Chapter Text
Ashes, stardust
Look at you, crawling out the mud
I know that dying is scary to us
But everybody do it, one, two, three
- Black and Blue Bird, Dave Matthews Band
Crowley knew that the bottle of red wine from the previous century that he was holding in his hands did not just serve the purpose of celebration. It was a distraction too, a futile attempt to escape from the feeling of terror that was gradually slithering up his spine in cold shivers. The demon was barely hearing the distant words coming from his ally, a pound angel who was sitting just beside him, and with whom he had just stopped the whole Armageddon from happening. A thought creeped from the back of his head: maybe they already weren’t allies anymore. They had always been hereditary enemies, and now that their common task had been successfully completed, the demon was destined to be left on his own. It was a rather discomforting feeling and it grew, it denied his mouth any movement and forced his mind to spiral in negativity.
Serpents were cold-blooded creatures, so he too had felt a constant chill in his inhuman veins for centuries. But the Earth was warm, and so were humans. Therefore, Crowley adapted: took in all the hot rays of sunshine as well as the warm feelings of the people and he got used to all of them, all of them slowly attaching to his soul and becoming part of him. Day after day, this process went on, so that now Crowley was not a cold-blooded snake anymore. However, one freezing emotion remained, one that reminded him of how he would crawl on the dirty ground in the beginnings of time: fear. And now it was crawling back to him, triggered by the sight of the devil himself emerging from his kingdom of despair. He brought the wine to his lips and gulped and gulped. He felt the liquid hot against his icing ribs, but it didn’t help.
While his mind had been wandering, lost in thought, the angel had gone on blabbering about his bookshop and how much he was looking forward to coming back to his precious collection. Crowley’s stream of consciousness suddenly came to a halt. Bookshop? The same bookshop that he saw being devoured by flames just a few hours prior? The same place in which, just that morning, he screamed all his anger out because he thought he had lost his one and only friend? Aziraphale must had forgotten about it and someone had to take the awful responsibility of reminding him that his shop most probably was a pile of ashes by now. The demon tried to make his voice softer than usual, despite his throat still being rock-cold from the fear.
“It burned down, remember?”
Sadness filled his companion’s pale blue eyes, nervous hands fidgeted in his lap. It was miserable seeing the angel like that, and he felt the sudden need to act and do something. But what? Crowley himself was a wreck, paralized by the feeling of his past coming back to haunt him. Faded memories started jumping back and forth: the most golden hair he had ever seen, blonde locks dancing in front of him, white and blue objects surrounded by the purest of lights. Then, ashes, stardust, and darkness. A weight, heavy on his chest, making him realize what gravity was; voices, hissing inside his head, repeating again and again that he was guilty, that the biggest fault amidst angels was his and only his. These painful memories were surfacing again, and the demon didn’t have the slightest idea of how to stop them. It was too much to bear alone.
Halt, his mind stopped spinning with images. A spark of hope. He realized he wasn’t alone, yet. Aziraphale’s bookshop had burned down, which meant that he could help the angel by temporarily giving him shelter in his house, and, at the same time, the angel could help him, unknowingly giving him the company that he needed. It wasn’t their first time engaging in a similar deal. Crowley took in a shaky breath, hoping to sound as casual and nonchalant as humans in summer by the sea.
“You could stay at my place…if you like.”
Luckily, his eyes were covered and protected by the usual pair of glasses, because when the angel’s shocked and incredulous gaze met his, he felt prickly tears building up against his golden pupils. How foolish of him to even let a similar thought sprout and grow inside his head. Why would a pure and gentle entity such as Aziraphale ever want to set foot inside his stony gray house? How could it even compare to his chaotic yet extremely cozy bookshop? Crowley knew he had to let go of the thought of a comforting company and embrace the loneliness instead. However, despite knowing this, he couldn’t help but notice the uncertainty in the angel’s voice when he answered.
“I don’t think my side would like that.”
