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Crowley is enjoying a nice evening, no scratch that he was having a fantastic evening. He had his angel over to his flat for once, not that he didn’t enjoy spending time at the book shop, but it was nice to have a change of pace sometimes.
He made sure to supply Aziraphale with a wide variety of snacks and copious amounts of wine. They were currently half way through the second movie of the night, his angel beside him, cuddled up together under a throw.
He is content, happy even.
That is until an odd sensation starts, like pressure in his head, he brushes it off as the start of a headache. He touches a hand to his temple, and considers for a moment that perhaps the wine might be the problem, and he should perhaps sober up.
“Ngk.” Crowley gasps. In an instant the pressure builds, tipping from uncomfortable to painful in a flash. Something unnatural tugging on his demonic essence.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale asks, quickly sitting up. “What’s wrong, dearest?”
Crowley blindly grabs at Aziraphale, fingers wrapping around his wrist. “m’being summoned.” He gasps out, it’s been such a long time since this has happened. Panic bubbles uncontrollably in his chest.
“No,” Aziraphale’s eyes go wide in surprise, then shock as Crowley doubles over. “Is it your former employers? How can we stop it?”
“Dunno, can’t…” Crowley chokes, the pull is getting stronger, and he’s not sure how much longer he can resist. It hurts more the harder he tries, he’s nearly crushing the angels bones in an effort to ground himself. “Can’t stop it.”
“It hurts, doesn’t it?,” Aziraphale says, his voice shaking, hand cupping Crowley's cheek. He strokes his thumb along his cheek “Let go, I’ll come to you.”
“Nonono.” Crowley furiously shakes his head, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Can’t.”
“I’ll find you, I promise.”
Crowley blinks from existence with a pop, leaving behind the faint scent of ozone and an angel, who is just as scared, alone in his flat.
—————————
Crowley regrets immediately the moment he opens his eyes, the bright lights burning. He reaches a shaking hand up, feeling along his face, unsurprised to find it bare. He had unfortunately not been wearing his shades when he’d been summoned.
He pushes himself upright, shielding his eyes from the fluorescent lights. One glance at the floor and he knows he’s well and truly fucked.
A devil‘s trap. A complex circle of sigils, drawn in red, surround him and will keep him trapped until it’s broken. This particular brand of trap draws its power from the demon contained within. Meaning the longer he stays the weaker he’ll get. Whoever summoned him would have him docile against his will.
Standing, as it turns out, is more difficult than it has any right to be. He stumbles, light headed and dizzy, to the edge of the circle, colliding with the invisible wall he knew would stop him.
“Oi!” Crowley yells, banging his fists on the barrier.
A man enters the room a few minutes later, young and blonde “You've finally woke up, I was beginning to worry we’d done something wrong during the summoning.”
“So sorry to keep you waiting,” Crowley muttered sarcastically, as he leaned against the barrier. “What d’you what? I don't really do deals, by the way, not my job and all that.” he asks, getting right to the point.
“Oh, no, nothing like that. We’d just like a feather or two.”
“Uh, yeah, I don’t just go around handing out feathers to humans either.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not asking. We’ll be taking them whether you like it or not.”
“Shove off.” Crowley says, the fear he felt while he was being summoned starting to take root again. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to summon demons? It rarely turns out well, I’ll tell you that.”
“I assure you, I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Crowley just scoffs are that, even though he can tell this guy is telling the truth. He knew it already anyway, no amateur would have access to the knowledge on these kinds of summoning circles. ”Let me go and I’ll go easy on you.” he tries to threaten.
The man turns and leaves, not even acknowledging Crowley’s threat, leaving him alone, trapped in his little circle in a cold room. Which is probably for the best, seeing as his knees decided that was the best moment to give out, collapsing to the ground, breathing as if he’s just run a mile.
How in the heaven is he supposed to get out when he’s this winded just from standing and having a conversation.
He needs Aziraphale.
Crowley rolls over in the gymnastics he performs when he remembers he has a cell phone in his pocket. A phone he can use to call Aziraphale immediately.
