Take These Broken Wings And Learn To Fly
"Why are you doing this?"
Aziraphale's voice is faint, his breathing uneven. Crowley doesn't lift his eyes to see the sickly look on his face, the twist of pain where only joyous smiles should ever be.
"Bandages need changing", he mumbles, eyes fixed firmly on his working hands.
"No. I meant-" He can hear as Aziraphale swallows. "Why do you care for me?"
It isn't just 'why do you take care of me'. It's 'why do you still care at all'.
Crowley has to close his eyes for a second, makes sure Aziraphale doesn't see.
"Cause you're here", he says, voice carefully detached, "and you're hurt, and you need someone. And that someone's gotta be me."
"Why?"
He won't answer that. He can't answer that.
"Don't ask stupid questions."
~oOo~
Or, the one where Heaven punishes Aziraphale the only way they know how, Crowley is there to help pick up the pieces, and maybe they can build something new and much more beautiful from both their broken shards.
Warning for blood and injury, aftermath of physical violence, drinking as a coping mechanism, symptoms of depression - heed the tags!
