Having Aziraphale wrap his arm around him was a balm Crowley didn't know he'd needed. He swallowed as he sat back down on the edge of the bed, not relaxing until he saw the state I'd his wings as he unveiled them. A quick scan asserted that everything was fine as it could be until he clocked the gold, his eyes widening minutely.
Did this mean Aziraphale was an archangel? It didn't make a lot of sense, but at the same time, it did. With no other angels to take his place, he could theoretically be any rank he desired - on the other hand, Crowley couldn't imagine Aziraphale as anything but what he was. He had once been Raphael, after all. He'd hung the stars in the sky and he knew the dark side to the high-ranking angels, first hand in the body standing in front of him.
He could never be that cruel.
"Your wings," he murmured, his own automatically unveiling to peacock, despite then being tattered and worn from the fight. "They're gold."