#rowrites

Crowley, for the longest time, was never 100% sure about how he felt towards his angelic counterpart. It was never something really bothered thinking about too hard. Oh, he knew he cared for him deeply, that much he knew very well. Since they first met in Eden, Crowley had been utterly fascinated by the angel* and he knew that he enjoyed the angels presence. But beyond that, he was never quite sure. 

(*It wasn’t every day you met an angel that gave away his God-given sword and lied about it to her face, after all.)

If you were to ask Crowley to describe his overall feelings towards the angel in one word, say, 20 or so years ago, he would probably say fondness. He was fond of the angels kindness towards God's creatures, he was fond of his clothing that always seemed to be a century or two behind in style, he was fond of the angels imperfections*, he was… well he was fond of a lot of things about his friend. The angel drove him up the wall sometimes, but then again, Crowley was no better. It’s simply what happens when you know someone for that long*.

(*Crowley had spent a lot of time around the angels, when he still was one that is, so he knew how terribly self-righteous and ignorant most of them had a tendency to be. Aziraphale wasn’t like that though. He was quirky, somewhat selfish, and flawed, and he knew it and he acknowledged it. Unlike virtually every other angel Crowley had met, Aziraphale was self-aware.)

(*and also when you’re an angel and a demon, hereditary enemies and all.)

But yeah, Crowley never thought too hard about how exactly he saw Aziraphale. He was his friend. As far as Crowley was concerned, that was all he needed to know.

And then the day the world would end rolled around.

~~

Crowley had lost hope of the world being miraculously saved at the last minute. He knew that if the planet didn’t self-implode, taking himself and Aziraphale with it, either Heaven or Hell* would eventually come for their arses for fucking up so royally. Either way, he knew that if him and his angelic friend didn’t figure out something fast, the two needed to get out, and get out quick. 

(*Or both)

Then the angel turned him down.

Of course Crowley was hurt by this. He was just trying to save himself and his friend of 6000 years, and he was turned down and insulted. He knew Aziraphale didn’t mean half of what he said, it had happened time and time again. It happened 11 years ago when he handed over the antichrist, it happened in Saint. James Park in 1862*, and it was happening again now. That didn’t mean the words didn’t still hurt though. It was a natural reaction when your only real friend treated the past several thousand years together as if they were nothing, as if they didn’t mean anything. 

(*This time though, Crowley wouldn’t take a several decade long nap to cope. If he did, by the time he would wake, there would be no more Aziraphale to apologize to, or an earth to thrive on with him. So that was off the table.)

It was then that his fears seemed to come into fruition. Hell had found out about everything, and they were coming after him.

He had to get Aziraphale.

He knew as long as hell was coming after him, Aziraphale may be in danger too. He had to prevent that. So he tried asking again. 

And once again, he was turned down by the angel*.

(*Although he was much kinder about it this time. Perhaps just because he was tired. He looked really tired)

This time though, he didn’t give in so easily, no time for sulking or breaking down. Crowley was a man of action, after all. He knew that the angel wouldn’t want him to use the blessed holy water he had given him to kill a guy, but he was sure Aziraphale would understand*. 

(*If he were to find out, that is.)

The plan to stop Hell’s goonies from coming for the both of them went slightly better than expected. Ligur was a melted pile of rubbish, sure, but the means of trapping of the other half of the deadly pair was temporary at best. He was growing increasingly concerned about his and the angel’s safety; in the back of his mind fearing that hell had decided to send assassins for both him and the angel*. 

(*Hastur calling Aziraphale by name after he had gotten trapped in the answering machine didn’t help calm Crowley’s anxieties to say the least.)

No, Crowley thought, that isn’t an option. Aziraphale was fine. He was clever, he wouldn’t let himself be outsmarted by some pesky, unoriginal demons. There was no way-

The thick clouds of black smoke that filled the sky above him seemed to want to prove him wrong. Police sirens and blaring Fire Truck engines sounded off, far too close for Crowley’s liking. 

“No…”

Crowley was panicking as he sped down the London roads in his vintage car*. He had tried calling Aziraphale. No one picked up. The angel never kept him hanging like that. Ever. His heart rate, that he didn’t even really need, sped up at an inhuman rate as he drew closer to the flaming remnants of his the Angel’s bookshop.  

