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It was a dark and stormy night. It hadn’t started off that way, though. It had started off as a clear night, the perfect sort of night for stargazing.
Or, in this instance, stargazing while flying over the South Downs.
Crowley twisted to look up and sighed. Not a star to be seen anymore, just the heavy blanket of clouds lurking just above them. “Well. I guess we’ve seen all the stars we’re gonna see tonight.”
“Afraid so.” Aziraphale glided along beside him, white wings practically glowing each time lightning flickered in the clouds. He tilted so their wings wouldn’t get tangled, caught Crowley’s hand, and squeezed. “I’m sorry, dear boy. We’ll head home and try some other time.”
“Mm,” Crowley agreed glumly. Living in one of England’s dark sky reserves made it all the more insulting when despite the lack of light pollution, he still couldn’t see his stars. He missed his stars.
“Perhaps a spot of wing grooming when we get back?” Aziraphale slowed, tugged Crowley to slow as well, and then let go of his hand. The angel twisted around, spreading his wings. “See, mine are certainly in need of it. And grumbling at me about my lack of grooming always cheers you up.”
Crowley snorted, brushing his fingers against the fluffy white feathers before Aziraphale’s next flap. “You need someone to grumble at you. I know angels are usually bad at keeping their wings groomed, but you could win a medal.”
“Why, thank you.”
“That was not a compliment.”
“Well, I suppose it depends on how you look at it.” Turning, Aziraphale gave him the sort of smile that meant he was gearing up for a long, likely pedantic discussion. “I suppose it depends which metric you use. I’m aware that for you demons, pride and self-interest is considered a good thing. Whereas angels ought to be more focused on—”
A searing blast of light rent the sky apart. A sharp hiss, a crack, and Crowley screamed as agony set his right wing ablaze.
He hurtled downwards, spinning wildly. Pain crackled along his wing, down his back, up his neck. The stench of burning feathers slammed into him, and time blurred.
Cast out of Heaven, tumbling through the celestial realms. Wailing question after question as he Fell, as the white of his wings charred to black, as his very nature burned away.
Crowley reached out wildly for help, for anything. He flapped one wing, trying to slow himself, and only made the spin worse. No way to catch himself, he was gonna fall forever—
He slammed into something, or something slammed into him. Arms locked around him, clutching him close to warmth. “Crowley, I have you, just hold on!”
Too much pain, he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything other than scream as he fell. His wing burned worst, deep blistering agony. Was he on fire? Had he hit the boiling pool of sulfur yet?
When it came, the impact shocked him. Not a bone shattering crash against hard ground or a scorching splash into sulfur.
Instead, an almost soft landing. And then he was being lowered, cradled, a warm hand on his cheek as he writhed. “Crowley, look at me! Look at me!”
Crowley cried out, trying to clutch at his wing. “It hurts!”
“I know, but I need you to hold still. Hold still, look at me.”
Through the haze of agony, Crowley looked up. Aziraphale bent over him, his face taut with concentration. “My wing,” Crowley choked again.
“It’s a bit on fire, but I’m putting it out. You’re going to be okay.” Aziraphale’s voice shook, but he patted at the agony of Crowley’s wing. “Just a few embers left, here we go.”
Another brilliant flash, followed by a thundering boom. A few raindrops fell, and then a deluge.
White wings swept above Crowley, sheltering him from the storm. He shivered in Aziraphale’s arms, woozy. “What… the deuce happened to me?”
“Well, I’m afraid you got hit by lightning.” The worry on Aziraphale’s face worsened. He touched Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley hissed in pain. “This is quite nasty, rather a lot of burns. I need to get you back to the cottage. We’ll fly.”
He scooped Crowley up and stood. Fresh pain erupted through Crowley’s burns, and he let out a wheezing moan. “What if you get… hit by lightning too?”
“Well, I suppose we’d better hope that doesn’t happen.” Without giving him time to reply, Aziraphale launched into the air.
With Aziraphale’s wings occupied in flight, rain soaked through Crowley’s clothes in seconds. Thankfully, he was too distracted by pain to care much about being cold. He managed to pull his left wing against his back, reducing the drag, but his scorched right wing hung limply.
Another flash of lightning spiderwebbed across the sky beside them, and Crowley tensed. “Angel, we’ve gotta get out of the air!”
“I’m quite aware, don’t worry.” Still keeping Crowley in a tight hold, Aziraphale glided through the air, wings spread wide. Rain plastered his light curls to his brow as he squinted down. “Almost there, hold on just a bit longer!”
He banked to the right, then dove down.
Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, head spinning. Kind of felt like he was going to pass out, pressure building on his head. But even if he did pass out, Aziraphale would take care of him.
He didn’t quite pass out, but the world flickered in and out of clarity. Another impact, and then the rain stopped again. He looked up into white feathers, into Aziraphale’s frightened face. Then things went dark again.
When they came back, Crowley wasn’t being held anymore. Instead, he lay facedown on something soft, something that wasn’t his angel.
Panic twisted his stomach, and he clutched at the mysterious soft thing. “Aziraphale?” he called, voice coming out shakier and significantly less cool than he liked.
“I’m here, I’m right here.” Aziraphale’s plump hand settled on the back on his arm, reassuring pressure. “I need to see how bad these burns are. Likely going to need to undress you, is that okay?”
Normally, Crowley would have taken the opportunity for an innuendo-laden joke even though neither he nor Aziraphale had an interest in that sort of thing. Right now, though, he just wheezed vaguely in permission. He hurt too much to manage a joke.
Also, wow, now he was cold. He shivered as droplets of water slid from his hair across his face.
