowered the last couple customers out of the shop and promptly flipped the sign on the door to CLOSED.

"Hope you like this one, angel," Crowley said, shocked to find his voice slightly hoarse as he set the bottle on the table in the back room as Aziraphale went to grab glasses.

"That was a good year, if I recall," the angel hummed, looking at the label. "Did you hear, Crowley? The reports say that the man who kidnapped the children has been convicted, they found enough evidence to put him away."

"Then it looks like we have all the reason to celebrate," Crowley said, before he was forced to muffle a cough.

Aziraphale looked over at him with a frown. "Are you okay, dear?"

The demon nodded and motioned impatiently. "Just a dry throat. Pour the wine."

Aziraphale huffed and popped the cork before he reached for the glasses.

Crowley watched the wine spill into the cups and felt his chest tighten painfully. He pressed a hand to it, swallowing hard, but was unable to keep himself from coughing again.

The coughs burst out of his chest so forcefully that he doubled over, unable to stay upright.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale called, worriedly turning to him.

But Crowley wasn't paying much attention, he was mostly just trying to breathe, which was becoming harder and harder to do. He choked and gasped for breath until he felt something wet on his lips and the hand he held over his mouth.

He gasped for breath, pulling his hand back and glancing at it with his blurry vision to see speckles of red. Blood? His blood?

He couldn't breathe, his chest so tight and his lungs aching…

Before Crowley knew what was happening he was toppling over. His stomach lurched at the horrible sensation—the sensation of falling that he could never quite get over…the feeling of plummeting into pain and fire below…

"Crowley!"

His fall and his instinctive terror was suddenly halted by a soft embrace—not, in fact, a fiery splash—and he clutched at the figure, catching his breath as he shook, a thousand terrible memories welling up inside of him.

"Crowley, my dear boy, what on earth is wrong?"

Aziraphale's concerned voice finally cut through his pounding head and Crowley swallowed thickly, tasting the coppery blood in the back of his throat, before he finally looked up.

"I—I—my chest…" he croaked, clutching at the front of his shirt as he started coughing again, doubling over.

But Aziraphale didn't drop him, he didn't let him fall again. He simply maneuvered Crowley gently over to the couch and settled him down onto the soft pillows.

"Let me see," he coaxed, pulling Crowley's grasping hands away from his chest, and pulling his shirt up. "Well, there's nothing I can see, but…it sounds like your lungs more than anything. Especially since you're coughing so much. I think some tea with honey and lemon is more in order than wine right now."

Crowley only nodded jerkily as Aziraphale stood and hurried to fetch the tea, bringing it back within a few minutes as Crowley tried to catch his breath.

"Here we go," Aziraphale murmured as he sat on the side of the couch and helped to prop Crowley up, setting the tea into his slightly shaking hands. "I can't imagine what could be causing this…"

Crowley shook his head, just as baffled, unless… well, there was one thing, but he didn't want to think about it.

He sipped the tea, nearly spilling it for his shaking, and then had to quickly put it aside as another coughing fit overcame him.

"My dear boy," Aziraphale murmured as Crowley wheezed, whimpering slightly, when the fit had finished. Everything just seemed to get worse by the second.

Aziraphale pulled out a handkerchief and reached out to gently remove Crowley's sunglasses, gently dabbing at his running eyes, and surreptitiously cleaning a spot of blood from the corner of Crowley's mouth before he pressed the handkerchief into his hand.

"Did you come across anything that could have caused this?" Aziraphale asked gently as he helped Crowley to take up the mug of tea again.

Crowley took a deep breath and looked away. "I really don't know."

Aziraphale caught the hesitation in his voice though, sharp as always. Too sharp for his own good. "You do suspect something, though, don't you?"

Crowley drank the tea, feeling the warmth seep down his raw throat and sighing with some relief. "It's nothing you need concern yourself with."

"Crowley," Aziraphale said firmly. "Are we not friends?"