The phones screen blinks up at him, signalling a low battery, mocking him in his moment of need.
“Stupid fucking phone.” He growls at the device, mashing the power button over and over. “You know better than to die, haven’t you learned?”
The phone just sits in his hand, screen continuing to blink a low battery icon.
He groans, laying back on the cold concrete. He’s exhausted already, the circle draining him, he wonders how long he’s been here, unconscious. His eyelids are heavy, dropping shut, no matter how much he fights it.
----------------------------------
At some point, his captor returns and Crowley jerks awake, adrenaline flowing through his veins making his heartbeat rapidly.
“Are you willing to give your feathers freely?”
Crowley just flips him off from his spot on the floor.
“Remember I gave you the choice.” He says, turning around and waving someone into the room. Two other men come in, enter the circle coming directly for him. Crowley sits up, scrambles backward, but he doesn’t get far before he hits the barrier of the circle again.
As one of them reaches for him, Crowley kicks out, sweeping the legs out from under one of the guys, allowing him to roll to the side to avoid the second man’s reach.
Not that he can go very far, his circular prison is too small to give much of a chase, and he’s already worn out from that small burst of energy. He makes it maybe one or two steps before his knees give out and he tumbles forward, sliding on his knees. He’s grabbed and wrenched up violently by the wrists just seconds later.
Crowley hangs there, panting, unable to break their hold.
“Will you show your wings willingly?”
Crowley says nothing, can do nothing, not even hide the fact that he's starting to shake like a leaf.
“Demon, I command you to show your wings.”
Crowley gasps, it’s the same pull he felt before, when he was first summoned. He feels compelled, deep in his core, to obey that command, even though it’s the very last thing he wants to do. He fights against it with a strangled yell, he won’t give them what they want. Can’t let them have what they want.
But in the end he’s powerless to stop his wings from tearing free, entirely against his will. They unfurl to sag limply to the floor behind him, the effort of resisting leaving him even more exhausted, sweat dripping down his temple.
The asshole, whom Crowley now assumes is the leader of some kind of cult or something, finally approaches, running his hands along his patagium, fingers rubbing through soft downy feathers. Crowley can't stop the shiver of revulsion that shakes through his wings, feathers trembling.
“You have such beautiful wings for a demon, I was expecting something more grotesque.”
“Don’t touch me.” Crowley barks, wing instinctively twitching away from the hold, which only causes the man to grab tight, grinding bones together and bruising the sensitive skin beneath the feathers.
Crowley gasps in pain, his eyes wide and now completely yellow.
He gets absolutely no warning when a feather is ripped from his wing, the air kicked from his lungs in a strangled gasp. pain shoots up his limb, the way it happens when a primary flight is plucked before it’s ready, ripped from the bone. One more is ripped out and still, Crowley doesn’t scream.
“This'll do for now, thanks.” He says cheerfully walking away, stroking along the barbs of the long black feathers.
The lackeys drop him unceremoniously in a heap on the floor, and he curls in on himself. His wing is throbbing with each beat of his heart, so he stops his heart from doing that. It doesn’t help as much as he’d like.
He slowly lifts the damaged wing, wincing at the gap that's left in the primaries. Thank someone that he didn't have any blood feathers right now, or he'd be fucked even more than he already is.
Crowley goes to tuck his wings away, but they stubbornly refuse to budge.
———————————
Crowley spends his time trapped in the god forsaken trap falling in and out of a doze, fighting to stay alert but failing.
His only indication that time is passing at all is the fact that people kept coming and plucking feathers from his wings, only ever a couple at a time, but it’s always the long flight feathers.
He can barely stand to see his own wings with the gaps.
The next time he has a visitor, he’s not coherent enough to even try to struggle. The only fight he can manage is a pitiful twitch of his wings, but hands roughly grab and pull. This time he stilfes a scream into his hands as another primary is ripped from the bone.
This time when he’s left alone, he finally lets himself cry.
__________________________
He startles awake, aware of a presence in the room again, assuming it’s someone coming to steal more feathers from him.
Laying on his side, he weakly curls in on himself, pulling his wings in as close to his body as he can.
