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Summary
“S’pose I should get out of your hair for what’s left of the night,” Crowley muttered into the rim of his wine glass, hesitant to end their time together with a final sip.
Years worth of separation had gone unspoken the entire evening, but perhaps that was for the best. Crowley had no intention of bringing it up. It seemed Aziraphale didn’t either.
“Not before I tend to those burns,” Aziraphale said. “I smelled the blood in the car, Crowley. Half a miracle isn’t going to fix holy damage, if a miracle would heal it at all. I’m afraid you’ll have to do this one the human way. Unless, you…well, unless you’ll let me heal them.”