Work Text:
Crawly can’t help the cautionary glance he throws heavenward, the white wing that hangs in the space between curly red hair and the darkening sky. They can’t help the bit of sulfur still clinging to the inside of their throat as they struggle to remember how to breathe.
But Crawly can help to cast their gaze to the right; golden eyes meeting blue; and a gentle smile on the angel’s lips that somehow tell Crawly that everything will be alright, and that they believe Aziraphale. And just for a moment, it’s easier to breathe; for a moment, everything is easier.