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Mid-summer humidity lay heavily in the air. It was the kind of warmth, or rather, excess of heat, that clambered to dust on ceilings and the musk of aged books. It embraced the tiny perimeters of old city building walls. This wasn’t the picturesque warmth associated with bookshops that involved hot coffee or tea when a draft entered the building during the coldest winter days. Nor was it the warmth of cuddling up to Aziraphale, the bookshop's owner, on the couch as said angel explored one of his favorite fictional worlds for the thirtieth time.
No, this was a sluggish heat, fighting through its miserable existence for its one passion. That passion was its ungodly reunion with dust, musk, and small spaces with amazing insulation… for cold winters! It was the kind of setting that ought to please a demon.
Most demons appreciated uncomfortable temperatures. Whether they were cold and damp, cold and dry, hot and humid, or hot and arid. Most tended to have a particular flavor of climate they thrived in, where humans would suffer. But not cold-blooded Crowley. He struggled more than humans with temperature regulation. It must have been part of his unofficial curse. And he'd had enough of today’s heatwave just from his time spent outside under a beautiful, clear sky. Without a single cloud in sight! And not a single reason to anticipate the reprieve of rain.
Crowley slunk through the front entrance of the bookshop. Angelic redolence clung to the musk as a display of mercy within the unpleasant conditions. Although the scent was stale. Unusually stale. Crowley furled his brows and flicked his tongue for good measure. Same result. Huh… either his sense of smell was off today, or Aziraphale hasn't been here in weeks. But hadn't he just seen him at the bookshop the other day? Of course he has! Crowley was sure of it! But since when were the snout and tongue wrong?
A bright light sundered in the corner of his eye.
What? No! That can't be right! I'd at least be able to smell that pretty well! Photons like that have a powerful interdimensional scent!
He turned his head toward the flickering “flame.” Flame! He jumped. Sweat beaded down from his forehead. If the heat had been overwhelming before, its intensity seemed to have doubled in less than ten seconds. The place was now sweltering.
Curiously, the flame never spread to any of the neighboring woodwork or books. It chose to remain self-contained in its little area on the floor. The only evidence it desired to leave behind for its existence was the growing singe on the rug. It shrank inward into a humanoid shape. In a few seconds, poof! The flame vaporized into thick, rolling clouds of dark grey smoke. The bases of the smoke currents curled around the bottom edges of the humanoid figure. Blood colored eyes pierced through the thick, dark curtains of sulfur fumes. They were the red eyes of…
“Satan!”
A throat-raking shriek erupted from Crowley. He stumbled backward into a pile of books. His back caught by the stabbing corners of cascading hard covers. The smoke cleared, and the figure spoke, “Yes, it is I!”
Crowley shook his head, gasping for air. His jaw trembled, but he snapped back, “You can't be here!”
Satan grinned. He strolled toward Crowley and knelt before him. A clawed hand clenched Crowley's jaw, “Of course I can be here!”
The grip on Crowley’s jaw tightened, but Crowley hissed regardless. Satan scoffed and inquired, “What? Do you have a problem with that, darling?”
The claws poked into Crowley’s cheeks like ordinary human fingernails. His own nails had morphed into cherry-black claws. He swiped at Satan's face, relieved for a moment by the harsh drag of soft facial skin against hard, sharp keratin. Yes, his claws had snagged Satan's skin! But no blood was drawn, and no mark was left behind! Satan didn’t even flinch.
Crowley whimpered, retracting into the stubborn, collapsed pile of books poking into his back. A scowl spread across Satan’s face. His blood red irises expanded into the whites of his eyes and engulfed his slit pupils. He screamed, “Oh! You think you have the right to strike me, do you? You worthless little shit! I’ll teach you to think twice before pulling a stunt like that again!”
The hand holding Crowley's jaw released it and wrapped itself around his throat. Satan pressed his palm into the long, slender neck, and Crowley's desperate gasps devolved into choking and pointless chest twitches, “Fucking idiot! Think you can reject my affections? Think you can scratch me? Ha! I own you! And there’s not a thing you can do about it! Not even Aziraphale can help you!”
The hand around Crowley's throat pressed even harder. Crowley gripped the arm whose hand pinned him by the throat and pushed him further into the pile of books. One of the books shifted so that its spine pressed into the back of his head. Pain radiated in the affected area, worsened by the tugging of his damp, sticky hair—the strands of which were gripped by the sticky pores of the aged leather binding. The walls around him dripped with lazy clumps of lava. A decrepit figure with bleeding, empty eye sockets manifested on the other side of the room, crawling aimlessly. Warm tears welled in Crowley's eyes. Despite the strangulation session and the flaming agony in his constricted lungs and throat, Crowley was awake and aware, and his vision had become surreal—everything near was magnified and had twice the resolution of his normal vision, but everything else far away was blurred. He whipped a hand toward the unfortunate creature.