So it was a ‘sides’ matter. They had already discussed the topic a few times before and their ideas of ‘sides’ were quite different, or so it seemed. Aziraphale had given him mixed signals about the idea of them being on their own side: he embraced it when he needed it, and rejected it when he was scared. Crowley didn’t blame him: he remembered the constant questioning himself and his actions from when he was an angel, the feeling of being loved and manipulated at the same time by Heaven. He just wished, this once, that Aziraphale would not seek the approval of the Angelic Realm (after the giant mess it had created on Earth with all the apocalipse situation) and not view Crowley as the enemy, but rather a reliable companion.
He made sure to fix his gaze on the angels’ head, trying to convey all his good intentions, trying to tell him the truth without making Aziraphale suspect that he was manipulating him.
“You don’t have a side anymore.”
The angel turned to him, and the look on his face shattered him: his gentle eyes were now filled with hopelessness, the feeling of knowing that no matter what grandiose achievement you might accomplish, it will never be enough to gain trust and approval.
Crowley already saw that look in the angel’s face a really long time ago. His memory flew back to them sitting, just like now, on a bench. With the only difference being that, at that time, they weren’t standing in a damp street of the British countryside, but they were facing the vastness of the sea in the sunny lands of Uz. It was the first and only time that Crowley had lied to the angel, telling him that life on Earth as a supernatural being wasn’t lonely. A lie that was unmasked soon after and that had a devastating effect on the (relatively) young Aziraphale. The demon knew and recognised the enormous wave of loneliness and loss of balance those words had caused the angel, and they were having the same effect right now, even if they had just saved the whole human planet. It was still an open wound: the constant terrible sensation of risking being abandoned by Heaven was not easy to get rid of. However, at this very moment, after nearly six thousand years, Crowley had the chance to carefully tend to that wound. Because yes, they were both lonely indeed, but they were alone together. Crowley had to say it, he had to admit the mistake of all those years ago and repair it by explaining that it had to be the two of them, together.
“Neither of us do. We’re on our own side.”
A variety of different expressions spread across Aziraphale’s face, one after the other. First of all, surprise, but it was as quick as the Bentley on the London streets at night, so in an instant it shifted. It was followed by doubt, as he seemed to be pondering something for a second or two, yet, in the end, curiosity won against the previous suspicions. A word began forming in the angel’s mouth but unfortunately it never got out from his lips because he got brutally interrupted by the loud honk of a crusty suburban bus. It was their ride.
Crowley was really tempted to stop time for a moment, let Aziraphale’s brilliant brain think all his thoughts and finally say yes to his totally reasonable offer. Because he had absolutely zero reasons to say no now, hadn’t he? Without considering Heaven and Hell, who were both instructing the whole Armageddon armies with the new order to eliminate both traitors, the redhead duke of hell and the naive principality (but we’re just talking about details).
Anyways, the creaky vehicle had just stopped right next to the bench and its glorious gates opened before their eyes.
”It’s our ride.”
Crowley realized his words sounded terribly defeated. Perhaps because he was, he knew that in the exact moment the bus had arrived, he had lost his only chance of distraction from the hellish night ahead of him. He could already sense all those unsettling memories standing impatiently at the door of his mind, waiting for the moment to creep in and become Crowley’s only company. It had been an incalculable amount of time since he had to fight against his own mind and memories, since he had to stand up against a past that no longer defined him. He was fully aware that he was unforgivable, and he had made peace with that thousands of years ago, therefore he had no longer thought about the motives of his fall, not until now. That day something terrible had been awakened from the depth of his being, and he was terrified of having to confront it.
