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"I can assure you I'm fine"
"You don't sound it, you're sniffling constantly and-" Crowley pressed a hand up to his forehead. "You've got a horrible fever. Now, let's get you to bed."
"But I-"
"No buts! You need rest. Doctor's orders"
"You aren't a doctor!" he protested.
"I am actually. Got a PhD in History back in the fifties. So, doctor's orders!"
"Fine, whatever." Aziraphale exasperated, stood and grabbed his temples in response to the throbbing headache before leaning on the table.
He leaned on Crowley and they walked together to Aziraphale's bedroom.
"Right, well now we need your pyjamas"
"I can do it myself!"
"Uh uh, I'm taking care of you, remember? Here they are."
After he had removed Aziraphale's copious overlayers, he began unbuttoning his shirt before the angel seemed to remember something and stopped him.
"Hang on," he paused. "There's something you need to know." He paused. "It's quite embarassing really-"
"It's not like, a stupid tattoo, is it? Cause I've got plenty of those."
"No, no, not that." he avoided eye contact. "I've got quite a lot of... scars... on my arms. Just don't make a fuss, okay?"
"Uh, okay." Crowley couldn't see what this was about, they both had hundreds of scars, that's what comes with being on Earth for 6000 years. But as he removed Aziraphale's shirt, he understood.
Tens, maybe hundreds, of short, straight scars overlapping and overlapping each other.
"Oh god." he couldn't help but say.
"I know what you're thinking, yes, they'r self-inflicted." he sighed. "Trying to be a perfect angel all the time is... a lot."
"Oh god, Azira. I don't know what to- I can't believe someone so wonderful would..."
"Yeah, I know." he reached for the pyjama t-shirt and put it on, while Crowley gently held his arm.
"Wow... sorry. You're scars are gold?"
"Yeah, I think it's an angel thing, makes them so much more noticeable."
"It's fascinating." he suddenly got back to the task at hand. "Right, let's get you tucked in."
"Tucked in? I'm not five."
"Don't care. Everyone deserves to be tucked in."
+++
Crowley opened the door the next morning to find Aziraphale reading a book in bed. He walked towards him with a tray of tea and toast.
"Wow, breakfast in bed, I am lucky!" he laughed.
"Tea and toast, sir?" Crowley joked back.
"Indeed!"
Reaching for the toast, Aziraphale acknowledged his exposed arms and grimaced slightly, pulling his hand back instinctively. Gently lifting Aziraphale's hand with his own, Crowley kissed his forearm tentatively and looked Azira in the eyes to reassure him.
"They're beautiful."