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“I don't need you to help me, I can handle things myself," Aziraphale said while cutting several stripes from his spare linen shift tunic and neatly rolling them up.
Crowley glared at him with a disbelieving look on his face but before a scolding could leave his lips, the angel added with a strained smile: “I’m fine, I'm fine. Really."
“oh, ' I’m fine ' my arse, angel,” the demon burst out,"you are practically a mix between a pincushion and a strainer. And you can't even reach some of your wounds unless you dislocate something else."
The angel snorted and grumbled: "Uff, you're always overemphasising everything: those are just flesh wounds, nothing to worry too much about."
"NothHhHhing to… - Crowley hissed - …Aziraphale you stopped a charging horse with your bare hand and body that almost trampled you in that battle!!!"
"It wasn't a very polite horse," Aziraphale conceded.
"Have you ever found a 'polite horse'?" The demon grumbled, remembering some of his worst encounters with some equines (pretty much almost every one of them).
"Yes I did. Probably I have a better personality. Or charm," the angel said while struggling to put some bandages on his left leg.
Aziraphale was becoming paler and paler and some sweat covered his skin.
Crowley insisted: "There is no way you can do that by yourself. Let me help."
Aziraphale shook his head: "I've told you, I can handle this by myself. I have to, as an angel."
"Oh, right, I'm a demon," Crowley sputtered, "sorry for offering some help."
The angel grabbed the demon's clock and, lowering his eyes to the ground, he muttered: "Any angel on earth is expected to diligently take care of his own corporation and do the proper maintenance without any support unless it is a real emergency."
Crowley's eyes widened behind the black lens and clamped his jaw so quickly jealmost bit his serpentine tongue: "It'ssss a ssshhhitty rule, angel."
Before Aziraphale could interrupt him, he went on with his ranting: "You should be helped whenever you need and want it. Probably whatever asshole made that stupid rule has never left his fancy desk in heaven and asks help for everything, even to find his own ass."
The angel bashfully smiled and with a really faint voice he asked: "are you still willing to help me if I ask you nicely?"
"I won't do that if you ask me nicely. I'll do that if you ask me normally," the demon said with a playful wink. Then he snapped his fingers and a big crate appeared at his feet: it was full of bandages, wine, honey, herbs and ointments.
Crowley carefully treated every angel's wound with extreme care, completely sure that Aziraphale was hiding how much he had been injured or how much pain he was in.
Aziraphale was on the verge of tears: he felt so cared at that moment it almost overwhelmed him.
When the demon was done, he asked: "how are you feeling?"
“I’m fine,” the angel answered, "and this time I really mean it.