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Aziraphale was undaunted by the deep darkness of the forest.
He wasn’t scared by the black cave entrance.
He didn’t look around nervously and his voice absolutely did not tremble when he called out, “Hello? Is there someone there?” And his heart didn’t beat faster at the slithery rasp from deep inside.
“Only I’ve been asked by the village to come see what’s going on. And I’m quite prepared to defend myself,” he added, against a low hissing growl that seemed to come from everywhere around him. “But I won’t if I don’t have to, because I believe that reasonable beings can work things out.”
The hissing grew louder.
“Oh dear,” he said, and stepped further into the cave. A finger-twitch summoned a ball of light.
It didn’t help as much as he’d hoped, really.
“I’m coming in now, and either we can talk like reasonable beings or, or, or we can’t, and obviously I prefer the first but whoever you are you simply can’t go terrorizing innocent villagers.”
“Innnnosssent?” rasped echoing around him.
“So you are a reasonable being, after all.” Aziraphale stepped farther in and found that suddenly the walls were moving, slithering and shifting. A glance showed him that yes, it was all around, even between him and the cave entrance. “There’s no need for that.”
“Huungry, aaangel,” came the voice, out of scales and muscle and throat.
Only one being addressed him that way. “...Crawly?” Something must have gone terribly wrong, for Crawly to have taken so monstrous a form.
“Yessssss.....”
“Crawly, is that you? You know there’s no need for all this.”
“Sssssooooo hungry.....”
“I’ve only got some dried goat and cheese in my pack, but it’s yours if you want it.”
“Need liiiight. Need youuuuu.”
Aziraphale stepped toward the moving wall of scales and reached his fingers out to brush along them. “I’m here, Crawly. I’m--” The texture under his fingertips changed, rough and tender at once, the scales broken and disarrayed. “Oh, Crawly, what happened to you?”
Crawly’s coils slowed and stopped, close enough around him to squeeze him with a thought. The light brightened with a thought, showing him badly-healing scars. Some were crooked, bunched at the ends and puckered in the middle; a few wept angry red and black.
“Oh, Crawly! My dear boy, what-- no. What is not important right now. Crawly, this might hurt, but may I try to heal you?”
“Angel... need youuuu....”
“You must tell me at once if this hurts you, of course. I think I can do this safely, but you MUST let me know.”
“Yesss... Pleeeeasssse....
Aziraphale settled himself, light brightening as his fingers and hands began to glow. “Are you ready?”
Crawly shifted, coiled so that one of the worst slashes was right in front of him, inches from his fingers.
“All right, my dear.” Aziraphale carefully reached out, brushed his fingers along that wound and let a bit of healing power spill out.
The hissing grew louder. The giant coils shivered, long rippling contractions as his light was absorbed into that smooth pebbled darkness. He watched the skin close up, the angry red of it retreat into orderly black scales.
“Are you all right? Should I continue?”
“Pleeeeassssse, angel....”
“If you’re quite sure, then.” Aziraphale rubbed his hands together against the chill of the cave, and got to work.
Crawly had braced for heavenly power to be agony. But he also knew that from the instant the angel had stepped up to the cave, his whole being had wanted to seize, hold, devour that light.
When it came, though-- oh, it was glorious, shining into him. It poured into the well of him and his flesh knitted under it... and then it stopped.
“Pleeeeassssse, angel...”
It crawled under his skin and soothed his aches, eased cracked bone and old scars and new wounds alike, and he took it all, all. His body, this monstrous serpent form, he was warm and his muscles shook with the effort of not squeezing the angel dry.
The light of Heaven poured into him, and he never wanted it to stop.
He came back to himself when it faltered-- Aziraphale was wavering, dimmed, his eyes fluttering closed.
Crawly caught the angel in his coils, cradled him. “Sssstupid angel,” he said, somewhat desperately, letting his tongue flick out and over the tiny limp form. Still alive, at least. Just depleted. “Can’t give everything away. Not to ssssomeone like me.”
Aziraphale didn’t answer.
Crawly tucked healed coils neatly around the angel, flicked out a tongue and tasted the air, and settled in to guard his rest.