“Okay, easy.” The thing under Crowley—the bed—shifted as Aziraphale sat. Hands brushed against Crowley’s back. The tingle of a miracle hummed through the air, and his shirt vanished. “Oh, oh dear. You really are quite scorched.”
That seemed like an understatement, given the ongoing blaze of pain. “Hhhng?”
“I ought to be able to heal it, don’t worry. Your wing is… hmm. Your poor feathers.” Aziraphale gave a small sigh. “Well, we’ll worry about that later.”
Crowley really wanted to worry about it now, but thankfully things went a bit blurry. He just laid there, trying not to let out too many yelps of pain as Aziraphale’s gentle hands worked on him.
Careful waves of miracles swept across the burns, mending the damage. And then a new feeling of damp chill. “Just putting some cool cloths across the areas that had the worst burns,” Aziraphale explained when Crowley hissed at him. “Won’t be there for too long, I promise.”
“You are planning on letting me get clothes back at some point, I hope?” Crowley’s voice rasped a little, throat raw from the earlier screams, and he twisted to glare at Aziraphale over his shoulder. “It’s bloody freezing.”
Still pale, Aziraphale gave a pained smile and smoothed hair off Crowley’s brow. “I know. Blankets rather than clothes for now, I think, and you’re going to need to keep your wings out for a while. It’ll be too much of a strain to put them away just yet.”
Aziraphale’s wings were still manifested, white feathers sticking out all over the place, and Crowley pursed his lips. “You’re not gonna let me groom yours tonight, are you?”
That earned a horrified look. “Certainly not! You’ve just been struck by lightning. My ruffled feathers are the least of our worries.”
Least of their worries or no, Crowley’s fingers still itched to put Aziraphale’s neglected wings in order. He surrendered for now. “What’s with my wing?”
“Some burns, which I can mend, but also some missing feathers. And you know how it is, those will have to grow back on their own.”
Crowley did know how it was. He shuddered, huddling up. “Great. Loads of itchy pin feathers for me, eh?”
His voice trembled, and Aziraphale took his hand in a careful grasp. “I’m sorry this happened. I can’t imagine how scary it must have been for you, considering.”
In the old days, before they settled down to peaceful retirement and a comfortable life together, Crowley would have tried to deny it. Snapped back that demons don’t get scared, that he was fine, it was no big deal. Now, he just nodded. The words lodged in his throat, refusing to come out, but he could nod.
Aziraphale bent and kissed his brow, then fussed over his wing again. Plump fingers combed through Crowley’s feathers, straightening and adjusting. Not preening, exactly. That wasn’t his focus.
Crowley calmed under the careful touches, his heartbeat finally slowing. Aziraphale worked in silence, their usual chatter suspended in favor of mere presence. After a steady friendship for over six thousand years and their additional partnership of the last decade, presence did more than anything to soothe the old memories, the old fears.
“There,” Aziraphale finally said, skimming a light stroke across Crowley’s coverts. “That’s a bit better. Afraid you did get quite ruffled yourself.”
“And a little charred, eh?” Crowley managed a smile, turning to glance at his angel. Worry still lurked in Aziraphale’s expression, but it was no longer overwhelming. “Thanks for taking care of it. You know how much I like my wings tidy.”
“I certainly do. And I’ll be happy to fuss over you while new feathers come in.”
Aziraphale stood, taking hold of his sore wing. “Here, do you want to roll onto your side? I know it’s not exactly comfy with these out.”
“Nnnh, yeah. Side’s better than stomach.” Bracing against the bed, Crowley adjusted. His arms trembled, muscles weak from the shock of injury and then healing, but at least he could move that wing now with Aziraphale’s help. “I’ll have to groom yours up tomorrow. You’re a bloody disaster.”
“As long as you feel up to it, that sounds like a lovely plan.” Motions slow and careful so as not to get fabric tangled with wings, Aziraphale settled blankets across Crowley. Finally, with a sigh, he rolled his shoulders, and the white wings vanished as he tucked them out of the physical plane. “Anything else that you need, my dear?”
A drink sounded terrific—lots of drinks, honestly—but also exhausting. Crowley held out a hand. “Just you. Get in, angel.”
With a soft chuckle, Aziraphale climbed into bed and pressed a long, lingering kiss to his brow. “You have me, always. And if you need to talk…”
Crowley hesitated. He’d never liked talking about his Fall, even with Aziraphale. Especially not while sober. But if he fell asleep now, right after such a bad scare, without getting any of it out…
“I… had a flashback.” He drew Aziraphale’s hand up and leaned his cheek against his angel’s soft, warm palm. “While I was falling. Didn’t know where I was. Thought I was Falling, didn’t know if I was gonna hit the ground or a pool of boiling sulfur.”
“Oh, goodness. That sounds terrifying.”
“Yeah. Could feel my wings burning again, feathers charring. I thought I was gonna end up back in…” Hell threatened to close in around him again, and he took a deep breath. No, he wasn’t back in Hell, damned. He was home, with his best friend and partner. “Anyway. M’ probably gonna have some nightmares again for a while.”
“I know,” Aziraphale said softly. “I won’t leave you alone while you sleep, I promise. I’ll be right here.”
“Thanks. Always take good care of me.” Exhausted, he turned to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s palm. He breathed in deeply, basking in the familiarity of his angel’s smell. “I’d like to say that I knew you’d catch me, earlier. I was pretty out of it though.”
“That’s all right.” Aziraphale smiled kindly, then moved in and pulled Crowley to snuggle close against his soft warmth. “I caught you anyway.”
He had, both physically and emotionally. Crowley closed his eyes, relaxing despite the deep aching soreness in his wing. It would take some time to recover, but they’d get through it. Aziraphale always found a way to soften even the hardest landings.