A/N: this chapter is a follow up the the previous (13)
The sun was shining over the Garden again. Crawly was asleep, leaning against the wall of the cave. He had discovered sleep on his first night on Earth, and thoroughly approved of it as a way to pass the time. He didn't need to sleep, of course, but it was still refreshing, and nothing hurt while you were doing it. Aziraphale, meanwhile, was sitting in the same position he had been all night, cross-legged near the mouth of the cave. His thoughts had been racing since Crawly had gone to sleep, and now he had made a decision.
"Crawly!" the angel called, turning to face the sleeping demon. Crawly stirred reluctantly and put knuckles to his eyes, yawning as he came awake, straightening away from the wall.
"What is it? Rain stopped?"
"Yes, but that's not it. I'm going to go up to Heaven and ask about the holy rain." All traces of sleepiness vanished from Crawly and he scrambled to his feet, shaking his head vehemently.
"No, you can't do that." Aziraphale too stood, brushing dirt and leaves from his white robes.
"I most certainly can! It's a curious thing for the Almighty to do, and I don't see why I shouldn't ask."
"Aziraphale—" The angel strode briskly from the cave, and Crawly scrambled after him.
"It'll be fine, Crawly. It's perfectly innocent question."
"Aziraphale, listen to me—"
"I'm sure the Almighty will be happy to explain, after all if I'm supposed to watch over this place I'd better know as much about it as I can."
"Aziraphale— Angel, STOP!" Crawly dashed in front of Aziraphale, then skidded to a halt as he turned around, flaring his wings to block the angel's path, arms stretched out towards him. "If you don't stop now—,"
"How much trouble can I get into for ask—" Aziraphale stopped short, and bit the inside of his cheek. He remembered when the demon before him had wondered the same thing, only he hadn't been a demon then. His eyes had been dark and soft, not yellow and slitted, and his wings had been white and beautiful. Crawly's hands clenched into fists.
"If you don't stop now," he repeated, holding Aziraphale's gaze, "What happened to me is going to happen to you. And you don't want that."
The intensity of Crawly's stare was too much for Aziraphale, and he looked away. For the first time, with them spread out before, he got a good look at Crawley's wings. They weren't just black, as he had first assumed, but shades of black and grey, scorched embers, frayed and ragged. Where the feathers were thin or patchy, he could see mangled skin and the scars of chemical burns, and even, here and there, what looked like open sores. The angel's mouth formed a silent oh, and he startled as Crawly's voice brought him back to the present.
"Aziraphale. Ok? Don't go asking Her questions."
Shamefaced, Aziraphale nodded.
"I'm sorry."