Crowley looked up and met the angel's blue eyes, so filled with concern he almost couldn't stand it. He couldn't be allowed to have an angel care for him. He really shouldn't be allowing it. It was probably, most certainly not helping his case right now. Especially if this was caused by what he thought it was.

But he also knew that Aziraphale wouldn't stop bothering him until he said something, so he bit his lip and hesitantly opened his mouth to speak.

"I think it was yesterday," he said quietly. "Everything that happened…" He hesitated again, and he coughed a couple times, thankfully stopping himself after that and downing another sip of tea. "I think it's because I wasn't supposed to stop that man."

Aziraphale frowned, looking at him. "What do you mean?"

"That man who was taking the kids. He was supposed to be cultivated for Hell. Sometimes, if demons do something, you know, that we're not supposed to do, then we can get sick as punishment—if we don't just get dragged back to Hell." Which, when he thought of it that way, maybe this was a mercy.

"Sick? Punishment?" Aziraphale repeated, sounding confused and indignant at the same time. "What kind of things?"

"Good deeds, angel!" Crowley snapped angrily and thrust the cup aside, sloshing some tea out of it as it hit the table before he was caught in another coughing fit. He pressed the handkerchief against his mouth and pulled it away with a trembling hand when the fit had stopped, his lungs protesting so much he was unable to stop a whimper from escaping. "I'm being punished for good deeds. It's just what happens."

Aziraphale stared at him for a long moment and the deep sympathy and even a little righteous fury for Crowley's sake nearly made it unbearable for the demon to look at him.

"What can I do?" Aziraphale asked. "I mean…is there anything I even can do, or…" He bit his lip, obviously not wanting to state what he was obviously thinking.

Crowley was pretty sure on that though. After all… "Hell isn't into death, angel, don't worry. It wouldn't mean anything to teach me a lesson if I wasn't alive afterward to have learned it." He sighed and sank against the back of the couch. "I don't know how long it will last or what to do about it though. I guess we'll just have to see." He coughed a few more times, every part of his body taut and aching already, especially his chest. A sudden thought occurred and he tried to push himself up, coughing weakly. Why was he all of a sudden so tired?

"I should probably get back to my flat," he said. "I don't know if someone will come for me, I wouldn't want them to find you."

"Absolutely not," Aziraphale said firmly, already pushing him back down. Crowley didn't have the energy to stop him, his body completely trembling. "I can't possibly let you suffer through this alone, dear boy! What kind of friend would I be then?"

"But, Aziraphale!"

"No buts," Aziraphale said firmly, pushing Crowley back and setting a fresh cup of tea into his hand that he must have miracled full again. "I know you won't take care of yourself, so, therefore, I must do that for you. And if any demons come around, they'll just have to go through me first."

"Don't say that," Crowley warned, frankly terrified at the thought. They'd been lucky that their Arrangement hadn't been found out yet, and, that was mostly because they had been so careful…

"Oh, hush, you'd do the same for me and you know it," Aziraphale said fondly, catching him out, obviously, because, yes, Crowley would, he just couldn't admit that out loud for obvious reasons.

"Now rest, dear, that's always the best thing to do when you're sick," Aziraphale told him, and pulled a blanket off the back of the couch, spreading it gently over Crowley's lap.

Crowley allowed him to do this, settling his aching body back against the soft couch, sipping at the tea between trying to suppress his wretched coughing.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad as he thought, especially with someone actually taking care of him.

But Crowley only got worse.

Aziraphale had been watching the demon sleep fitfully for the past few hours while he tried to concentrate on reading, until Crowley woke with another horrid coughing fit that left him breathless and gasping, clutching at his chest.

Aziraphale was up in a second, rushing to the couch and pulling Crowley up into a sitting position to attempt to ease his breathing.

"There, there, dear," he murmured, rubbing Crowley's back carefully. "Just try to breathe."

