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Aziraphale shuddered, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle and his eyes squeezed shut. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Everything was too close and too loud and too bright and panic was pounding through his chest and his thoughts were racing by too fast for him to catch anything but the fear fear fear and he couldn’t breathe–
“–gel! Angel, can you hear me? Aziraphale, please, love, breathe–”
The voice, Crowley’s voice, slowly emerged through the haze of Aziraphale’s panic, and Aziraphale forced himself to look up, to open his eyes, and through the blur of tears he could see a streak of red and black and gold.
Crowley. Crowley was here.
Aziraphale opened his mouth, tried to speak, but the panic rose up again, violent and desperate and choking, like bile in his throat, and he slammed his eyes shut, curled in on himself, gasped for air that wouldn’t come, it wouldn’t, he couldn’t–
Hands. Something was touching his hands. Someone was holding his hands. Crowley was holding his hands, cool and steady and solid, and Azirapahle clung to him desperately, his entire body shaking. One of Aziraphale’s hands was moving, Crowley was moving it, and then it was pressed against something warm, something that rose and fell slowly, gently. Crowley was saying something, still, his voice a gentle, low murmur, and Aziraphale couldn’t make out the words, but that didn’t matter, not really. Aziraphale focused on Crowley’s hands, on the rising and falling beneath his own hand– Crowley’s chest, he realised somewhat belatedly– on Crowley’s voice, on Crowley, as his breathing began to slow to match the demon’s, as the panic began to trickle away, leaving Aziraphale cold and shaken in its wake.
He opened his eyes again, and though they were just as teary as last time, he managed to focus them on his husband, crouched down in front of him. Crowley’s sunglasses were off, as they often were these days, and his eyes were wide and worried.
“C-Crowley,” Aziraphale mumbled, his voice trembling just as badly as his body.
“Hey, angel,” Crowley said, a soft, relieved sort of grin spreading across his face. “Glad you’re back.”
Aziraphale shivered, loosening his grip on Crowley’s hands as best he could. “I’m sorry, my dear.”
“Oh, come on,” Crowley said, his voice still so achingly gentle as he tugged Aziraphale out of the armchair and into his lap, wrapping himself around the angel and squeezing him close. “We’ve talked about that, yeah? You don’t have to apologise, not for this sort of thing, not ever. Not to me. I’ve got you, whatever you need.”
Aziraphale let himself relax into his husband’s embrace, feeling the burn of tears behind his eyes again. “I love you ever so much, my darling.”
“I know,” Crowley said, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Aziraphale’s head. “Love you, too, angel. Always.”
Aziraphale turned his head to bury his face in Crowley’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s waist and taking a deep, shuddering breath. Crowley smelt of smoke and earth and warmth and home, and Aziraphale pulled him closer, soaking in the feel of him, of them.
Crowley, in turn, squeezed him just a little bit tighter, nearly constrictor-like, solid and grounding, just as wonderful as he always was.
How did I ever manage to get so lucky as to convince you to love me? Aziraphale wondered faintly, not for the first time, nor for the last. My darling. I love you so, more than I could ever hope to express.
“Crowley…” he breathed, barely audible against Crowley’s henley. “Thank you.”
“Always,” Crowley said again, pressing another kiss into Aziraphale’s curls.
Soon enough, they would get up. Crowley would fetch Azirapahle a class of water, and Aziraphale would tease him for fussing. Perhaps they would go out to dinner, or perhaps they would order in. They would stay up a bit too late, and drink more than a bit too much, and eventually Crowley would curl up around his angel and fall asleep as Aziraphale used the book in his hand as an excuse to marvel at his husband yet again. Soon enough, they would move on, keep going, just as they always did.
But, for now, they sat, together as they always were, always had been and always would be, and Aziraphale knew, in a way he had never quite been able to wrap his head around before all of this, that so long as he and Crowley were together, they could get through anything.