What he’s completely unprepared for, is a gentle touch and the sound of Aziraphale’s voice.
“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale says, and Crowley can heat the shake in his words, knows he must look a state. He half opens his eyes, weakly grabbing for Aziraphale’s outstretched hand. “Look at what they’ve done to you.”
“Angel.” He rasps, voice cracking, sounding near tears.
“I’m here, my love.” Aziraphale frowns, brushing dirty hair from Crowley’s forehead, feeling not one shred of guilt for what he’s done to the people holding Crowley captive. Not have he’s seen his demon, and the state he’s in.
“They took’em, m’feathers.”
“I know, it’s been taken care of.” Aziraphale squeezes Crowley’s hand, looking around the room. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll need to break the circle.”
“Wait, no…” Crowley tries to hang onto Aziraphale’s hand when he stands. He doesn’t want his angel to leave him, not when he just got there, but he doesn’t have the strength to hold on.
Aziraphale stops for just a moment. “I’ll be just over there, I’m trying to get you out.”
Crowley can hear Aziraphale doing something behind him, but can’t see, so he has no warning when the circle is finally broken.
His powers flood back, he arches off the ground, mouth open in a wordless scream. In his already weakened state, it’s overwhelming and he’s left panting, feeling like he just got struck by lightning.
“Did, did that hurt you?” Aziraphale asks, running back to him, hands searching for injuries.
Crowley shakes his head, breathing deep, for the first time he feels like he could get up and not keel over. “Just was a little overwhelming.”
Crowley slowly sits up, with Aziraphale arm wound his shoulders to support him.
“Should you be sitting up?”
“I’m fine,” Crowley starts, but then rethinks. “Ok, maybe not fine, but I’m better than I was a moment ago.”
With a grimace he tucks his wings away, thankful they listened this time. It did nothing to help with the ache, but he would hopefully start to heal now.
“We should go, before anyone else shows up.” Aziraphale suggests, he had taken care of everyone he’d encountered trying to find his Crowley, but he’d rather not stick around to long.
“Couldn’t agree more.” Crowley says wholeheartedly, and starts to get up.
“Just wait a second,” Aziraphale says, stopping Crowley's movement with just a hand on his shoulder. “A moment ago, you could barely lift an arm. Let me carry you.”
“Angel I assure you, I can walk out of here on my own.”
“Dear, you’re not even wearing shoes.” Azirapahle points out. When Aziraphale looks pleadingly into his eyes, he just nods.
Aziraphale looks grateful, thankful even that he didn’t have to argue his point more. And then he’s shrugging out of his jacket. Crowley fixes him with a stare, one eyebrow raised.
“What?.“ Aziraphale says, draping his jacket over Crowley's shoulders, covering his thin shirt that’s been soaked through with sweat. ”You’re shivering.”
“You’re not afraid I’ll get it dirty?” A shiver completely unrelated to the chill runs through him, as it often does when Aziraphale does anything kind for him. The fabric still holds the warmth from Aziraphale’s body, he pulls it closer, reveling in it.
“You can make it up to me later.” Aziraphale picks him up with ease. Crowley had a bad habit of forgetting how strong he actually was, the angel didn’t showcase it very often.
He happily settles his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, and for all his complaining, he’s more than a little grateful Aziraphale insisted on carrying him, holding him securely against his chest, not that he’d admit that out loud.
Crowley almost has a heart attack when he sees the Bentley.
“Y-you drove the Bentley?” Crowley is now squirming quite a lot, but he’s not getting anywhere as Aziraphale tightens his hold.
“How else should I have gotten here. I don’t think you would have much appreciated going home In a taxi cab.“
Aziraphale was right of course. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Not with how vulnerable he felt. And honestly, he’s really happy to see his Bentley.
“Before you go and get any ideas, I am driving is home.”
”Angel, please.” Crowley says, trying to reason with his angel. “You can’t even drive.”
“I got here, did I not?” Aziraphale retorts, the passenger side door of the Bentley opening obediently. “And besides, I have watched you enough that I know exactly what not do, at any rate.”