The trip back home was too quiet, and the silence was so empty that Crowley’s thoughts started to fill it instead, which exponentially increased the demon’s uneasiness. As it is known, when a supernatural entity gets pervaded by human emotions (which is not meant to happen, given that those same feelings had fallen on Earth because they were banished from the spheres and circles of Heaven and Hell), odd situations may start to arise. In this case, Crowley’s severe agitation manifested at the expenses of the people in the rusty bus. The young bloke listening to music at a frighteningly high volume spit his gum and sticked it upon the seat next to him, the bus began making alarmingly abrupt turns, an angry mother started to fiercely shout insults at her phone and half of the nagging neon lights started flickering or completely turned off. Before Crowley even came to realize what was happening, hot steam began pouring out from his ears. Then all of a sudden, he felt a comforting weight on his arm. He looked down and saw Aziraphale’s hand carefully laid on the sleeve of the demon’s jacket.
“Crowley dear, are you alright?”
Aziraphale’s warm touch and worried voice quickly brought Crowley down to reality again (the guy’s wet gum disappeared from the seat, the mad driver seemed to regain his driving license, the woman made peace with the poor soul on the other side of the phone and the lights stopped their disco choreography).
The demon shifted uncomfortably on his seat and leant his head against the cold window. No, he wasn’t alright at all, those were the words urging to escape his mouth. He considered for a few instants the idea of actually telling his partner what was causing the distress to spread inside of him, but he immediately reconsidered. What would the angel think of Crowley if he told him that he recognized one of his oldest friends inside of Satan’s eyes? It would inevitably scare him off, and it was the last thing he wanted.
“Yessss ’m fine.”
He couldn’t believe he had just hissed, for Hell’s sake. When was the last time his stupidly snakey tongue made that awful noise? (It had to be around the Golden Age of Piracy, when he used it a couple of times to spread the belief of mermaids). Aziraphale must have noticed the unusual sound too because he seemed even more preoccupied than before. Crowley felt the need to reassure him, despite the small but really insistent part of his being that wished to confess all his fears to the angel.
“Really angel, ‘s all good. I just need to sleep for another century.”
Even if he didn’t look persuaded at all, his partner gave him a soft smile, one of those smiles so calming that you feel rays of sunshine pouring directly into your soul. But then a second later he removed his hand from Crowley’s arm, and the world began feeling too cold again.
“Well then, if you are surely-sure, I'm afraid this is my stop, so I’d better take my leave.”
Before Crowley could even form a protesting thought, the angel got up from his seat in the same way he always did: he put both hands on each thigh, used them as leverage, and once he was up on his feet, cleared some nonexistent dust from his waistcoat before adjusting it. With begging eyes, Crowley watched him from behind the lenses while he took a couple of short graceful steps towards the doors of the bus. Aziraphale turned his head slightly back for a bit and Corwley saw him mouth a few sweet letters.
“Goodnight, Crowley.”
He felt his ribcage tightening around his demonic heart and squeezing it. He forced out a couple of words, hoping they would be enough to make Aziraphale understand how grateful he was for his tender presence, always.
“’Night angel.”
In response, he was gifted a gentle curve of the lips and eyes kindly squinting in contentment. He wished he could take pictures with his eyes, so that he could keep that instant to warm him up whenever he needed it. Nevertheless, that fragile and delicate moment had to come to an end, and as soon as the bus doors opened, the angel flew outside into the moonlit night. And with that, the loneliness had won.
End of the journey. Crowley was trembling, a feeling of terror pervading him from head to toe. He stumbled and slithered until he realized he had successfully reached his dearly loved bed. However, the familiar sensation of those sheets, the same fabric that had held him in his most peaceful and longest sleeps were no longer giving him any comfort. His fears became reality and soon guests from such distant times came running to keep him company. While in the airbase in Tadfield, the very moment he had perceived the Devil’s presence he had known it was gonna be the end of him. To see Satan meant having to witness the outcome of his selfish actions, having to stare at the atrocity he had created, causing the Pandora box that had been sealed in the most remote place of his head to be unlocked and all his worst memories to roam freely. Alone on that huge mattress, suffocating in the middle of those immense stone walls, he felt himself drifting away from reality. Images flashing before his eyes. Starry skies, radiant lights, vibrant smiles. Lucifer’s lovely face, framed by deep golden locks, the same color of sun the day they decided to create it together. But all of a sudden he was screaming at him. No, not at him, he was shouting furiously looking up at the sky, however, all his words fell to deaf ears. He was getting bigger and bigger, ire flowing from his glowing hands, hands that had created so much beauty, how could have they become the origin of such cruelty? Lucifer was not looking at him with dark and so empty eyes.
