Crowley stared at Gabriel for an awkward eternity, deciding. But he really didn't have much choice, did he? Checking that they were alone, the demon extended his battered wings with a grimace. A few scant tufts of broken black feathers lay in ragged patches against the thin skin of his wings. Scabs dotted the surface where the others had been violently torn out. And the right wing hung crookedly - the delicate, hollow bones broken or fractured in several places.

Unable to come up with any words to explain or ask or hide his humiliation, Crowley simply looked at the Messenger; his expression as blank as he could make it.