Forgiveness is not something Crowley has ever thought he could have. Not from the angels, not from God, not from anybody. And, frankly, he doesn't see why Aziraphale should have to ask for it now. He didn't do anything wrong. He did what was right. He helped people, he saved the world.
Is it worth it? Prostrating themselves to the Almighty when they were fighting what was wrong? To have this?
Crowley shifts a little, lifting his back off of the bed. He lets his wings extend, long and black, and curls them around the two of them. It doesn't create a perfect cocoon, there's still some light let in from the room, but it's mostly dark, mostly just the two of them, blotted out of the world with the circle of black feathers.
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Is it worth it? Prostrating themselves to the Almighty when they were fighting what was wrong? To have this?
Crowley shifts a little, lifting his back off of the bed. He lets his wings extend, long and black, and curls them around the two of them. It doesn't create a perfect cocoon, there's still some light let in from the room, but it's mostly dark, mostly just the two of them, blotted out of the world with the circle of black feathers.
He leans his head against Aziraphale's.
"As long as you want, angel."