Take These Broken Wings And Learn To Fly

Chapter Eight

How could he have been so careless? This wasn't how he had planned to do this, this was nothing like he's imagined, nothing like the dreams of gentle love and care Crowley should be treated with-

How had he forgotten himself like this? Allowed himself to lose control like this?

"I was too forceful", Aziraphale says, guilt churning in his gut where he'd felt so pleasantly light only moments ago. "Why didn't you tell me I was hurting you? I'm so s-"

"Don't." Crowley gives him a sharp look, pushing himself up from the floor, away from Aziraphale. "It's nothing, Aziraphale. Didn't even feel it until now. There, see?" He snaps his fingers, and the red streaks vanish from his body, his back left unblemished as it had been before Aziraphale had the audacity to touch him.

"It's not about- I...I'm sorry, Crowley. I shouldn't have-"

It's not the light scrapes that Crowley can get rid of with a thought that has dread spreading in Aziraphale's veins like acid, it's not the hint of wincing pain they caused.

It's the fact that Aziraphale hadn't even thought about it, hadn't spared a single thought to it the entire time. He should have realised, should have known better than to keep Crowley trapped with the wall's rough texture against his sensible skin, should have looked out and thought ahead- but to his great shame, this is the first time he really takes in how being pressed against the cold hard stone must have left the demon in discomfort, backside scratched and aching.

He hadn't spent a second considering their position, had only cared that it opened Crowley to his touch, kept him cornered and helpless in Aziraphale's grasp. It had been exhilarating, empowering, and he had been so caught up in his desperate need and desire for the demon that he had simply...taken.

He had simply taken Crowley, when he should have taken care of him.

Aziraphale heaves himself up from the floor, a chill on his skin now that he has cooled down, his heartbeat slowed. Crowley has his arms slung protectively around his torso, and Aziraphale's gaze catches on the dark marks of fingerprints on the demon's hips, the curve of his shoulder.

Nausea hits Aziraphale in a powerful wave, and the angel can't look at him standing there, all naked skin and beautiful lines and marks Aziraphale's hands have left on his body.

With a twitch of a finger, he dresses them both in something soft and comfortable, as if it could somehow make up for what he failed to provide before. As if putting the markings out of sight might miracle them out of existence.

Crowley doesn't move, keeps his arms around his chest, a furrow between his brows.

Aziraphale sighs.

"Forgive me", he says quietly, closing his eyes as Crowley's face darkens further.

"What are you doing?"

"I-" The angel swallows hard. "I didn't mean to, not like this. Goodness, I shouldn't-" He looks at the wall, back at the demon, something heavy settling in his chest.

"Don't do this", Crowley says, voice empty despite the plea in his eyes.

"T-This wasn't how I-" Aziraphale can't focus on anything but the cold guilt that's squeezing like a fist around his heart, the pictures of all the lovely things he had lined up in his head, a painful contrast to the reality of taking Crowley forcefully against a wall. "Oh Lord, I didn't- shouldn't have-"

He starts pacing, feels himself spiralling. He's powerless to stop it.

They have just found their way back to each other, they have just now taken the first steps after months of separation, hurt and anger and bitterness- and this is how he chooses to show Crowley what he truly feels. This is how he tries to mend things between them.