Please… Help me!
Satan scoffed, gathering Crowley’s wrists with his free hand and pinning them above his head, further restraining him. He said, “Really, now! I could have made this much worse for you, pet! But sometimes, you happen to make yourself very useful! Sometimes! And I'm also not quite ready yet to destroy one of my prettiest possessions! I’m not sure I ever will be! Really, you should be grateful! I’ve given you an easy life around here!”
“Fghk aghf!”
Tears streamed from Crowley's eyes, tickling his ears along with the sweat. His surroundings continued melting into fiery, hellish chaos. Crowley glanced around at the bookshelves. They were gone! Same with the furniture and decor! It had all vanished! Wait, when did that happen? Were they even in the bookshop anymore?
“Crowley? Crowley!”
The voice was soft and wavering. And omnipresent? Or was it above him? Satan was the only one sitting above him. When Satan’s voice wasn't harsh, it lapped at your ears with long, cold, leisurely strokes. This voice provided more of a gentle caress, and only if you wanted it. Also, Satan's lips hadn't moved. All he did was stare at him, eyes devouring the futile struggle lying in their wake.
“Please! Wake up!”
Crowley's eyes snapped open. His breaths escaped from his lungs in rapid succession. His throat was no longer constricted, but that did nothing to ease how much it throbbed and burned. He twitched his arms, but they remained immobile above his head. Same with his legs! Someone else had him pinned! But it wasn't Satan? Someone blonde! The pooling of tears in his eyes was endless! And now his surroundings were masked behind a thick, blurry filter of salty water. All he knew was that this wasn't Satan or Hell. The walls lacked the glow of emerging lava. Only a dim, yellow circle of light from an unknown source cast upon them. But still, the room was sweltering! And cold? He was drenched in sweat and shivered as if he were fighting against Arctic winds.
That mysterious, soft voice spoke, “Crowley! It's okay! You're at the cottage, lying in bed! It’s okay!”
Crowley whimpered.
Cottage?
“Crowley, please! There's no need to be so frightened! You just had a bad dream! You're with me, my dear. No harm will come to you!”
Another loud whimper. Crowley yanked his arms, but the grip wouldn't budge.
“I’ll let you go, dear. I promise! But you need to stop struggling! I just don't want you to hurt yourself…”
Crowley stilled and shut his eyes, limbs burning. Chest still convulsing… aching! It was all pointless, wasn't it? He couldn't move. No amount of desperate gasping could fill his lungs. Lungs that weren't supposed to require oxygen. There was something about the way Satan went about tormenting him. It made him feel mortal. Even his mere presence was enough for Crowley's body to forget about its celestial abilities. After a while, he'd grow dizzy. Weak. After enough time, he’d feel… empty.
The blonde figure released the pressure off his limbs. Crowley drew his limbs inward. He wanted to vanish! The figure spoke once more, “There! That's much better, isn't it?”
All Crowley could manage in response was a soft whimper.
“Oh! My poor serpent! Don't you recognize me?”
More desperate gasps.
“Oh! Still quite frightened, are we? It's alright, sweet thing! Take your time processing everything around you. One detail at a time. Start with your sense of smell. Focus on what you can smell. Just as the therapist suggests. Focus on sensory details in your surroundings. You could also look around the room and study the objects, if that’s easier for you to manage. But you have such an outstanding sense of smell! Come on! What do you notice about the room you're in? Anything interesting? Anything pleasant?”
Crowley shut his mouth. He was tired of the loud gasps, and he needed to focus. But the gasps were replaced by muffled whimpers.
Pointless! He couldn’t repress this feeling! He was stuck like this now! And there wasn’t a thing he could do to save face, anyway. Too many people had already seen him in this state! They’d already witnessed his… episodes.
It was far from the first time this had ever happened. Crowley knew it… the sharp, struggling breaths grasping for air. Each breath squeezed his lungs. Lungs that ignored the precious, clear substance with every sharp inhale. His body acted like this was the first time this had ever happened. But his mind knew… he’d been here before.
Many times!
