Chapter Text
The pain that suffocated him with every breath. The suffering that nothing could drown out. This is what he had felt for the last two months. For the first four weeks, he tried to live normally. He convinced himself that he didn’t need an angel. He lied to himself, saying he hated him. He wandered through London bars, pouring liters of alcohol into himself. He drove a vintage Bentley through the capital of England, not really knowing why. He cared for his plants because that was all he had left. During the first week, he felt no regret. He felt emptiness, nothing. No emotions he could name. He felt as if someone had torn out his soul and left his body empty. He didn’t cry, he didn’t think. By the second week, it began to slowly dawn on him what had happened. At first, it was the echo of the words he heard that day. I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you. He started analyzing them, which only worsened his condition. I forgive you. For being a demon? For daring to show what he had suppressed for so long after six thousand years? Or for feeling more than just friendship for him? All these reasons were just as cruel. Later, emotions filling the emptiness started to reach the echo. They were even worse than the emptiness itself. At first, sadness, which gradually transformed into unimaginable pain and longing, tearing him apart from within. But the cup of bitterness was overflowing with memories that, once beautiful moments, had now become recurring nightmares for him. Every lunch at the Ritz, every visit to the bookstore, every glance. Every shared moment… tore at his wounds over and over again. Did all this really mean nothing to the angel? Still, the worst was the echo. The echo of words that once surrounded him with tenderness. My dear. Now they became a torture that couldn’t leave his mind. Crowley couldn’t bear it any longer. In the second month, he broke. He couldn’t function anymore. He tried to lie down to sleep. Naturally, he didn’t need sleep like humans, but he always enjoyed naps. At that moment, he dreamt of one he’d never wake from again. Exactly a month and ten days passed when Crowley, trying to fall asleep, fixed his gaze on a thermos. A thermos that Aziraphale had once given him. It was supposed to be just a safety aid… an emergency kit. His heart stopped for five minutes because, as was obvious, he didn’t need it to beat, not being human. He sluggishly got out of bed and, with uncertainty, took the thermos in his hands. He wanted to open it, but something held him back. The thought that there might be nothing inside, or that perhaps there was still a sufficient remnant…? You drive too fast for me, Crowley. The piercing echo of those words that cut straight through him made him decisively open the black thermos with trembling hands and look uncertainly inside. Suddenly, he was hit by a sharp, irritating smell. He could compare it to some acid, but it was much stronger than any acid in the world. At first, he wanted to throw it out the window, but something stopped him. A strange thought, which he had never experienced before. As if a black arrow pierced his mind. Enough. He shivered. He had no idea why he even thought about that. He set the thermos aside on the table and, terrified, stepped back a few paces. All the pain would disappear. All the nightmares would go away. You will FEEL RELIEF.
Crowley was terrified. He leaned against the wall and immediately slid down it. No. He didn’t want to die. But… but… he wanted to disappear. He already didn’t want to feel pain anymore. He didn’t want to think about Aziraphale anymore. He had no strength left… relief. The word pierced his thoughts for the next few hours, during which he didn’t get up from the floor. He considered what unimaginable suffering would be brought upon him by holy water. He had seen before what happened to demons under its influence. Relief. Did he not deserve punishment? Punishment for letting his feelings take over and thus destroying everything they had built for damn 6,000 years? Besides, could anything be worse than the pain he was feeling now? Relief. But he didn’t want to die. He wanted to live. But he had no one left for… nothing lasts forever. He hid his face in his hands, unable to endure his own thoughts. JUST SHUT UP ALREADY! he shouted into the emptiness of the apartment with a breaking voice, sure that he was saying it in his mind. His gaze once again shifted to the thermos. It wasn’t enough to destroy his human form, but it was enough to… to destroy the snake. It was enough for his form to speak and die in agony, and with it, his soul and his entire existence. He had stopped worrying about physical pain and began preparing everything. Not even having the strength to get up from his place, he waved his hand and instantly the thermos turned into a black, broad vessel containing that repulsive holy water. All that remained was to change his form. He was afraid. He was afraid of death. He felt his whole body shivering and his eyes glazing over. Suddenly, his thoughts wandered back to that day. The day he lost everything he had. He lost his angel, who treated him like trash. As if everything they had gone through together was worthless. As if their love was a sin that needed forgiveness. Crowley let out a cry of pain. Why didn’t they deserve happiness? Why did Gabriel and Beelzebub get what he had always secretly desired? He struck the floor in anger, likely spraining his wrist. But it didn’t matter. With tears in his eyes, he transformed into a black snake. Moving around, that terrible scent of holy water hit him even more intensely than before. He curled up against the wall, hiding his face as best as he could with his tail. He knew it was enough to crawl onto the table and step into the water, but fear paralyzed him. Not from physical pain, but from death. Despite how much Aziraphale had hurt him, somewhere deep in his mind there was one thought. What if he found out about his death? What if he blamed himself? Despite the wounds he had inflicted, he still felt the same way about him as he did on the day he made that pathetic, desperate move. The only thing he desired was to feel his presence again. His warmth, his tenderness. He knew that what he asked was impossible, which only deepened