To Drink and Dye
Good Omens
K+ for Crowley's pranksterness and alcohol
A certain angel and demon were sitting in the back room of Aziraphale's bookshop in Soho with multiple bottles of wine. Aziraphale was already very drunk while Crowley had been pacing himself in order to keep his wits about him. He watched and listened half-heartedly as the angel blathered on about the ineffable plan and how the not so last Saturday of their lives had to be playing a large role in God's complex game of solitaire.
It had nearly been a year since this event yet Aziraphale always managed to bring it up while they were drinking. Usually Crowley was drunk enough not to care about the over spoken topic but it was now getting on his nerves. He had to repeatedly tell himself that it would be worth it when the angel would wake up the next morning on the first of April with the best, for Crowley, worst for Aziraphale, surprise of the last century. He snickered to himself about his plan, the mischievous look on his face going unnoticed by the drunken angel.
Another hour passed them by and Aziraphale eventually passed out with his head on the table and an almost empty bottle of wine clutched to his cheek. Crowley considered taking pictures but he decided to wait until his plan was fully completed before snapping some shots. He went to work, testing to make sure that the angel was truly unconscious and that he wouldn't be waking up any time soon. He slowly nudged the tartan sweater up his back so he wouldn't cause any damage to it, knowing Aziraphale would rip him from his body and temporarily send him back to hell for ruining his favorite tartan sweater. He ran a single finger up the angel's spine causing him to shudder and release his wings from body. They spread out a little bit, subconsciously fending off the touch that brought them out before settling against the angel's back. Crowley looked over the pristine feathers, a little untidy from lack of care but not the worst he has seen from the angel. He walked around the table and dug into the bag that he had brought with him to the shop. He pulled out a few bottles of chemicals, a few towels and a soft brush. He set the materials down within reach and spread the towels below the wings to catch drippings. He took the first two bottles, dumping the contents of one into the other, mixing them to create the pigment he needed. He shook the bottle before bringing the tip to the first feather, testing to see if it worked like he wanted. A hot pink dye came out of the small nozzle, staining the white feather. He then went through the large wings, dying each feather, going through a few bottles of the dye to stain the entirety of the wings. He let the dye sit for a while, making sure none of the dye dripped onto the wood floors. Once he was ready he put down a few more towels and sprayed water over the feathers, rinsing off the excess dye, which then soaked into the waiting towels. He dried off the wings to the best of his ability, stopping his motions all together when the angel shifted his position causing a glass wine bottle to fall from the table and shatter with a loud noise. Surprisingly the angel did not wake and Crowley went on with his prank. Once the wings were dyed and dried he cleaned up his mess, storing the materials to leave no evidence of his prank. He laid with his head on the table and fell asleep, making it seem like he passed out from the alcohol consumption just like Aziraphale.
The next morning he woke up to a bottle hitting his head. He jumped up, defending against his attacker until he realized it was an accidental blow. Aziraphale had knocked a bunch of the bottles around as he flailed around in panic, just discovering the bright pink feathers that now made his wings. He had yet to even recognize that Crowley was still in the room until he laughed. Aziraphale whipped around to face him.
"You did this didn't you?!" he accused
"Yesssss" he hissed with a laugh. "April Foolssss, angel." he was enjoying himself far too much to try to control the hissing.
"Fix it!"
"The dye is just temporary, it will wash out in a few days"
"I can't walk around with pink wings!"
"You keep them hidden most of the time anyway, I don't see the problem"
Aziraphale was getting quite angry now, the flush in his cheeks was now from rage and not embarrassment. He picked up a rather large book and threw it at the demon.
Crowley dodged the offending object. "isn't wrath a sin?" he asked cockily.
"Against a demon it's not" he retorted and chased Crowley out of the book shop. he was about to pursue him into the street but decided against it. He tucked his wings back in and fixed his sweater. He huffed in frustration and went to clean up the mess in the backroom. He spent the rest of the day trying to wash the dye out of his feathers, getting even angrier with the demon when he found that the dye was permanent, not temporary like Crowley had said.