He slits his eyes open when Aziraphale speaks. His eyes are more reptilian than usual, vividly yellow and the sclera stained black around the irises, glaring at the angel briefly before they close again, but doesn’t bother to respond. They can bicker when he’s not in agony, when all of his concentration isn’t going into saving his life. Crowley doesn’t want to find out what’ll happen if the holiness spreads across his body and overcomes him. Would it be a discorporation like the others he’s suffered occasionally over the millennia, painful, unpleasant, but at least not permanent? Or would it truly be the end of him, just as if he leapt into a well of holy water?
He hisses aloud when Aziraphale touches him, gentle though he is as he begins to bandage one of his hands. It’s exceedingly painful to be touched at all like this, for the first few moments, but then the qualities of the balm begin to take hold like something blissfully cool sliding over his skin, lessening, just a little bit, the searing agony of the burns. Crowley gasps, shuddering at the sensation, and then with a renewed determination he redoubles his efforts to banish the holiness from his body.
It isn’t at all easy, and the pain is barely lessening as Aziraphale bandages more of him; Crowley has never had any desire to try and test himself against the wrathful power of Divinity. He’s always just tried to mind his own business, cause chaos and temptation where he could, nothing especially major. This is major, this is too much for him to handle on his own—but he isn’t on his own now, he thinks, Aziraphale is with him, his presence an unaccountable comfort, and by slow excruciating degrees Crowley begins to push the holiness back, push it out.
no subject
He hisses aloud when Aziraphale touches him, gentle though he is as he begins to bandage one of his hands. It’s exceedingly painful to be touched at all like this, for the first few moments, but then the qualities of the balm begin to take hold like something blissfully cool sliding over his skin, lessening, just a little bit, the searing agony of the burns. Crowley gasps, shuddering at the sensation, and then with a renewed determination he redoubles his efforts to banish the holiness from his body.
It isn’t at all easy, and the pain is barely lessening as Aziraphale bandages more of him; Crowley has never had any desire to try and test himself against the wrathful power of Divinity. He’s always just tried to mind his own business, cause chaos and temptation where he could, nothing especially major. This is major, this is too much for him to handle on his own—but he isn’t on his own now, he thinks, Aziraphale is with him, his presence an unaccountable comfort, and by slow excruciating degrees Crowley begins to push the holiness back, push it out.