Crowley opened his eyes and mouth. Serpentine pupils darted about. All around him were pale, tan walls like buttercream—a standard color for a recently purchased interior. Mouth open, his tongue caught the scent of dried paint and stale woodwork, and a sweet, floral, earthy splash of lavender wafted from the cotton sheets he lay upon.
Right… they didn’t live in the bookshop anymore… they now lived in a cottage! But he hadn’t been here many times before…
But in this panicked trance… he’s certainly been here many times before!
That’s what this hastened breathing was all about! It was just another… panic attack.
Crowley’s eyes darted up toward the blonde figure. The figure adorned tartan and beige pajamas and had a sweet angelic scent… somewhat different from the lavender. It was more like sweet peas and lilac, with a hint of cedar and vanilla. Very unusual for a mortal creature, but befitting for something supernatural. A metallic fear scent accompanied it.
Aziraphale!
Aziraphale spoke, “See? You’re doing m-much better already! Everything’s going to be alright! I told you, we’re at the cottage! And it’s just you and me living here! I won’t let a single thing hurt you!”
Crowley whimpered and reached out a shaking hand toward Aziraphale. His arm plopped onto the bed, and he fought every nerve in his body to resist retracting the quivering limb. Even the simple act of holding his arm out overwhelmed him.
“What’s this?” Aziraphale gestured toward Crowley’s arm and inquired, “Would you like me to hold you? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
Crowley squeaked and nodded.
“Alright,” Aziraphale gathered Crowley into his arms and pulled him into a tight embrace, “Is that better?”
Crowley shut his eyes and nodded his head. He snuggled against Aziraphale’s warm, soft body and gripped his shirt. A hand rubbed circles on his back, and a voice spoke, “Deep breaths, now! Just try to focus on breathing. You’re still handling this wonderfully, my dear!”
A loud, muffled whimper escaped from Crowley’s throat. Despite the warmth, he continued to shiver as if he’d been stranded in the middle of Antarctica, without any wings or magic to escape.
“Shh! You’re okay, darling! Everything’s going to be alright!”
The rapid, lung-squeezing breaths persisted, and nausea pooled within the depths of Crowley’s stomach. His grip on Aziraphale’s shirt tightened. He knew he was safe now! He knew it was all just a dream. One that hadn’t even made any sense! One he’d probably shrug off later over how absurd it was. But he couldn’t escape the frantic reaction of his body. And that was just another problem he had with these episodes. They trapped his body in a frightful paralysis, even after he’d learned he was safe.
“Take your time, Crowley. The panic attack will pass. You’re doing well. Just remember not to fight it. It’s not going to hurt you. It’s just how your body’s choosing to react to your dream. It’ll be over before you know it.”
Crowley snuggled closer to Aziraphale, basking in the warmth the soft, angelic body offered. Sweat still beaded down from Crowley’s forehead, but the shivering reduced. The arms wrapped around him tightened the embrace, and the back rubbing continued. Perhaps the physical reassurance was managing the symptoms after all?
On and off, the rapid breathing tormented him. But each time it returned, it had persisted for a shorter duration and with less intensity. During the final cycle, hastened rasps, Crowley spoke, “A-Az… Azi-Aziraphale… I-I’m… I w-wish you didn’t h-have… have t-to see me l-like this…”
“Oh, Crowley! You needn’t say such things! You haven’t anything to be ashamed of!”
Fresh tears gathered in Crowley’s eyes, “B-but… but I’m a-always, always such a mess! I d-don’t know how to manage myself! I-“
“Shh! That’s enough! There’s no need to apologize for it! You don’t need to hide this from me!”
“B-but-“
“Darling, if I see you in a fit of distress right next to me while I read in bed, I’m not going to ignore it. I’m not leaving you to deal with that all by yourself! I love you, Crowley! Lovers don’t leave each other to fend for themselves in their darkest moments! I know you’d do the same for me.”
Crowley pulled away from Aziraphale, gazing into the lovely, baby blue eyes with his own tearful, amber, serpentine ones. He sniffled and asked, “Is this really not too much for you?”
“No,” Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed away the tears on Crowley’s left cheek. Crowley fought the urge to smile, and Aziraphale continued, “This isn’t too much for me, Crowley. You were just having a nightmare. You’re having a bad night, as everyone does at times! Stress, I presume?”
Crowley nodded, “M-maybe… perhaps… I don’t know!”
“Well, we have been working quite a bit trying to get this place in order… Even with a few miracles here and there, I don’t make it easy, do I? I just haven’t gotten settled into the new place yet!”
“S-so? You’re a little particular about things. That isn’t a problem for me!”