his wounds. His serpent-like form curled up by the wall in a tight ball. The only thing stopping him from plunging into holy water was the thought that Aziraphale might find out. There was a good chance he wouldn't even know, but what if? Maybe he wouldn't care at all, but what if he felt something for him as well? No, that was impossible… if that were the case, he wouldn't have pushed him away that day. But what if? Crowley so deeply regretted not being able to simply turn off his thoughts. He could perform all sorts of miracles, but that was beyond his reach. He looked at the vessel with yellow eyes. Yes, he could shut his thoughts off. But how… he glanced up, imagining that Aziraphale somehow watched him. What would he think of him right now? That he's pathetic? That he deserves punishment? Or maybe it would be the opposite? Maybe he would throw the whole heaven to the devil and come here to apologize and soothe him? Neither of those options Crowley wanted… not at that moment. He was ashamed of his snake form and only transformed into it when the angel wasn't looking. Only in crises, only when he wanted to hide. It's a fact that in Eden, Aziraphale saw him that way, but that was the only time, at the very beginning. Now, it would be different. Back then, they meant nothing to each other. And besides... now, he still meant nothing to the angel. But Aziraphale was still his whole world. He lay against the wall for the entire next 20 days, pondering and suffering immense torment that grew more painful. The fact that Aziraphale hadn't noticed him at some point only added to the pain. After all, he was now the highest archangel. It was obvious he could spy anywhere he wanted. Or perhaps he saw… but didn't care. Maybe he saw how utterly pathetic Crowley was… he could no longer bear this pain. It felt worse than at the Fall. He wanted it all to just end. For the first time in twenty days, he moved. Slowly, with the fear that consumed his whole body, he climbed onto the table and approached the vessel. The smell of holy water immediately flooded his nostrils. He recoiled as if burned but knew that if he didn't do it now, he might never dare again, and then the suffering would deepen with each day until he eventually lost his senses. He stepped to the edge of the vessel and closed his eyes. He was about to enter and end his suffering once and for all, but suddenly he heard loud, piercing knocking on the door. Hope seized him. ‘Aziraphale?’ he whispered (or rather hissed) and wanted to step down from the vessel, but at that moment, he wavered. At the last second, he managed to jump onto the table. He was more terrified than ever. He really wanted to do it. He was ready for death. His reflections were interrupted by the knocking on the door again. He quickly slid off the table and transformed into his human form. He was about to open the door but realized he wasn’t wearing his glasses, which helped him hide his emotions. Those damn eyes always betrayed him. He couldn’t show himself to his angel without his glasses now. Not in this state, not after that separation, not after what he had done to him. Carefully, he approached the door, nearly choking on the suddenly thickened air. He stood there for a moment, unsure if he was ready for confrontation. He didn't have time to think about it, because the door was forced open, and two white-dressed angels burst into his apartment. He recognized these treacherous fools. But what were they doing in his house? Fury overtook him. How dared they come to him? What more did they want? They had Aziraphale. They couldn't take anything more from him.
“Get out,” he hissed angrily, clenching his fists with rage.
Apparently, the angels didn’t care about what he had to say. Both spread their wings and approached him, looking at him with contempt.
“Speak, devil,” Michael moved closer, so close that Crowley wouldn’t have anywhere to run even if he wanted to. As a precaution, he unfurled his black wings, much smaller than those of the two beings who clearly hadn’t come for tea.
“With you? I’d sooner go to church than…” he didn't even finish. The second angel—Uriel—grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against the wall. An immediate, sharp pain pierced Crowley's right wing. He groaned, hearing a crunch in the fog.
“Where is he?!” Uriel shouted, looking hatefully into the demon’s eyes.
“Who?” Crowley managed to gasp, unable to breathe, feeling the pain radiating across his back.
“You know very well who, monster,” Michael said disdainfully. Seeing that the demon's right wing was unnaturally bent, he pressed it against the wall, causing pain so intense that Crowley felt tears coming to his eyes.
"If you mean… King Charles… I haven’t seen him in two years," even in such moments Crowley maintained his sarcastic nature. He barely managed to form sentences, suffering the agony related to his wing.
"Speak or we’ll remove you, but before we do…" Michael looked at his other wing, realizing how painfully broken it was.
“Actually… you’ll be doing me… a favor,” Crowley rasped, smiling.
This sentence surprised the newcomers. Uriel slightly eased the grip, giving the demon a chance to breathe. The angels looked at each other, unsure of what was happening. Michael glanced around and saw a vessel on the table. He approached it cautiously and immediately realized what it was. He gave Uriel a surprised look, who was still holding Crowley.
“Yeah… it’s water… blessed,” Crowley couldn’t speak normally due to the increasing pain. “You came… at the wrong… time.”
“Leave that disgusting monstrosity,” Michael stepped toward Uriel. The angel nodded and threw Crowley to the ground. He curled up, whimpering from the pain.
“If he knew something, he wouldn’t want to commit self-destruction in such a pathetic way,” Michael stood over Crowley. “Even a demon wouldn’t come up with such a trick.”
“I thought… you’d appreciate me more,” Crowley said with difficulty, trying to smile.
Michael responded with a smile that had nothing to do with him and stepped on the demon’s twisted wing. Crowley screamed in pain.
“If you knew something, devil,” he emphasized the last word, injecting the disgust he felt toward the fallen, “remember, we’re watching you.” Michael let go of the wing and left the apartment with Uriel.