Take These Broken Wings And Learn To Fly

Chapter Eight

Finished this minutes before going back into my theology lecture xD

Come yell at me in the comments :)))

~oOo~oOo~oOo~

They sit beside each other, backs against the wall, their breathing heavy in the quiet air around them.

Aziraphale has cleaned them up with a wave of his hand, his skin is tingling with the thrill of his release, singing with pleasant warmth wherever he can still feel the phantom touch of Crowley's hands on him.

He glances over at the demon, follows the long line of his throat where Crowley has tipped his head back to rest against the wall. He's breathtakingly stunning, flushed red and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, so painfully human and yet so extraordinary in his transcendental beauty that he couldn't be anything but the supernatural being he is.

Aziraphale's eyes catch on a scattering of black along the demon's collarbone, noticing for the first time that scales have popped up all over his body, along his calf and between his knuckles, down the side of his upper arm and- Aziraphale swallows. He's not sure how long they've been there, if he has touched them and was simply too distracted to realise. His fingers are itching to reach out and feel them now, find out if they're as sleek and glossy as they look.

They're gorgeous, is what they are. Pitch black with a deep red shimmer along the edges.

Aziraphale doesn't reach out, simply looks, and Cowley follows his gaze, seemingly surprised by their presence himself. Yellow eyes find Aziraphale's, staring intensely as if the demon is waiting for him to comment, but Aziraphale stays silent.

Crowley's shoulders relax, sinking down a little further, his bare back scraping along the wall, and Aziraphale hears a low hiss escape between the demon's teeth.

"Are you alright, Crowley?"

"Hm? Yeah." He waves it off, flexing his shoulders. "Sure. You?"

It sounds casual, an easy affirmation, but Crowley doesn't look at him, staring at the opposite wall of the hallway instead. Aziraphale has spent millennia studying the demon's facial expressions, knows every subtle variation in the tonality of his voice, and there's something in it right now that has alarm bells going off in the angel's head right away.

"Mhm."

Aziraphale hums, fighting the pit that is insidiously forming in his stomach, chasing away the pleasant warmth that had been swirling there.

Crowley gives him a look, bending one of his legs, foot on the floor as he leans his elbow against the knee.

"Aziraphale?"

Crowley turns towards him, leaning away from the wall as he does so, and visibly trying to hide the way he winces at the movement, but Aziraphale notices, of course he does. There are hints of red along Crowley's side where he's leaned away from the wall, and Aziraphale reaches out, ignoring Crowley's grunt of protest as he pushes the demon's shoulder to turn him further, exposing Crowley's back to him.

That damnable pit in his stomach opens wide, swallowing all warmth left in the angel's body and leaving nothing but cold dread behind.

"You're hurt", Aziraphale hears himself say.

He traces a careful thumb over one of the red marks adorning Crowley's skin, making the demon flinch slightly.

"S'nothing", Crowley mumbles, shrugging Aziraphale's hand off.

Somehow, that's almost worse than the sight of his skin, reddened and scraped all the way from his shoulders down to his hips.

"It's not nothing, I-" Aziraphale feels his throat closing up.