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    Summary

    Aziraphale was hunched a little, eyebrows drawn up into wounded pinch. He was breathing hard, soft grunts escaping on every other exhale. As if the sight of him clearly in pain wasn’t enough, Crowley was coming to realise what had seemed so different about him when he’d first appeared.

    Crowley swallowed down his initial grief-stricken thought, that he looked as though he’d been beaten and thrown into a pool of boiling sulphur. And then he’d spotted the mark, and he couldn’t deny his eyes any longer.

    His angel had Fallen. Aziraphale had Fallen.

    ~~~~~

    Or - yet another Fallen Aziraphale interpretation. I hope you enjoy!

    Language:
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