The sun rose, and so did Crowley.

Crowley never did have a circadian rhythm of any kind, but he felt the sun in his bones and it pulled him out of bed. He opened his eyes to the darkness of his own bedroom, a place he didn't often sleep (hence why the bed was always freshly made) and shook his head. No light came into this room from anywhere, so why in the heaven was he being plagued by the blasted sun?

He ran a hand through his mussed hair and yawned, turning his head to the side with his eyes squeezed shut. When he opened them again, he smiled. There was his angel, curled among the blankets, snoring softly with the most luminescent smile curling his rosy lips, as if he were dreaming about a good book and dinner at his favorite sushi restaurant. Ever the gentleman, he'd slipped out from under the covers at some point and put on his pajamas.

Modesty.

Crowley would expect nothing less.

And it was adorable.

But the smile remained, all because of last night.

Last night.

Last. Night.

When he and his angel made love for the first time.

On the first night of the rest of their married lives.

In typical, disgustingly romantic, cliché fashion, it seemed like a dream. An amazing dream Crowley hoped to never wake from. He never wanted to leave his angel's side, and nothing in heaven or hell could force him to, not without drowning him out of existence completely.

Except for right now, apparently, when he had an unshakable urge to open the blinds and look out the window at the rising sun. It rang in his head like a congregation of church bells, one after another joining the fray for every minute he didn't move. No amount of pressing his hands to his ears could stop it because it was coming from inside his head. He sighed, utterly defeated by the tintinnabulation of invisible instruments.

"Alright, alright," he mumbled, scooting carefully to the edge of his bed and swinging his legs over the side. But before he put his feet on the ground, he turned at the waist, leaned over, and gave Aziraphale a kiss on the cheek. The smile on his angel's face grew wider. He hugged the blanket in his arms tighter and snuggled down into them. For a moment, Crowley feared he'd wake up, which wouldn't be a terrible thing but he felt his angel needed his rest. Aziraphale soon settled in and his snores became deeper.

Crowley had been wrong before. Aziraphale wasn't adorable. He was ridiculously adorable.

And God, did he love him.

He padded out of the room, down the hall, and into his office. The farther away he walked from Aziraphale, the more his heart hurt, but at least the bloody ringing in his head was dying down. He was comforted by the fact that he carried two pieces of his husband with him – the smell of his cologne on his skin, and the simple gold wedding band on his left ring finger. They chose bands wider than most wedding rings so they got away with them not looking the part - important for staying on the down low. But seeing them close up would give them away.

Crowley's had an elegant line drawing of angelic wings engraved on the front.

Aziraphale's had a snake.

Crowley opened the slats on the blinds and gazed out toward the rising sun. It had barely peeked over the horizon at this point – a thin, pink line streaking east and west. He stretched his arms over his head and let his wings unfurl. He didn't do this often, not even in private. It felt amazing. Fantastic even. He couldn't remember ever feeling this glorious.

Since the sun had yet to make its full appearance, he could still see himself in the reflection of the tinted windows with crystal clarity. He stole a moment to admire himself, curious if anything about him had changed. He felt changed. Much changed. He felt happier. Lighter. More in control of his future now that he didn't report to the powers below. He was still a demon. Nothing was likely to change that.

But he felt free.

Of course, being with Aziraphale always made him feel free, only now, he felt invincible.

Bring on the holy water. Nothing could stop him now!

He took a moment to examine his wings – their raven darkness stretched out behind him, every feather perfectly in place. He'd been afraid they might have gotten rumpled after last night, possibly even sprained. He bit his lip when that thought popped into his mind. He couldn't help his concern.

He may have gotten carried away.

He stretched them more, then a little further, staring at them through the reflection in the glass and feeling for any strain. His gaze zeroed in on his right wing. He couldn't put his finger on it but something about it wasn't right. There seemed to be a gap amongst his feathers – a quite sizable hole. He twisted, moved that wing closer to the glass so it could catch the light, and his body went cold.

Hidden amongst the forest of black feathers lay a single white one.

He thought he might be mistaken, that it wasn't his, but one of Aziraphale's, shed when they wrapped themselves in one another's arms and fell asleep, wings folded over each other. His eyes glued to the glass, he felt for it with his fingers. When he finally reached it, he gave it a tug. When it didn't come loose, he gave the feather a yank hard enough to sting, but it wouldn't come out. He leaned in close to his reflection, struggling to get a better look (because he refused to wake Aziraphale over this, even though he probably should), but discovered his wings weren't the only thing that had changed. They weren't even the strangest.

Because staring back at him was a single, brown, human eye in his right eye socket where a reptilian one used to be. He blinked. Then again. Then harder and faster expecting them to fade away, but they didn't.

They stayed.

In that one feather and that one eye, he saw a glimpse of the angel he used to be.

And Crowley was terrified of what it might mean.