"I wish you'd have seen your father in his prime," Lilia had reminisced, "He had the most beautiful wings. Just like yours."
What if... What if Crowley didn't know that Malleus was his son? What if he knew that Maleanor died, but didn't know when because he was incapacitated for so long? There were so few records about the history that unfolded when he was pathetically asleep. All he knew was that his child must've died a long time ago because Malleus was so young and couldn't have been his. Still, he looked so much like Maleanor... So if Malleus was Maleanor's, but not his, then he was glad that she still found happiness even after she thought him dead.
Even if he didn't find happiness after her.
But then... But then the boy, the boy who looked so much like his Maleanor, spread his wings in a desperate bout to save that little human's life. Wings that looked like his. Wings that looked like those he lost when he was saving his beloved's life. His wings.
Maleanor, my son is alive.
Our son is alive.
