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Anthony J. Crowley and the Green Eyed Monster

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It had been seven hours since Aziraphale had laid Crowley down for a nap. Seven hours! Crowley had slept for some of that time, but he had dreamed of the bookshop on fire and not finding his angel anywhere. He woke up wetting his already soaked diaper and with a rather unpleasant cold feeling in his gut that was making his insides squirm.

He sat in the middle of the bed and drew his legs up to his chest roccimg back and forth. The demon such his thumb in his mouth and begain to suck vigorously. (Aziraphale had forgotten to leave Crowley a pacifier and the demon didn't know where any of them we're, and was in no state to think of miracling one up.)

Crowley couldn't absolutely could not take it anymore. He absolutely and without question had to figure out a way to make Aziraphale pay attention to him again.

An idea begain to form. Aziraphale may be punishing him,(and Crowley may have deserved it) but the angel was really good and kind and gentle, at heart. If Crowley was hurt, really, really hurt surely the angel wouldn't withhold a few cuddles from him. After all Aziraphale had been so very good to him when he had that last touch of hypothermia. But it wasn't cold enough outside for that. Or hot enough to get heat stroke.

Crowley racked his brains. (such as they were) Then he had it, the perfect idea! (this was debatable, very debatable)

Crowley slid off the bed and tip toed down the hall until he found his destination. He reminded himself several times that he couldn't actually die. And it wasn't likely he would discorperate. Then he took a deep breath, brought his hands up to cover his head and face, and threw himself down the stairs.

Crowley lay spred eagle at the bottom of the stairs. His head hurt, his ribs hurt, his right shoulder hurt, his left leg hurt. Crowley felt as if he was, at the moment a being simply compiled of various different hurts. But it was all worth it. Here scurrying toward him was his angel.

"Whatever happened!? "

Crowley looked up with half lidded eyes. "Fell" It wasn't really a lie. Crowley had fell, he'd just fell on purpose.

Aziraphale tisked, and looked the demon over, healing all the bruises and aches and fractures as he went along. Crowley basked under the angel's attention. And almost (almost, mind you) made a small happy noise when Aziraphale picked him up.

Crowley was carried in to the bedroom and given a diaper change then tucked back in bed. Crowley fully expected Aziraphale to climb in with him, and they could have a nice cuddle. This was not what happened. Aziraphale started walking away, towards the door, intending to leave!

So Crowley did the sensible, rational, logical thing and pitched a fit. As far as fits go it was a rather impressive one. Crowley howled and sobbed. He thrashed around the bed, clawing and kicking, pounding his fists against the mattress. He beat his head against the pillows and wailed.

When he finally got tired, and his trembling and sobbing had died down, he looked up to find that Aziraphale was gone. He'd simply left Crowley there to suffer, all alone. He'd even turned out the lights.

Something was very wrong with his angel. If there was one thing Crowley knew in the world it was his angel. And this wasn't like Aziraphale at all.

Crowley had seen Aziraphale pause in a warzone to comfort a dying dog. He had seen Aziraphale show kindness and compassion to the worst humanity had to offer. He had once made Crowley stop the Bently so he could help a snail cross the road. Aziraphale would never leave anything to suffer, let alone someone he claimed to love. (Crowley still had his doubts about this)

Something was very wrong indeed.