Crowley did try his best, but it only resulted in another fit of coughing that brought up more speckles of blood, across the blanket draped over him.

Aziraphale quickly miracled them away, and pressed a hand to Crowley's pale, clammy brow.

"You're feeling a little warm," he said quietly.

Crowley whimpered. "Everything hurts." He shivered and Aziraphale hurriedly wrapped the blanket around him further. He frowned, concerned about Crowley's seemingly worsening condition.

"What can I do?" he asked softly, feeling at a loss, and hating to see his friend in such pain.

Crowley shook his head, and doubled over again as another horrible coughing fit wracked his thin body.

Aziraphale wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tried to support his weight, holding a handkerchief under Crowley's lips to catch the blood that was, worryingly, still prevalent.

When Crowley's fit finally stopped, Aziraphale leaned him gently back against the couch, propped up on pillows to make his breathing easier, and watched as the demon clutched at his chest.

"It hurts," he whimpered in a very uncharacteristic way for Crowley. Usually the demon refused to admit to any weakness, despite the fact that Aziraphale usually saw through him instantly. The fact that he was admitting to this now told the angel just how badly his friend was hurting.

"I know, I'm so sorry, dear," Aziraphale said. "Do you need a drink?"

Crowley shook his head, clutching the front of his shirt in discomfort. "Won't help," he croaked.

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a thin line, and finally reached out, gently plucking Crowley's hand away from his chest and replacing it with his own. "Perhaps this will help a little?" He began to tentatively rub at the knotted muscles in Crowley's thin torso, feeling the tension in the taught lines across his ribs and pectorals. Crowley coughed a couple more times, then finally seemed to relax from Aziraphale's continued ministrations as he gently kneaded the knots loose, easing some of Crowley's discomfort.

Crowley sank back, eyes fluttering closed as his breathing eased just slightly. Aziraphale continued with the gentle massage until he was sure Crowley was asleep again, and then tucked the blanket back around him, and impulsively reached up to push some of Crowley's bright red hair away from his pale face.

"No one deserves this for being as good as you are, my dear," he said brokenly. He was honestly furious at Hell for this punishment. But then, he supposed in a twisted way it made sense. After all, Heaven didn't allow angels to do anything bad, so it would be expected that Hell wouldn't allow demons to do any good.

Still, there was something twisted about it that Aziraphale hated more than anything—and this was coming from someone who did not usually feel the need to hate much—especially when it meant he had to watch his dearest friend suffer.

At the very least, he decided, watching Crowley whimper in his sleep, he could be there for him. Crowley would never ask for help, but even he couldn't deny that sometimes he needed someone to catch him when he fell.

And if Aziraphale hadn't been there to catch him for the first Fall, then he would certainly be there for this one.

The days stretched on, and Crowley seemed to fade until Aziraphale was truly worried that he had been wrong about the eventual recovery from this so-called punishment. It got so bad that Aziraphale was certain Crowley had cracked at least one rib from the coughing, and so every cough just caused even more pain to tear through his ailing body. He also looked horrid—pale and even thinner than his usual spare frame.

The most recent coughing fit, that Crowley barely seemed to have the strength for, left him blue in the lips from lack of breath, and with tears of pain streaming from his eyes.

Aziraphale was holding onto him, and Crowley simply collapsed back against his chest, fingers groping weakly at the blanket bundled around him as he shivered.

"There, there," Aziraphale hushed. "Let me get you some tea, you need to try and drink something. And your throat is so raw."

But before he could get up, Crowley whimpered again, clutching at Aziraphale's sleeve. "Please, just stay," he gasped out. "Don't…want to move."

Aziraphale obliged, settling back more firmly against the couch and just rocked Crowley soothingly.

"I'm sorry," Crowley murmured after a while, choking back a sob as a tear slid down his cheek from the pain.

"For what?" Aziraphale asked, confused.

Crowley fluttered a hand vaguely. "For this. For making you take care of me."

