Disclaimer - As much as I would like to own these two, I do not. They are the property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, who are, themselves, Gods.

A/N - This is my first GO fic and isn't so much funny as...fluffy. Could be classed as lead up slash, but is just meant to be friendship. I know next to nothing of moulting or feahers inngeneral, so hey...all mistakes are mine.

Moulting Madness

He was moulting. This happened, to both sides, once a year, usually lasting anywhere between a day to a week. He was one of those poor unfortunates that was on the weekly plan. Crowley, bastard that he was, always was on the one-day roster.

Aziraphale glared at the human who dared to enter his shop, and even after this managed to buy one of the few books he was willing to sell. One of the ones in the self-help category. The only section where he believed the books were rather evil and worth selling. Not that he was trying to spread evil...

Still, he was moulting, and that always put him in a foul mood. He was just glad the young woman who had left with her newly purchased, yet old, book had left before the first of the fluffy, grey, downy feathers fell to the floor. He immediately went to the door, locked it and turned the open sign to closed.

Without the impending arrival of any more customers, he unfurled his wings and shook them. The stubborn, yet quite dead, feathers refused to fall as they would have if a certain demon had just done so. The wings painfully itched, which always gave away when this was to start. The itching lasting from the moment new feathers began growing to until the last old one dropped. A two week process, but the itch only truly bothered him when his feathers began dropping.

Thankfully this only happened to the small feathers that could be found around the bone of the wings, making it incredibly more easy to scratch. Unfortunately, right near the base, between the two wings where a spattering of feathers also was, liked to join in, and he could never reach there, or the joints where the wings started.

It drove him crazy. Honestly, he was ready to go out and do Crowley's job instead of his own.

Bringing one of his wings around his body, he began to furiously scratch anywhere he could reach. It wasn't enough. It never was for that matter. You'd think that after all the time this had been happening that he would have figured that out by now.

He almost growled out in frustration. Instead, he spotted the table and walked towards it. If he couldn't reach, then he would need a scratching post. He sat on the floor, turned his back to the table, moved his wings so only their bases were getting the rough treatment, and begun to roughly move them against the wood.

He groaned as some of the ache lessened and stopped, panted for a bit, before starting over again.

The bell clanging merrily above his door made him jump to his feet, before remembering only one person would enter at this time.

Another of his old feathers had fallen and, to his utter embarrassment, he slipped on it. He tried to stop his fall, but failed in his attempts. He turned slightly to one side, so he wouldn't land on his wings, and yet still he heard a rather disturbing crack.

He shrieked in surprised pain and held his arm, the one that had caught the side of the table, closer to him. Usually pain was only in his mind, but this hurt! Well, at least he wasn't itching like mad, now having something else to feel.

"Angel, I can see your bone poking out of your arm," Crowley stated, seemingly rather happy at pointing this out. He always greeted him so nicely.

"I am well aware of that, demon!" he stated, voice a bit rougher than he truly intended. Using his other arm, he miracled his bone to mend.

"Moulting are we? You have the most stubborn feathers of any one I know."

"If you have nothing important to say than get out of my shop and leave me to my misery!" he snapped, finding in the demon, an outlet for his frusation.

Crowley smirked, shook his head and crept closer. "Here, turn your back, I will give you a good scratch." Without even waiting for a reply, Crowley knelt down behind him and ran his fingers through the sensitive little feathers between his wings. The feathery appendages quivered a bit at the attention.

"Crowley, will you groom me? It has been positively ages since another has done it, and I cannot reach all the places I would like."

There was no spoken reply, but fingers that were more gentle than they should be began to run through each feather and made sure it was neatly in place and clean. Aziraphale smiled and closed his eyes. A demon was touching his wings and it was heavenly.

A twitch in one place near the base sprang to life making his wing jerk, and knowing hands went to that spot and not so much scratched as kneaded the itch out.

"You should do this more often. No wonder your feathers hate falling when it is time to moult. How often do you groom your wings?"

Aziraphale, lost in his own thoughts turned his head to one side in a show of surprise. "Well, usually once a month. I keep them clean and well ordered, but for this time where I seem to do nothing but scratch and shake everything out of place."

Crowley snorted. "Angel, I propose a deal, to add to the Agreement. Have you heard the human saying 'I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine'? I have not had one person touch my wings since I Fell. I...miss it. You need to groom more often, I am sick of doing it myself. Once a week we could get together, go to the Park, feed the damn ducks like we always do, have lunch and then do this."

Aziraphale smiled around his shoulder. "How will that help my current problem?"

Crowley smirked. No answer came, just more of his touch and the agonizing itch leaving him under the ministrations. He groaned a bit at the relief it made him feel. "Fine. It's a deal. Once a week it is."

The annoying feeling was coming back and he shook his wings to stop it, only earning him a hit on the back. "No grooming while you are shedding." A frown replaced the smile on his face.

"This will take a week you know. A week of utter madness."

"Well, then I will just have to stay on your good side and hope not to piss you off too much."

Aziraphale scowled. "Cut out the swearing, my dear, and that may help."

With a smile that hinted at future mischief, Crowley gave his word not to swear in front of him for the rest of the week.

A/N - My...word. I was debating whether or not to actually post this, byt gave in and decided yes. It is not meant to be slash, just friendship, but hey, by the end of it I was thinking how cute a couple these two make. There is a sequel coming soon too. This time from Crowley's POV, when Aziraphale and he get together two weeks after this story.

Please r/r. This is my first GO fic.