Chapter Text
***
Thousands of years of bearing witness to human pain and suffering on Earth did nothing to prepare Crowley for the violent sharpness that singed his very being as he watched Aziraphale walk with Metatron towards the elevator to heaven.
Crowley leaned against his car as he always did. Most nights, before heading back to his flat, the demon liked to linger and watch Aziraphale carefully tinkering with his books through the window of the bookshop.
On those nights, after Crowley has indulged for a few moments, he eventually ducks his head and slides into the Bentley while trying to ignore the soft ache in his heart.
Today, however, Crowley leaned against the Bentley and watched as the angel he loves chooses heaven over them.
Aziraphale looked over at Crowley slowly.
Crowley knew that look very well. Regret.
Angel…
Crowley extended his hearing and heard a muffled apology from Aziraphale to Metatron.
“I’m sorry… I… I can’t go I’m afraid.”
And just like that, the violent sharpness lifted from Crowley immediately. A new emerging emotion started swirling inside of him like a cyclone.
It felt like hope.
“Angel…” Crowley breathed.
Aziraphale looked both ways before running across the street and towards the demon.
Metatron stumbled out of the elevator, his anger clearly evident by the damning words spilling out of his mouth as he tried to leap after him.
Crowley pushed himself off the Bentley and rushed towards the angel.
“Angel, what are you doing?!” Was he doing it? Was he going to stay? Was he going to finally run away with Crowley?
“Crowley! I’m…”
Lightning shot out from the hands of Metatron. He struck the angel in the middle of the street. Aziraphale cried out in a way the demon had never heard before.
“ANGEL!!”
And just like that, the angel was gone.
***
Crowley screamed out as he fell to the ground where the street was now covered in soot.
Metatron must have miracle'd the people around them to ignore what was happening. Londoners around them continued on their commute as if the world didn’t just lose a beautiful angel.
A man in a hat holding a newspaper walked through Crowley as the demon smeared his hands in the soot looking for any trace of Aziraphale.
Metatron casually approached the demon until he was standing over him.
“What did you do to him?!” Crowley growled at the powerful being.
Metatron ignored the question, “You must have quite a hold on the angel. For him to defy the plans of Our Lord and Savior... you must have your claws in deep.”
He studied the demon as he continued, “When will you learn that you and your kind will never win?”
Crowley went to stand, seething. His eyes never left Metatron.
“I don’t care about winning," Crowley spit out, "Just find someone else to do your dirty work. Aziraphale might have gone along with you for a little while, but eventually he would have seen through all of you. I know it. You lot are no better than us downstairs.”
Crowley wasn’t sure what ‘The Plan’ was, but he sure as hell knew it wasn’t going to improve existence. It never does.
“Aziraphale just proved himself unworthy yet again thanks to you. You two deserve each other." Metatron waved his hand, "He’s done.”
Crowley’s heart dropped at that. What does he mean? Crowley tried to sense his angel somewhere in the universe. All he heard was silence.
Metatron seemed to read his mind. “He is fallen. Hell is checking him in as we speak.”
The powerful being turned to leave. He paused before turning back to the distraught demon on the ground.
“He can only be reinstated as an angel if you eliminate yourself from existence.”
Metatron turned away again, this time returning to the elevator.
As soon as the elevator closed, the world froze around Crowley.
The demon suddenly felt Aziraphale's prescence again. Normally, the sensing of his companion would mean immediate relief.
This time it felt like a punch in the gut.
Crowley frantically looked around amongst the frozen Londoners for his angel. When he was nowhere to be found, the demon ran into the bookstore.
The bell on the door rang as the door softly closed behind him. The bookstore was quiet and peaceful as always.
Crowley faintly heard the world around him unfreeze as his eyes met an unclothed Aziraphale crumpled on the ground.
"Aziraphale..."
Crowley fell to his knees once again in defeat. His angel was covering himself with black wings and crying.
The smell of sulfur filled the room.
***