"Please don't think I mind, dear," Aziraphale pleaded, reaching up to wipe the tear away with his handkerchief. "You know I'd do anything for a dear friend. Seeing you like this…I couldn't stand to be anywhere but by your side."

"I don't deserve it," Crowley breathed in barely a whisper.

"You do," Aziraphale assured him, resting his chin on top of Crowley's head. "You really, truly do, my dear. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Crowley sighed and sank into a deep, exhausted, pain-filled sleep as a tear of Aziraphale's own slid down his cheek and into Crowley's hair.

Sometimes Aziraphale wondered if the whole ordeal was actually tougher on him than it was on Crowley. But then he saw Crowley doing his best to cough up a lung and decided that it wasn't, no matter how much it hurt him to see Crowley suffer. He just wondered how long it would go on.

But then, finally, he began to see a light at the end of the tunnel as Crowley began to sleep for longer periods of time without coughing fits, finally seeming more peaceful.

Aziraphale knew they were at a turning point when Crowley slept a solid twelve hours without waking once to cough.

When he was awake, he continued to ply him with tea and whatever Crowley wanted—which, granted, wasn't much in his condition, but Aziraphale tried his best to accommodate if he did want something—and spent the rest of the time reading to him to keep him distracted since he was still too weak to move from the couch.

As much as Crowley might usually protest, he responded well to Aziraphale's ministrations, and eventually was able to sit up, stand, and move from the couch to the table for tea—with a blanket still firmly wrapped around his too-thin frame at Aziraphale's insistence.

"I think it's mostly over now," Crowley admitted as he sipped tea and nibbled on one of the biscuits Aziraphale had set out.

"I believe so, my dear, and for that I am glad," the angel replied sincerely, already seeing a little bit of color crossing Crowley's sharp cheekbones again, which was much the improvement.

Crowley coughed lightly—he still had a bit of a dry cough, but he wasn't bringing up blood anymore so that was a huge improvement. He looked over at Aziraphale, clutching his cup subconsciously. "Thanks, angel. For everything. You didn't have to stay with me but…" He trailed off, turning his eyes downward to the table.

Aziraphale stopped him from saying anything else by reaching across the table and gently putting his hand over Crowley's, squeezing slightly. "Don't mention it, Crowley. It's what friends do."

Crowley smiled and Aziraphale smiled back, feeling so grateful that he had a friend he could trust so much, and who trusted him in return.

"I'm just glad you're okay," Aziraphale added.

Crowley sighed. "Me too."

Aziraphale watched him for a long moment before he spoke up. "My dear…please don't let this discourage you. We have the Arrangement for a reason, you know. So…you don't have to do anything that will hurt you again. In future, all you have to do is ask, and I will do any of the good deeds that need to be done."

Crowley sighed and looked up at the angel, meeting his blue eyes with his golden serpentine gaze. "I know you would. But…I don't actually regret it, Aziraphale. I just want you to know that—and this is only between you and me—sometimes, it's not so bad to do the—g—that… not bad thing," Crowley hissed out at the end, turning back to his tea with a slight flush on his face.

Aziraphale couldn't help the small chuckle, simply relieved that his friend was feeling better and obviously getting back to himself. "I know exactly what you mean, my dear."

He stood up. "Now, it's a warm night and you could use some fresh air. What do you say we go for a constitutional around the block? I think it would do you good."

Crowley agreed and the two took a slow stroll in the evening, and Aziraphale thought again how glad he was for his friend.

He knew it was probably wrong to form any prayer relating to a demon, but as he walked side-by-side with Crowley, he couldn't help but say a small prayer of thanks that he had a friend to be by his side through thick and thin, and that Crowley was okay.

Crowley, on his part, while he didn't pray, was definitely grateful for Aziraphale as well, because, after all, could it get any better than having a friend who would be good on your behalf? Crowley was sure that it couldn't.

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