(*Probably a dangerous situation for any unfortunate pedestrian who just so happened to be nearby, but at this point the demon couldn’t care less about their safety)

Angels and demons alike had a sort of sixth sense- the ability to sense the presence of other supernatural entities from a mile away. The ability to sense their auras, if you will. And when you know someone for 6,000 years, you know exactly what their aura feels like.

Right now, standing in the blazing ruins of Aziraphales home, Crowley couldn’t feel anything.

“AZIRAPHALE!”

He could hardly hear himself over the roaring flames and sirens as he called out for his Angel.

“Aziraphale, where the Heaven are you, you idiot?! I can’t find you!”, Crowley’s voice shrieked as his vision began to blur.

He still searched, trying to find the presence of his the Angel, somewhere, anywhere-

The demon had the air knocked out of him as a particularly strong water hose was sprayed right at his corporeal body, knocking him off his feet.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The too hot- too familiar fire roared around the demon as he came to a horrific, crushing realization. 

Hellfire. The fire surrounding him was bloody fucking Hellfire. 

 A demon had been sent to Aziraphale and lit his home ablaze, leaving him there to burn. Alone.

“You’ve- you’ve gone…”

It was only then that everything hit him.

For the first time- Crowley had felt what it was like to be truly alone. As a Fallen, he was destined to be alone for the rest of eternity. When he had spoken to the Angel at the Eastern gate of Eden, he had never expected anything more than just a few bouts of banter, and nothing else. 

But that fateful day was one he would never regret for the rest of eternity. Crowley had never realized that, since the beginning, he had never been truly alone. Aziraphale was his light in the dark future he was destined to have. Life with a friend was never in his script for the rest of time, but he had gotten luckier than any other demon in Hell to have Aziraphale. 

“SOMEBODY KILLED MY BEST FRIEND!”

Now, he was alone. For the first time in a millennia. No one could replace Aziraphale, nothing could fill the hole in his heart only his Angel was able to. And it was more painful than anything he had ever felt since he fell. A devastating realization had come to Crowley in his moment of desolation. 

“BASTARDS!”, he hissed out in anger. “ALL OF YOU!”

Crowley had loved him. It was beyond just care, beyond just fondness.

He had loved him.

And now, he was gone.

Forever.

.

.

.

The demon seemed only vaguely aware of his actions. The sirens, that were not quite out of earshot, and the distant smell of smoke and ash engraved themselves into Crowley’s senses as he drove down the road. To where, exactly? He wasn’t sure. Somewhere along the way he had put on another pair of sunglasses- a feeble attempt at masking his pathetic vulnerability he felt he was drowning in.

He found himself stopping in front of a nearby pub. He remembered going to this specific pub before, alongside Azira-

He looked over to the passenger side seat, just hoping that his friend would be there. Complaining about the speed limit and telling him to “be careful” and “slow down”.

The seat remained empty.

Crowley’s train of thought was cut off as he was seemingly subconsciously reminded of his loss, and he doubled over, white-knuckling the steering wheel of his Bentley, as a new wave of grief washed over him, crushing him under its weight.  

It seemed that the feeling of being alone, really, truly alone, was kind of like being hit by a cannonball; sudden, unexpected, and bone-crushingly painful. 

It never really occurred to him how much he had gotten used to the feeling of having someone constantly by his side, someone who would always keep him company. Even when the two were apart physically, in the back of the demons mind Aziraphale’s presence was still there, golden and warm and kindly. Although he couldn’t be sure, he hoped the angel had always felt his presence too. It was… well, it was rather nice, being that close with someone. Rather comforting, really. 

In an instant, that warmth, companionship, and comfort was all just just simply... gone.

A dark pit had made its way into his stomach and ribs, swirling and brewing with an intensity that he had never felt before. Despite this, he knew what it was.

Grief.

He only became aware that he had started crying again when he felt hot tears soak his jacket and drip onto his violently trembling hands. Sobs shook his frame as the soot and ash on his face that he hadn’t bothered to miracle away turned to mud that stained his cheeks. 

