Chapter Text
Aziraphale has scars starting just beneath his jawline and winding down to mid chest. No miracle, angelic or demonic, could fully heal them and make it so they never existed. They were faded pink, almost blending in with his pale skin. His beloved husband had researched different lotions and treatments to help them heal, and reduce their visibility. They found vitamin E oil worked best out of all the different ones they tried.
It took a long time after the attack for Aziraphale to feel comfortable showing any hint of his scars to Crowley. Let alone the injuries after the first time Crowley saved him and rushed to heal him the best he could. The image of the sheer panic and despair on Crowley’s face when he could not miracle all of the bloody gashes away will forever be seared into his memory.
His sunglasses discarded who knows where, with his golden eyes with trails of tears running down from them. His hands were shaking as he laid them on his neck and chest, pressing down, in an attempt to stop the blood from leaving his body. He thinks he may have been saying something, but Aziraphale was to busy trying to stay conscious and tell Crowley it would be alright. But he couldn’t get any words out over the agony he was feeling. Plus, they would be lies. And he promised to stop lying to his husband.
Aziraphale admits that he does not remember much after looking up into his husband's anguished filled face and his attempt to lie to sooth the lines on his beloved’s face. It was the last thing he saw before everything went black.
He woke up later in the sterile white room of a hospital. That was new. He had never had that experience. He hoped never to go through it again. The food was most atrocious. And his dear husband was on the cusp of breaking.
Honestly, so was Aziraphale.
Who wouldn’t be after being viciously attacked, watching the love of their life fight the thing that you are sure dealt a fatal blow to you. Terrified as you lie on the ground, bleeding to death, that you are going to be forced to watch the one person who means everything to you die. Only for them to triumph but fall to pieces with your blood covering their hands and clothes. Your last thoughts being regrets of having your husband watch you slip away for good.
Only to awake in the hospital with your husband laying next to you, holding your hand while deep within an exhausted slumber.
There was a dull pain when he woke up but he pushed it to the back of his head and focused on his husband. The dark bruises under his eyes and the way his face was scrunched in great pain even asleep. His hair was un-styled and looked like he forgot to wash it for a couple of days. His clothes were beyond winkled and there were suspicious brown stains that were almost unnoticeable against the black of the demon’s usual attire. It made his heart ache to see.
Gently, Aziraphale brushed his fingers through Crowley’s fiery greasy locks which woke him up with a jerk. His gold eyes went wide as he stared at Aziraphale who softly smiled at him.
“Angel.” Crowley breathed before enveloping his husband into a careful hug. Loving kisses were spread over his face. “My love! I thought I had lost you. You need to be more careful!”
Crowley drew back far enough to place his hands on Aziraphale’s cheeks and give him a stern look that was ruined by the worry still lingering within his gaze. “You are not allowed to go where I cannot follow. Understand?”
Aziraphale could not help the warmth that grew in his chest from the love and concern that poured out of his demon. Smiling, he took Crowley’s hands off his face and intertwined their fingers together.
He opened his mouth to reply back but only strangled sounds were released along with a flare of harsh pain in his throat. He quickly let Crowley’s hands go and wrapped them around his throat and stared at his husband in sheer panic as he attempted to speak again.
What followed was days, weeks, months of dismay, denial, anger, and all other stages of grief from both angel and demon. The damage was permanent and Aziraphale was left with scars and the knowledge that he would never speak again.
Aziraphale refused to let Crowley help him with his bandages after the first time he helped when they got home from the hospital; after Crowley made sure to alter the memories of the staff of the two ever being there. He could not bear the look of mixed heartache, regret, and rage as he looked upon him. He hid away and did his best to change the bandages himself. That only lasted a few days before Crowley curled around him carefully when he was right in the middle of rewrapping his injuries.
He felt strong arms wrap around his middle and the demon’s head burrow into the junction between his neck and shoulder. Fiery locks brushing against the neck bandages he had just finished wrapping. He froze with hands in a white knuckle grip on his shirt, about to remove it to work on his chest injuries. He stared unseeing at the wall in the bathroom since he could not bare to look into the mirror, though it would have helped greatly tending to his wounds.
“Angel.” Spoken so softly that he could barely hear it. It was a plea and an apology.
What he was sorry for, Aziraphale did not know or understand. His love had not done anything wrong. All the blame laid on his shoulders. For not being strong enough to escape with little to no injury. Not being able to comfort his upset husband. For being a coward and avoiding Crowley. The urge to push Crowley away again so he could run and hide was running strong through him.
Aziraphale did not want him to see. To see him now with his disfigured body. Marked with partially healed gashes. He did not deserve to be looked upon by his beautiful husband. To be held and loved.
He didn’t realize time had passed until he felt the comfort of their bed covered in blankets and pillows. The warmth of his husband delicately holding him. His wounds cleaned and re-bandaged. The tears pouring down his face.
“It will be okay, my love. We will figure this out together.”
Crowley, dear and brilliant Crowley, began to rain kisses upon him. Whispering assurances that he was beautiful and wonderful. Without speaking, he knew. He knew the worries and fears that had developed and began to fester like wounds within Aziraphale. The dark whispers that grew louder and louder. That Crowley would be disgusted and stop loving him. That he would leave him.
But Crowley refused to let his angel be in pain and doubt. Even if it meant telling him, showing him for the rest of their immortal lives, how much he adored his beloved angel. Worshipped the ground he walked on. Wrapped around his finger. He loved every inch of his husband. Scars or no scars.
He would admit that he was furious with himself. For not getting to Aziraphale sooner; when he was first attacked and after leaving the hospital. For letting his mate feel even a tiny bit of pain and doubt in his love. The days he was so consumed in his own anger and dark feelings, he failed to see his mate’s own dark cloud hovering over him.
Months had passed and the injuries had faded. Crowley kept his promise and never let a moment go by without letting his angel know that he was loved. Be it small gestures of giving him small loving kisses when he passed by him; be it in his armchair dropped lightly upon his curly head or on his cheek as he walked by. To wrapping his arms around him and kissing his neck and shoulder with murmurs of sweet words. To gazing at him with clear adoration causing his beloved to blush and smile.
He still felt the sorrow over the loss of his beloved’s voice but did his best to keep it hidden. Locked away and threw away the key. No longer would he hear his angel’s musical laugh or lay his head in his lap and listen to him read out loud from one of his many books. It was gone and nothing they could do about it. No magic could fix it and it would only hurt them more to keep trying. Aziraphale always grew sadder after their attempts failed.
So he put a stop to it. Comforting Aziraphale as he sobbed within his hold, sometimes letting his own tears spill over as his shoulder would get soaked. Slowly they both worked together to grieve and accept it. One of the best ways they found was to build a blanket fort in the middle of their living room with lots of pillows and blankets and hold each other. Sometimes Crowley would set up the record player and set the volume low so it was not completely quiet.
He was determined to not let either one of their dark emotions linger for long. Together they were stronger. Pillars of strength holding each other up.
It took patience and time but they both began to heal. Crowley always made sure to kiss every scar and replaced the memories of pain and fear from that day with love and so much fluff that it would make fans die from cuteness overload. They both learned sign language and even began making up their own signs to go along with the ones already known.
It was still difficult for Aziraphale to look upon his scars some days, but with the scars now faded it had gotten easier. And Crowley always had a sense for when his angel’s thoughts began to take a dark turn and always swooped him up and carried him off to remind him of just how fantastic Aziraphale is.