Fallen
By Snowballjane
Crowley breezed into the restaurant ten minutes late and was surprised not to see the angel in their usual corner spot.
Stepping around diners and dodging penguin-suited waiters, he reached the table and discovered he had been mistaken. The angel was indeed sitting in his normal place, but was bending down below the level of the table, inspecting a brown brogue whose leather was badly scuffed. There was also a jagged tear in the knee of his corduroy trousers, through which pale flesh and an angry red graze could be seen.
"Hi," said Crowley. "What happened to your leg?"
"Mm? Oh, I fell," said Aziraphale grumpily, rubbing at the scuffed shoe with the sleeve of his pale green jumper.
Every bone in Crowley's body seemed to vanish. For a moment he thought he was going to drop to his knees, screaming "Noooo!" Instead he quashed the melodramatic whim as his mind whirled into thoughts of organising some kind of appeal against what was obviously a terrible error. His jellified body flopped into the wicker chair opposite the fallen angel.
"H-how?" he finally managed.
"Wonky pavement outside the shop, it was rather embarrasing really, especially since I'd already noticed it. I suppose I should have called the council weeks ago." Aziraphale studied his torn knee and sighed. "Be whole," he said, and both graze and fabric damage were gone.
He finally looked up at his lunch companion.
"Crowley? Demon, dear, are you quite all right?"
Crowley nodded, but something in the way he was biting his lip with those sharp, sharp teeth made the angel review the past couple of minutes' conversation.
"Oh my. My word." He reached across the table and patted Crowley's hand. "Here," he said, collapsing a fan of white linen and handing over the napkin. "I think you might need this. Now let's go mad and order the specials, I just saw them delivered to another table and they looked spectacular."
The End
Crowley breezed into the restaurant ten minutes late and was surprised not to see the angel in their usual corner spot.
Stepping around diners and dodging penguin-suited waiters, he reached the table and discovered he had been mistaken. The angel was indeed sitting in his normal place, but was bending down below the level of the table, inspecting a brown brogue whose leather was badly scuffed. There was also a jagged tear in the knee of his corduroy trousers, through which pale flesh and an angry red graze could be seen.
"Hi," said Crowley. "What happened to your leg?"
"Mm? Oh, I fell," said Aziraphale grumpily, rubbing at the scuffed shoe with the sleeve of his pale green jumper.
Every bone in Crowley's body seemed to vanish. For a moment he thought he was going to drop to his knees, screaming "Noooo!" Instead he quashed the melodramatic whim as his mind whirled into thoughts of organising some kind of appeal against what was obviously a terrible error. His jellified body flopped into the wicker chair opposite the fallen angel.
"H-how?" he finally managed.
"Wonky pavement outside the shop, it was rather embarrasing really, especially since I'd already noticed it. I suppose I should have called the council weeks ago." Aziraphale studied his torn knee and sighed. "Be whole," he said, and both graze and fabric damage were gone.
He finally looked up at his lunch companion.
"Crowley? Demon, dear, are you quite all right?"
Crowley nodded, but something in the way he was biting his lip with those sharp, sharp teeth made the angel review the past couple of minutes' conversation.
"Oh my. My word." He reached across the table and patted Crowley's hand. "Here," he said, collapsing a fan of white linen and handing over the napkin. "I think you might need this. Now let's go mad and order the specials, I just saw them delivered to another table and they looked spectacular."
The End