Good Omens One Shots 1

Memory 8

When the demon finally came to, it wasn't pleasant. He could barely focus enough to discern his surroundings. His stomach was doing flips and making him increasingly nauseous. There was a body next to him that was radiating too much heat. There was a light somewhere in the distance that seemed to pierce to the very depths of him. It was all too much and was making him sick.

"Crowley dear?" Aziraphale said, his voice ricocheting through the demon's skull, getting increasingly louder. "Love?"

Crowley groaned and turned away from the light and the body that was Aziraphale. His fingers gripped the edge of the bed tightly and he hauled his upper half over the edge to release the contents of his stomach.

"Oh dear." Aziraphale's voice sounded again, making the demon wince at the sheer sound of his voice. It was too much.

There was a movement on the bed, as if someone was getting off, making the bed rock. The movement — similar to that of a rocking ship — brought a new wave of sickness over the demon and he retched once again. He squeezed his eyes shut as a gentle hand laced through his hair, pulling it back and miracling it clean. The touch was both welcomed and torturous.

His skin felt too hot, as if he was burning up from the inside out. Any touch to the skin just made him sicker. Thankfully the angel didn't do more than tie his hair back.

There was more noise as Aziraphale moved about the room, probably to grab the bin in case Crowley threw up some more. Each little noise filled the demon's head and just made him even sicker. He didn't even realize he was crying until there was a too hot touch to his cheek, wiping the tears away.

"Shh, love. You're okay," the angel's soft voice sounded, as if it was drifting through cotton.

He was about to pass out again, he knew it. He tried to open his mouth to warn the angel but as soon as he did Aziraphale's hand moved away quickly, letting his head drop; and the darkness took over.

The second time he awoke was much more pleasant. He felt warm and safe being covered in an abundance of blankets. The room was dark, there wasn't any light anymore and no body was resting next to him. A pleasant smell was wafting in the air, as if someone was baking in the other room. The door was cracked open just slightly, letting in a soft morning light.

Crowley attempted to sit up, peeling back the layers of tartan that covered his body. When he got upright a wave of dizziness came over him that was thankfully gone within a minute.

He sighed in relief and looked down, seeing that Aziraphale had put him in tartan pajamas. Well, that wasn't attractive.

With a snap, Crowley tried to miracle them to their normal silk but... nothing happened. He snapped again. Nothing. What?

The door creaked open and Aziraphale was peaking in, a look of concern and delight crossing his face when he saw the demon sitting up. "Hi love." he whispered.

Crowley grunted his hello, still thoroughly confused as to why his miracles weren't working.

"Are you feeling better?" Aziraphale asked, stepping into the room gingerly. He was wearing a tartan apron that tied around his waist. There was a dusting of flour on his chin that was incredibly endearing. So he had been baking.

"Yeah." Crowley furrowed his eyebrows trying to remember how he had gotten here like this. He only remembered the conversation in the garden and that was it, "What happened?"

Aziraphale sighed and walked up to Crowley, holding the back of his hand to the demon's forehead, taking his temperature, "You've been throwing up all night. Gave me quite the scare."