Work Text:
When Crowley entered the church in 1941 it had been less than pleasant.
Demons, as the name implies, are not meant to be in places of devotion to God, and thus they pay the price. A mild one when compared to what they must go through when they fall, but one nonetheless - a constant reminder that they are being punished by God. Hot, like a beach, as Crowley so elegantly puts it as he hops down the aisle like maniac (not too different from how he usually walks, just slightly more rigid and upright), and reminiscent of the feeling of fire and brimstone but less full on.
Consecrated ground isn't exactly something Crowley, or any other demons for that matter, find themselves on willingly most of the time.
But for Aziraphale... Crowley supposed he would have to.
(Of course, Crowley did not have to, but waking up after so long and the first thing he hears about his angel is that he's found himself in a bit of a pickle, well, you can imagine, it did feel as awful lot like an obligation.)
He grit his teeth though the discomfort, and through the mild upset at hearing Aziraphale question his naming choice (what's wrong with Anthony? It's a perfectly fine name!), and even performed not one but two miracles while feeling the prickling sensation all over. It hurt, yes, but he had to push through it. There was no other choice.
Crowley made it clear to Aziraphale he didn't want to have to save him from a church or anything of that sort ever again. Not if either of them could help it.
And so that was the end of that. Or so he had thought.
Entering Anathema's house for the first time made Crowley uncomfortable.
He didn't exactly know why but the whole house just seemed so... wrong. Like it wasn't made for demons. It made sense, considering the book girl's profession (a witch who disliked dabbling with the occult such as himself, it was strange, yes, but not unheard of) but that little cottage down in Tadfield had a big red sign painted all over it in Crowley's mind.
Unfortunately, Aziraphale, being the saint he is, had asked to share a spot of tea with the girl, to apologise for the accidental book theft and check up on her after they had averted the Apocalypse. Crowley had been dragged along too, merely out of Aziraphale's politeness seeing as he was an accomplice in the whole thievery part of things.
"Come along, Crowley, we haven't got all day." Aziraphale sighed, reaching out a hand to beckon Crowley through the front door. Crowley's eye twitched slightly at the idea of entering and he physically took a step back, prompting a cross pout from Aziraphale.
"Angel, I really don't think I need to be h-"
"Oh, don't be so impolite." The angel cut him off, grasping Crowley by the hand and literally dragging him in through the doorway.
If Crowley was paying any attention to the shiver that passed though his body and the way his skin grew warmer, then he wouldn't pin in on entering the human's house but on the way Aziraphale held his hand so tightly.
Heaven had been equally as odd of an experience.
Everything taken into account, he should have been blazing up something fierce when he first stepped foot into the divine place, and yet he wasn't. Just as well really, it wouldn't have done him any favours and certainly would have let Gabriel and the other angels know that something was up, that he wasn't really Aziraphale.
It was less uncomfortable than the first time he'd walked into a church. He could walk normally, he felt more at ease than he really should have, and while he didn't have the time to ponder on it he certainly had picked up on it.
So, he put on a rather spectacular show for the angels, almost scorching them with the hellfire they'd brought to dispose of Aziraphale with (oh how he wished he could have gotten Gabriel with it, after the horrid things he said about Aziraphale) and returned to London after a job well done if he did say so himself.
In all the years Crowley had resided on Earth; changing with the times and getting accustomed to each new way of life; spending time with Aziraphale and seeking the presence of the angel when; getting himself into trouble by wandering into holy places and the like, he hadn't thought the latter really had much of a difference on him.
That is, until he stood one day in his apartment, wings unfurled and outstretched and he noticed the most bizarre thing.
White feathers.