“That’s...fair.” Crowley concedes, sinking gratefully into the worn leather when Aziraphale sets him gently into the car, happy to be somewhere warm and familiar and comforting.
He watches Aziraphale closely, as he turns the keys in the ignition, turns the heat on high, and sets the radio to a low volume. When Aziraphale reaches to shift the car into drive, he’s ready to jump in and insist on taking over, but to his surprise, the angel is doing fine and they’re rolling down the road, albeit at a much slower pace than he’d prefer.
“You know you can go faster.”
“I can not, I’m already going the speed limit, dear.” Aziraphale points out.
“Come on angel, you’re going slower than.”
“I am not going to endanger your life anymore tonight, that’s final.” Aziraphale says calmly, but his tone leaving no room for arguments.
“Fine, fine.”
They lapse into a comfortable silence after, Aziraphale continuing to go at least 5 below the speed limit. But he can’t find the energy to be annoyed, he’s more comfortable than he’s been in days, safe, Aziraphale beside him. Instead he lets steady motion of the car lull him to sleep.
—————————-
Aziraphale pulls the Bentley into its usual parking spot in front of the book shop, having proudly gotten them back in one piece.
Aziraphale ever so carefully carries Crowley inside, the demon stirs in his arms and nuzzles into his neck, but stays asleep, even while he lays him out on the bed,
He doesn’t even wake when Aziraphale checks him over for injuries, wrestling him out of his shirt. Doesn’t react when he presses his palm to Crowley’s forehead. An unnatural heat radiating there, the demon most definitely running a fever now, body most likely kicking into overdrive at the trauma of having so many feathers violently ripped out before they were ready.
“Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale perches on the edge of the bed, gently shaking Crowley by the shoulder, earning a few annoyed grumbles. “I’d like to give your wings a once over.”
“Hurts.” He sighs, not making any moves to give into Aziraphale’s request.
“I know.” Aziraphale says, his heart breaking. “I know you’re hurting, I’d like to see if I can help.”
Crowley finally opens his eyes, stares at him half lidded for so long Aziraphale is sure he’s not going to let him do it, before finally nodding his consent.
“Ready when you are, my dear.” He says softly, as he helps Crowley roll on to his belly.
With a whimper and a white knuckled grip on the pillow, Crowley lets his wings unfurl, resting over the edges of the bed. The bone deep ache renewed with the movement.
Aziraphale’s stomach drops all over again at the sight of Crowley’s wings. He had seen them earlier, but he still was unprepared to see the damage again, to be reminded of the cruelty. It made his heart hurt that some had done this to his love. And made his own wings ache in response.
“I’ll be gentle.” He smooths his hand down Crowley’s back, between his shoulder blades.
Starting with the worst looking of the pair, Crowley’s right wing is missing a majority of the primary and secondary flight feathers plucked, the few that remain ragged, but hopefully salvageable.
Aziraphale gently parts the coverts and downy feathers that sit closest to the limb, a sharp inhale, when he expose irritated skin, red and swollen around the follicles. When he looks further, he finds that some had been so forcibly removed that the skin had torn, leaving nasty looking scabs.
He tries to be soft with his touches, but he could still feel Crowley flinch. “Sorry.” Aziraphale says, running the pads of his fingers over the wounds, doing what he could to heal the irritation and, hopefully, soothe Crowley’s pain a little.
Aziraphale whispers comforting words as he works, pushng healing energy into his wings,
“Has this helped at all?” Aziraphale asks when he finally feels the muscles in Crowley’s back loosen.
“A little, yeah.” Crowley sighs, sinking further into the pillow, blinking slowly as he watches Aziraphale examine his wings. “S’not throbbing anymore, just sore. Sore all over though, honestly.”
Aziraphale hums, smoothing his hands over Crowley’s remaining feathers. “There doesn’t seem to be any lasting damage, but we should keep an eye on the new feathers when they begin to grow.”
“Thanks, angel.” Crowely says slowly, already falling back asleep. “Gonna be useless for a while.”
“That’s perfectly alright, you can rest and sleep as much as you need, I’ll be here with you.”