Gold Patterns and Deep Scars

“Your wings were taken.”

Aziraphale whispers the words quietly as he touches the four large marks adorning his other’s back. They had been made a long time ago, but they were still very much visible. The scars were long, and he could feel the dips in the surface of the skin as he let his fingers cart past the edges. His reverent focus only broken as Crowley gives him a half-hearted shrug and a crooked grin over his shoulder.

“At least I still have a pair. Can’t say everyone got that lucky.” Crowley turns and catches Aziraphale’s outstretched hand in his, looking down as he traces soft patterns in the palm. “And-“he looks up, letting their eyes meet- “now I see that Falling wasn’t the only way to lose them.” He lets his other hand reach behind to Aziraphale’s back.

“They locked them away, didn’t they?” Crowley leans forward, resting his forehead against his adversary’s. His constant. His partner. His Other. He lets his fingers trail along the golden metallic patterns spread across his angel’s back.

Golden patterns that shackled heavenly wings and celestial essence.

“Punishment for the whole Eden ordeal,“ Aziraphale says, letting out a little huff in broken amusement before he continues. “I had failed my task as a Cherub and Guardian. In the eyes of heaven, I should have Fallen because of my mistake, but I didn’t. They never found out about the sword, but, well if they had known, my punishment would have quite likely been… worse. I simply got demoted.”

“Who gave them the right to do this to you? If She had wanted you to Fall, She would have made it so.” Crowley sneers, ceasing his absent tracing of golden chains.

“Oh, it’s quite all right, my dear.” Aziraphale smiles reassuringly. He takes his partner’s hand into his own, entwining them. “If they hadn’t demoted me, I would have never spent all of these years thwarting all of your silly and clever wiles,” he reaches after the blanket that had been teetering at the edge of the bed, draping it around them both as they settle back down, “I would not have had this. I would not have had you.”

“Still not fair,” Crowley grunts tiredly, resting his head onto Aziraphale’s warm shoulders. He feels soft lips against his temple as he drifts off.

“Perhaps, but neither was your Fall.”