“It is your fault, Kokabiel.”
Kokabiel, the angel of the stars. Stars that were now falling and he couldn’t stop them. Or were they angels? He surely witnessed myriads of stars pouring out from Lucifer’s eyes, leaving them pitch black forever. Eyes that had always been so bright, because he was Lucifer, the bearer of light, the light of God himself. The loss of the most precious celestial being, the fall of so many angels, the creation of Hell: it was all because of him. Or at least, that was what everyone had always told him. Although he knew the fault was all his, he couldn’t bear to go through all of this guilt another time. A pleading whisper managed to escape his lips.
“Please stop.”
Rationally, he would have never reacted this dramatically to anything. He had never felt so scared and lost throughout his whole never-ending existence, so he knew that the Devil, God, or whoever was angry at him, was punishing him in this atrocious way. Therefore, to put an end to this, the demon tried to talk. Once again, he was miserably attempting to communicate with someone who he knew had never listened to a single word that came out from his mouth. But at heart, Crowley was an optimist. So he gave it a last hopeful shot.
“I know you’re not listening, you never do. And I know I’m unforgivable, that I deserve all of- all of this pain. I know my punishment will never end. But I’m serving my sentence, day after day.”
Flash of flames and fire appeared behind his eyes. The worst of Hell, he had witnessed it all, it was alive in his memory. He had lived the creation of the whole underworld, seen all the pains and tortures, experienced most of them and forgotten none.
“Just please, I don’t need to go through all this once more.”
It was not just that. It was not just the fear of having to experience the shatter of his soul again. There was more than the need to regain the peace inside his own head, there was another desire, one that was not driven by fear nor encompassed by pain. A crave that generated 6000 years before, as old as humanity. This life on Earth had given him something that made his whole existence feel right after centuries of believing that guilt was all that defined him. Throughout the passing of chaotic yet tender times, he had gained the terrible realization that he had found something worth existing for, or rather, someone that made the miserable demon feel like he was worthy of admiring the stars again. Since the day that the Apple had been eaten, he had noticed the loneliness which followed him like a shadow had begun breaking free from him. After being firmly convinced that he had been emptied of all his universe, a warm company had shown him how to feel whole again.
“I don’t want to be alone.”
The atmosphere suddenly shifted. While hot streams of tears were still running down his bony cheeks, Crowley’s lungs started to expand again, feeling bigger than a forest; his body free from the weight of all his sins, was now light as clouds at dawn; despite the dark indigo sky outside of his window, his apartment felt as bright as the first constellation he had ever created.
Not even the time to realize how amazing it all felt, that he perceived a rather annoying sensation right on his chest, as if something was trying to tear a hole in it. Slowly, his hand reached the place on his torso where he had been feeling the ache, and unexpectedly found out that the cause of his discomfort was, nonetheless, his mobile phone, which was shaking way more than usual and emitting the loudest sounds it had ever made. Did it just turn on on its own? Utterly confused and still a bit trembling, Crowley managed to bring the wicked device to his face, trying to understand why it had gotten possessed. The screen was right in front of his eyes but he couldn’t see a thing behind the foggy veil of tears, so he began to frantically press everything that resembled a turn off button. At some point the phone stopped vibrating like the epicenter of an earthquake, but not for too long, as a familiar voice suddenly got out of the small metal box.
”Crowley dear, is that you?”
He had called Aziraphale.