“A-aziraph-a-ale…”

Demons weren’t supposed to cry. 

“A-z-ziraphal-e-e…”

With all of the shit Crowley’s seen in his long lifespan he shouldn’t be crying. 

“Please… d-don’t… d-on’t...”

But here he was, in his Bentley, sat in front of a pub, bawling uncontrollably, struggling for air because Aziraphale, his angel who he loved so much, who had been the only one to treat him with kindness, was gone.

 Gone, gone, gone, gone-

He doesn’t think he’s felt this much emotional distress since he fell.

Before, Crowley hadn’t even considered what it would’ve been like to have his constant counterpart suddenly snatched away from him. Aziraphale had been discorperated before- they both had- leaving the other alone for a few years while the paperwork for a new body was filled out and they were allowed to come back down to Earth. But that was different. Back then, there was the promise of return. It might take as long as a decade*, but they would inevitably see each other again. 

(*the amount of time before given a new body depended on the circumstances of death. For example, when Aziraphale was burned at the stake in the middle of the Edinburgh witch trials, it took about 8 years to get him a new body. Partially because of the large amount of souls arriving at heaven's doorstep due to the trials, partially because Gabriel decided the angel needed to learn a lesson about responsibility. Needless to say, Aziraphale came back from that whole debacle with a bad case of pyrophobia and even lower self esteem.)

This time, however, there was no promise of return. All Crowley had was a burning bookshop and a lost friend.

The demon sat up in his Bentley, taking a deep, shaky breath in a feeble attempt to steady himself, not bothering to try and wipe away the streams of tears and soot on his face.

Maybe drinking until he passed out would dull the edges of the sword of grief that cut through his very being. Yeah, yeah, he would do that.

The world wasn’t worth saving at this point if he didn’t have Aziraphale to share it’s wonders with.

~~

Well, as it turns out, Crowley was wrong.

Aziraphale wasn’t dead, gone forever as Crowley had feared. He had simply lost his body in an altercation that ended with a particularly inconvenient candle being knocked over by the force of a slamming door*.

(*and this, as Crowley had told Aziraphale later on, is why you don’t leave lit candles on the floor in a bookshop full of very flammable books)

But just because the angel wasn’t actually gone, that didn’t mean Crowley wouldn’t have to deal with the emotional fallout of thinking that he was for a few hours. Now that they were sure the world wouldn’t spontaneously combust anytime soon and that their superiors would give them some air, they, for the first time in what felt like centuries, had time to relax. Time to think.

And think they did. Or, at least Crowley did.

He thought about every stolen glance, every spoken word, every kind hearted gesture, every accidental hand touch-

Oh. Fuck. He’s fallen hard, hasn’t he?

Turns out the human term ‘you never know how much you love something until you lose it’ has more weight to it then Crowley had previously thought.

After everything, the bookshop being burned down, the A-not-calypse, his and Aziraphales trials*, etc. etc., Crowley spent a lot of time re-evaluating his emotions towards the angel over the past several thousand years he’s known him. It was kind of like sifting through old computer files you haven’t touched or thought about in years.*

(*Well, Crowley's trial and Aziraphale’s failed execution, considering the fact that the angels, Aziraphales family, didn’t even bother to give him a proper trial.)

(*not that either Aziraphale or Crowley would know what that felt like.)

It was surreal, almost, to look at all of those shared moments from a slightly different perspective. They all felt so different, but at the same time, felt the exact same. Loving the angel just felt… natural*. 

(*despite the fact that a demon loving an angel was anything but natural.)

Well, all things considered, Crowley had loved Aziraphale for awhile now. Keeping him from having his head lopped off during the French Revolution, keeping his books from being blown to pieces, trying to convince him to run away with him… they were all acts of love on Crowley's part.

...It just took nearly losing the bastard for him to actually realize this.

Crowley wasn’t quite sure what to do with this information. Should he say something to the angel? Would doing so even change anything? Would it just get them in even deeper trouble with their higher-ups? Was it even possible to get in further trouble?

The whole situation gave Crowley a migraine.

He tried to not think about it too hard, like he used to do.  

Although, when his heart suddenly fluttered and climbed up his throat whenever the angel so much as smiled at him…