One-Shots - Good Omens | Ineffable Husbands

We Have a Problem

TW: Wounds 

Crowley was spending the afternoon in his flat. It was a dreary day outside, with clouds covering the majority of the sky. Crowley groaned as he aimlessly flipped through television channels.

"There is nothing on..." he murmured, flicking his hand to scroll through the channels.

A light knock at his door interrupted his boredom, though. He assumed it was Aziraphale, so with a swish of a hand, he unlocked the door and let it swing open. The sound of the door closing and light footsteps made Crowley believe his assumption was correct.

"Crowley, we have a problem," Aziraphale's voice said behind him.

"We do?" Crowley asked, getting up from the couch and going to meet Aziraphale.

Aziraphale nodded his head. His face was dirty, caked with mud, faint bruises and... blood.

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" Crowley asked, his stomach dropping.

Aziraphale shuddered before taking in a deep breath. With a wince of pain, he unfurled his wings. The usual pristine white angel wings were practically destroyed. They looked as if they had been shredded, feathers missing in large chunks and some falling to the floor as Aziraphale just stood still. The feathers that remained were stained with red. One of his wings was drooping more than the other, the end joint bending in the wrong direction.

"A... A... Aziraphale! What happened?!" Crowley rushed over to his friend, who was heaving with shaking breaths.

"It doesn't matter just- just help me," Aziraphale choked, his eyes pooling with tears.

Crowley nodded his head frantically. He grabbed Aziraphale by the arm and lightly pulled him to the couch. Aziraphale happily collapsed onto the black sofa.

"Have you tried healing yourself?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale laid his head in his hands as his wings hung limp on either side of him. "I don't have the energy..."

Crowley should have figured that out for himself. It's not like Aziraphale would purposely put himself through pain- he didn't heal himself for a reason. Crowley felt a little stupid.

"Just hang tight, I'll find something to... help fix all this," Crowley stuttered before dashing off into another room.

Crowley didn't really keep a 'first-aid kit' as most ordinary humans do, after all, there was no reason to. Whenever one of them was hurt Aziraphale would just heal them up. That's because Aziraphale was an angel- he was supposed to help people. With Crowley being a demon and all, he didn't really have the ability to heal.

Crowley dug around the flat, trying to find anything that could help patch up a set of broken angel wings. By the time he hurried back to Aziraphale, he had gathered a couple of rolls of bandages, isopropyl alcohol, and a towel. It was obvious that the blood would have to be washed off at some point, but right now Aziraphale just needed to be patched up and then get some rest.

Crowley had pulled up a chair in front of the couch and he was staring nervously at Aziraphale. Where was he even supposed to start?

"Aziraphale, what happened?" Crowley asked again.

"It doesn't matter," Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley scrunched up his face. "What do you mean it doesn't matter? Of course, it does! What aren't you telling me?"

"If I tell you you're just going to get mad!" Aziraphale pleaded.

"What are you talking about?"