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mekachu04"Angel…" Crowley whispered, coiling tighter around the celestial being's very corporeal knees, and said being groaned back into the world of the waking.
Aziraphale already was not a fan of sleeping - considering it time wasted that could be better spent indulging - so he had limited experience in crossing over from dreamland to the waking world to begin with. and this particular visit to the sandman had been because his body had been battered and pained to the extent it had to shut down in the face of pain so it could focus on healing.
and the human body would heal, despite the miriaid of bruises and aching joints, and the twisted until it snapped (upper) bone on his left arm. The devil and his humans had set it back, trusting Aziraphale to be able to miracle back into a single solid state once he had properly regained his strength.
it was the injuries to his wings that was the truly worrying thing, the reason he was currently resting on his right side instead of comfortably on his back. Sandelphon had done his best to destroy both appendages, but Aziraphale's right wring had only been dislocated before Lucifer had made his appearance and the Archangels had called a hasty retreat.
Unfortunately, he'd had plenty of time to destroy the Principality's left wing before then.
Angel bodies did not have bones - not really. nor flesh or muscle, skin or scales. Even the Feathers where's really feathers, but all of them made up of else, a cosmic celestial swirl of grace and light - or malice and void in the case of the fallen. But in the human realm, things had to twist to become things humans could conceptualize, and the otherness that was the preternatural - the parts of them that couldn't be condensed down to fit snuggly in a human body - well, the humans saw lots of things, and in the last few centuries, wings are the form they typically settled on.
And when you'd been around humanity as long as some of them, part of yourself started to be less as incomprehensible ineffability, and more... big-ass swan wings.
Which Sandelphon had possibly permanently destroyed.
for humans looking at it, the wing looks mangled, each bone twisted and broken free of its joint with its sinew, muscles and tendons torn free and useless. large ragged patches existed where feathers had been torn away, bruised and swollen flesh now exposed underneath. for the demons looking at it right now, Aziraphale had had parts of his own existence ripped away, ragged tears in his core where his grace misted out from him to dissipate in the room. The side effect of such an aggreasious injury had made the air to toxic for Mazekeen to linger in the same area, Lucifer carefully filtering the air of the room outside and not back into the building 'less he poison himself. it made Crowley's skin itch and burn to be so close, but he could not leave his angel further abandoned and alone.
it aggravated his own injures from the fight - the longer he curled around Aziraphale, protectively. defensible.. more for his own sanity as for Aziraphale's safety, the more he risked his wounds becoming permanent.
it would be worth it; the hardest part would be to make sure Aziraphale never connected to two - and if he did, to never, veer, allow him to find out Crowley knew the risk in advance.
Aziraphale already was not a fan of sleeping - considering it time wasted that could be better spent indulging - so he had limited experience in crossing over from dreamland to the waking world to begin with. and this particular visit to the sandman had been because his body had been battered and pained to the extent it had to shut down in the face of pain so it could focus on healing.
and the human body would heal, despite the miriaid of bruises and aching joints, and the twisted until it snapped (upper) bone on his left arm. The devil and his humans had set it back, trusting Aziraphale to be able to miracle back into a single solid state once he had properly regained his strength.
it was the injuries to his wings that was the truly worrying thing, the reason he was currently resting on his right side instead of comfortably on his back. Sandelphon had done his best to destroy both appendages, but Aziraphale's right wring had only been dislocated before Lucifer had made his appearance and the Archangels had called a hasty retreat.
Unfortunately, he'd had plenty of time to destroy the Principality's left wing before then.
Angel bodies did not have bones - not really. nor flesh or muscle, skin or scales. Even the Feathers where's really feathers, but all of them made up of else, a cosmic celestial swirl of grace and light - or malice and void in the case of the fallen. But in the human realm, things had to twist to become things humans could conceptualize, and the otherness that was the preternatural - the parts of them that couldn't be condensed down to fit snuggly in a human body - well, the humans saw lots of things, and in the last few centuries, wings are the form they typically settled on.
And when you'd been around humanity as long as some of them, part of yourself started to be less as incomprehensible ineffability, and more... big-ass swan wings.
Which Sandelphon had possibly permanently destroyed.
for humans looking at it, the wing looks mangled, each bone twisted and broken free of its joint with its sinew, muscles and tendons torn free and useless. large ragged patches existed where feathers had been torn away, bruised and swollen flesh now exposed underneath. for the demons looking at it right now, Aziraphale had had parts of his own existence ripped away, ragged tears in his core where his grace misted out from him to dissipate in the room. The side effect of such an aggreasious injury had made the air to toxic for Mazekeen to linger in the same area, Lucifer carefully filtering the air of the room outside and not back into the building 'less he poison himself. it made Crowley's skin itch and burn to be so close, but he could not leave his angel further abandoned and alone.
it aggravated his own injures from the fight - the longer he curled around Aziraphale, protectively. defensible.. more for his own sanity as for Aziraphale's safety, the more he risked his wounds becoming permanent.
it would be worth it; the hardest part would be to make sure Aziraphale never connected to two - and if he did, to never, veer, allow him to find out Crowley knew the risk in advance.
