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There is a moment before every catastrophe when it tips past the edge of possibility and overflows in inevitability. Crowley felt his cane slip on a patch of gravel and he used that moment to think: Fuck.
There are two types of falling. One has a capital F and the other doesn’t. Crowley hates them both for all their humiliating, painful, helplessness. Only one of them wakes him up at night, but that’s beside the point.
It had been a while. Fifty years might not be much in the grand scheme of an immortal life, but damn it, Crowley had been proud of himself. He wore more sensible shoes now and had dragged out the canes he’d put away when they’d gone out of fashion. Aziraphale had tried very hard to hide his longing for their walks in St. James once Crowley had told him about the pain. He’d felt a weird mix of guilty and flattered that Aziraphale cared enough to deny himself something for Crowley’s comfort. The cane had seemed the obvious solution, and it had helped, a bit. He managed without embarrassing himself or needing to deviate from the life he’d felt Anthony J Crowley ought to be leading. A life that included a frankly embarrassing number of walks in the park with Aziraphale. He’d gotten a little better at admitting when he was in no shape to go out to dinner and that had helped too. This had no relation to Aziraphale’s newfound willingness to order take out and share it on his couch instead.
It felt like time skipped over the actual falling, jumping from “fuck” to him being on the ground. Crowley only just avoided breaking his nose on the asphalt. The shock of the impact jolted up through his shoulders and his palms burned. His cane had landed just out of his reach. His knees throbbed and for a moment he thought it was just from the force of hitting the ground. Crowley sat slowly back and the ache of an already forming bruise flared into something much sharper. The mix of gravel and bits of glass had torn straight through his pants and his skin like tissue paper.
As an occult being brought into existence fully formed by Her, Crowley had missed out on the universal human experience of a childhood skinned knee. He got the idea, vaguely. They’d scream at the top of their little lungs until their parent handed them a bandaid and gave them a kiss and then they were off running again. It seemed just another trivial, human injury. As he pulled himself back to his feet, Crowley was struck with a newfound respect for human durability. He was long used to pain, but this bloody hurt. It looked wrong too, the way his skin had sloughed off against the ground like shedding but so much worse.
He glanced around. There was a couple on the other side of the parking lot, watching him. The woman’s face was a mix of pity and concern. She looked a second away from coming over to help him. Crowley grabbed his cane, moving more quickly than he should have. He limped without using it back to the Bently, unable to hide his uneven gait with the added pull of his knee. He fell into the seat and healed himself the second it was out of sight. It helped, but he knew it would just be a matter of time before everything else got worse to make up for it.
The drive back to his flat wasn’t bad. The climb up the stairs to his door was worse as the ache settled down into his bones. He sent a quick text to Aziraphale, canceling dinner that night. The angel wanted to come over anyway, but he waved him off. Just need an early night, he sent, and went to run a hot bath.
Crowley’s bathroom, much like the rest of his flat, was painfully minimalist with the exception of the plants. Succulents trailed across every black-tiled surface, a silvery eucalyptus tree blocked the light from the window. Crowley left it dark and dropped his glasses by the sink. Steam swirled around him, smelling of rosemary and sandalwood. Crowley dropped his jacket, vest and tie to the floor, but miracled the rest of his clothes away rather than deal with balancing and lifting his arms. He sank into water hot enough to damage a human and let his eyes drift closed. He’d stay until the water got cold, then find some heating pads, and hope he was able to move somewhat properly tomorrow. Canceling twice in a row just wouldn’t do.