(Set After Season 1)
(Word Count: 1350)
Crowley and Aziraphale had been spending the night like they usually did. After the rush of Armageddidn't cooled off, Crowley had settled into a new normal. It wasn't the best in some ways, but in others it was better than the demon could have ever imagined. Sure, he had been kicked out of his flat by the new London Embassy Demon, but he also had more freedom to hang out with Aziraphale. He had avoided telling the angel about his new living situation, not wanting to cause him more stress. If Crowley was being honest, (which he usually wasn't) he would say he was actually worried about Aziraphale. Aziraphale was the most angelic angel Crowley had ever met, and he could tell the separation from heaven was taking its toll. Aziraphale would insist he was fine, but Crowley had still caught him checking his wings, like he was fearing they would turn black. Crowley didn't have the heart to tell him that if he actually fell, his wings might completely fall off.
It had been two months since Almostageddon, and it had become commonplace for Crowley to stop by and spend his evenings with Aziraphale. On this particular night, Crowley was especially drunk. He hadn't gotten this wasted in ages, and he was dreading having to sober up. The problem with being utterly plastered was that Crowley had less control over his form. Crowley could already feel the scales creeping up and around his shoulder-blades. He had to concentrate on not letting his wings unfurl here, knocking the bookshop around.
In his inebriated state, Crowley hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings, and hit the arm of a sofa with the back of his knee. This sent him tumbling into the couch, which was covered in books. He tried to unfurl a wing to catch himself, but it was restrained by his clothes and he couldn't get it free in time. He landed on a large hardcover book, directly where his wing connected to his shoulder blade. Crowley hiss-yelled loudly in pain, the impact directly hitting an old scar from The Fall.
Hearing Crowley's call of pain, Aziraphale rushed into the room. The angel barely managed to save the bottle of wine he was bringing back with a miracle. Aziraphale found Crowley half-curled and trying vainly to rub his aching shoulder. Every slight touch Crowley grazed against his injured patch of flesh would end in a hiss of pain.
"Crowley! What happened?" Aziraphale rushed over, sobering up on the way, and reached out for his dear friend.
"NO!" Crowley threw his hands up, shielding himself from Aziraphale. Once he registered the shock on the angel's face, he immediately started reassuring him. "No- no angel I didn't mean it like that- I'm fine, I promise, just give me a second."
"Crowley," Aziraphale let out an exasperated sigh. He wasn't going to let the demon block him off again. "Let me help," the angel said softly, and offered a tender hand to his hurting friend. Crowley sighed softly, and gave in.
"Ok. Just give me a second." Crowley began to carefully slide off his jacket, trying to be gentle with his shoulder. He was grateful that he had decided to wear a button-up shirt for once, but grunted with annoyance when he remembered the black tank he was wearing under it. He blessed himself and his layering habits.
"Are- are you sure?'' Crowley asked Aziraphale tentatively. The angel had cleared off the books from the sofa, and they were both sitting on it sideways, facing each other. Aziraphale gave a slow and encouraging nod. Crowley took a deep breath, and carefully extricated himself from his undershirt. Crowley's eyes were wide, with no sclera to be seen. His golden snake eyes sparkled with brimming tears. The demon stayed stock still, not daring to move.
"Crowley, I can't help you if you don't turn, boy." the angel soothingly spoke to the shaken demon.
Crowley nodded, and turned to face the back of the sofa. Aziraphale grabbed a stool, and slid it over to sit behind Crowley. Aziraphale waited patiently until Crowley was ready, and unfolded his wings. A small gasp escaped Aziraphale's lips, and Crowley shrank away from the angel behind him.
"They're beautiful" Aziraphale breathed out. Crowley's wings were a deep black, with a shimmer of red through the feathers from the light. He had a magnificent broad wingspan taking over the majority of the three seat couch. His feathers were layered densely, and his underwings looked softer than a cloud. Crowley relaxed into the back of the couch releasing some of the tension he was holding.
"Dear, when was the last time you groomed these?" Aziraphale had stated the question very innocently, but Crowley cringed at the words. Crowley hadn't cleaned his wings because he couldn't. After being kicked out of his flat, he didn't have anywhere to go. His car was far too cramped, and public spaces were a huge no-go. He had entertained the thought of doing it in the bookshop, but it just felt... wrong. Crowley turned his head slightly, and looked at the mess his wings had become. He had a few primaries out of place, and his coverts were a mess. A few feathers had already been knocked loose and drifted down.
"May I?" Aziraphale gestured at Crowley's disheveled wings, and the demon faintly nodded. The angel began at the extremities of his wings, gently putting some feathers back in place, combing out the loose ones, and gently making sure they were clean. As the angel got closer to his back, Crowley relaxed into his touch. Crowley was glad he wasn't facing the angel, as his face was streaming with tears. He didn't think someone had touched him this tenderly since... ever. Sure he got jostled around in hell and all but... never touched gently. Once Aziraphale got to the joint connecting his wings to his back, he stopped.
"How did this happen?" Crowley heard the angel's voice shaking, like he was holding back tears
"What hap-? ...oh..." Crowley realized what Aziraphale was referencing. Crowley had a large, ragged scar across his back. It was white, and stood up in places. The scar was in clear contrast to the black scales he had emanating from his wings. The snake scales always manifested along with his wings, as another painful reminder of his Fall. The old wound was where he had hit the book. The pain had gone away as he relaxed, but he realized how bad it must look.
"I'm sorry angel- I promise it's-" Crowley tried to reassure him, but was cut off
"What happened?" Aziraphale insisted.
"It's from The Fall. The battle before, more specifically." Crowley said quietly.
"Oh my dear boy..." Aziraphale whispered.
"I've had it for so long now. I hardly remember it. It only hurts sometimes, y-know? Holy weapons and all that."
"Holy weapons?"
"Yea- more permanent damage i guess. No demonic miracle will fix it."
"Maybe... maybe a heavenly one will." Aziraphale gently brushed his hand across the scar, and Crowley could feel the lingering energy leave him. Crowley made a choked sound, amazed at how he felt without the lingering ache.
Crowley folded back his now neat wings, and sunk farther into the couch. Aziraphale slowly moved forwards, and brushed his hands across the demon's scaly shoulder-blades. Crowley flinched away.
"I'm sorry. Is this not ok?" Aziraphale pulled away for a moment.
"No no... it's ok. It's just... aren't you scared?"
"Why on earth would I be scared?"
"Demon... scales..." Crowley said hesitantly.
"My dear, I haven't been scared for 6000 years. Why would I start now?"
Aziraphale spent the rest of the night soothing Crowley, trying to clear away as much pain and damage as he could. The scars would be forever permanent, but they would no longer bring the demon pain. Sometime during the process, Crowley had fallen asleep. The angel gently lowered him down, and covered him with a blanket. As he was getting up to leave, he heard a soft, sleepy voice mutter out a soft thank you.