“Yes, yes! But I shouldn’t have gotten snappy yesterday! You were doing your best to try and make me comfortable here… I just… I miss the bookshop sometimes…”
“Yes… I miss the bookshop too… and I don’t really like books much,” Crowley snuggled against Aziraphale once more, “I don’t think you caused this, Aziraphale. I didn’t care that you were getting fussy over the new place. I was irritated too! This was… caused by something much worse… and much more ancient…”
Crowley sighed and closed his eyes. He added, “You know that.”
“Right… but I’m certain it didn’t help! Moving is already stressful in its own right, but I really ought to be better about things! You want things a certain way, too, you know.”
“Eh… I’m not too picky. I mean… er… I still want to organize your books sometimes. It’s not like we get customers anymore, yeah? Can’t I at least organize the books?”
“Oh, well, that’s where things get tricky! I’m used to keeping the bookshop a mess to deter customers!”
“Right, we’ll figure it out, I’m sure…”
“Y-yes! Right… perhaps we should take a break from renovating the place, yes? You should rest after having an attack like that. Would you like to take some of that medicine the therapist prescribed? I know you don’t like it, but it does seem to help you after your panic attacks. How about some water or tea?”
“Mgh… yes. Alright. I’ll take the meds. I feel… I’ve felt so shitty all day yesterday… I still feel like things will never be… right.” Crowley grimaced and continued, “Like everything is just fucked! But... I thought maybe I could just sleep it off? Maybe I was just exhausted or something? Suppose I was wrong about that, huh?”
“Yes, yes! Er... not wrong, actually. You should take the meds! It sounds like your anxiety has flared up again. I know it’s hard, darling, but you should try being mindful of it when it starts getting bad. The therapist believes you aren’t fully in touch with how you feel internally, and you need to practice being more in touch with your emotions, yes? That’s what the meds are supposed to help you with, dear.”
“I know… I just haven’t gotten used to them, I suppose. Not a bad reaction or anything… just the idea of needing them and not just indulging in alcohol. Glad I can still do that sometimes…”
“Yes, Crowley. But for now, we need to keep the drinking in moderation until you’re better. I know it’s different for us because we’re not humans, but it’s still best if you don’t have too many depressants right now. Not until we get this managed, alright? I know the alcohol seemed like an easy vice when we were dealing with the end times, but it likely wasn’t helping you in your healing.”
Crowley groaned and said, “Alright, fine! I’ll take the meds, drink water, and lie here all pretty while you read one of your books!”
Aziraphale stood from the bed and smiled down at Crowley, “Yes! You will be pretty while you lie next to me! You always are, my dear! And remember how relaxed you felt the last time you were medicated and curled up next to me? And I read a book to you? Oh, don’t act like you don’t enjoy that! I know you’re fond of some of the excerpts I enjoy sharing!”
Crowley lowered himself into a loose fetal position on the bed. Mild quivering still plagued his body. He was covered in old, sticky sweat and felt like he was locked in a freezer. His muscles had dissolved into jelly. But he was content. He replied. “Er… well… I’m not thinking too deeply about them most of the time.”
“No, need! I appreciate your willingness to let me share at all. I appreciate that you at least engage with some of it at times!”
“Right… but don’t think you can just pet my hair to make me smile while you read through all those passages! I… well… I don’t enjoy having my hair stroked and being read to that much! Ngk… It’s just the drugs making me melt like that! They’re quite nice!”
“Yes, I figure you’re not as opposed to them as you let on. Lucky, I found a therapist who knows demons well, yes? Even if she does happen to practice a little witchcraft on the side... And I'm not really sure how she's able to create medication for non-human entities in a pill form... You know, I’m still wondering if she puts something extra nice in those drugs. I’ve only ever seen you melt like this from, well, the devil’s lettuce!”
“Well, aren’t I supposed to be eating my greens, anyway? They certainly feel like they’re good for me.”
“Yes, I suppose. I’ll go grab some water, if that’s alright? Just try getting some rest, and don’t be afraid to let me know if you need anything else.”
The door shut behind Aziraphale, and Crowley gazed into the shadows of the bedroom—all the places the lamp’s light failed to reach. They shifted slightly at times, but not enough where he believed anyone but him would notice. He shut his eyes. Aziraphale would be back soon. There was no need to be spooked by shadows, for he knew nothing lurked within them. They couldn’t have! Not here. Not now. It was his mind playing tricks on him. Genuinely, he should take those meds more often.
He wasn’t living that life anymore.