Chapter Text
Hell was a boring place. There was no denying it. Despite the number of demons and objects, it was still simply a useless mess with nothing to do.
So while Crowley was waiting for a, apparently very important meeting that Beelzebub set up, he was forced to pathetically stand around. His best entertainment being eavesdropping on other demons’ conversations.
“See this? This is actually genius,” said Hastur with a huge mischievous grin. He held a piece of paper up to Ligur’s face.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” the demon responded and then grimaced, “But let’s not…”
“Coward!” Hastur laughed at him, “You wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t you?”
“Probably. Not my type of thing. I take a more… traditional approach to demoning.”
“Right.” Hastur put the paper on the nearest desk, “I hope someone does something useful with it.”
Now they got Crowley hooked.
What was that mysterious piece of paper they were talking about?
What did it do?
As soon as the demons left, he sneaked up to the desk.
Quick look at the document and the first thing that caught his attention was something he wouldn’t generally expect on a random paper in hell. Aziraphale’s name.
So a quick look wasn’t enough. Crowley properly read into the writing.
We are glad to report that the principality Aziraphale was completely eliminated and now isn’t posing threat to anyone. The demon which caused his destruction was already handsomely rewarded.
~Hell’s department of the opposition’s elimination
Crowley froze. He was physically unable to move.
It couldn’t be.
Aziraphale wasn’t dead.
What did elimination mean anyway? Discorporation? Or… total destruction?
But why would they? Aziraphale never posed any actual threat to anyone.
With all of the willpower he had in him, the demon stopped the wetness from overcoming his eyes.
Aziraphale wasn’t DEAD, for Satan’s sake. This- this document had to be fake, false. It was. Period. Crowley wouldn’t accept any other version.
He was sure as soon he’d be back from hell, Aziraphale would be there waiting, in his bookshop, with his usual bright smile, greeting the demon.
But Crowley didn’t feel like waiting all that time to check up on the angel. He needed to know now.
He realized that all of his limbs were shaking slightly. On his two shaky legs he found the way to the lift.
It seemed that all of the demons ignored the fact that he was currently running away from the important meeting.
But would Crowley care anyway if they did something about it? He bloody would not. There was an angel, on earth, that the demon had to see right now. Nothing was more important.
Because if Aziraphale wasn’t there-
Crowley wasn’t even going to entertain that possibility.
He absent mindedly found the green-blue button. Earth, he needed to be there, fast.
When the demon found his way out of the building, the rays of sun fell on his face. He should feel warmth, but instead he felt cold, cruel emptiness in his heart caused by something missing. A missing presence. A presence that was the main source of any true warmth in Crowley’s existence.
The conclusion was obvious – Aziraphale wasn’t here.
Once again, the demon found himself denying the idea. It didn’t matter that everything was pointing at it. It didn't matter. Crowley knew Aziraphale couldn’t just die. He couldn’t. Crowley didn’t agree on that.
But despite his denying he found himself running to the bookshop. Not a normal run. A desperate run, because he still needed to check, assure himself.
The shop’s sign said OPEN, and the door were unlocked.
Crowley’s heart was racing now, and no effort could stop the tears spilling from his eyes.
He slammed into the bookshop.
Empty and quiet.
He looked everywhere. No one was there.
Someone in hell was claiming to kill Aziraphale and the angel was nowhere to be found. He was not on earth.
This was the first time Crowley let that thought in – Aziraphale was quite possibly dead.
Not just discorporated. Wiped out of existence.
So, no more sweet smiles, no more late night talks over a glass of wine, no more secret meetings in St. James’s Park, no more bittersweet fights, no more reconciliations that came afterwards, no more fussing, and no more bantering. Just no more angel.
Crowley’s vision went blurry.
He just had to wait. Right? Aziraphale will surely be back in a day or two. And he’ll laugh at Crowley’s overreaction.
He just had to wait.
“Angel?” he whispered to the empty room, “Where are you?”
From that day on Crowley’s life only went downhill.
He used to pretend that he didn’t care for Aziraphale this much. But all of his faking now stopped. He didn’t have enough strength to keep it up. He just gave up.
Crowley had to admit, without the angel, world lacked any real color, to him. New assignments were the only reason he didn’t just sleep for the next century.
It was not that he hadn’t have any other activities besides spending time with Aziraphale, but the angel simply made his life brighter and the knowledge that he might never see him again was crumpling him up, destroying him from the inside, starting at his heart.
But Crowley still had some hope. The tiniest amount of it, but it was still there.
For a year, at least.
After a year he started drinking. To the point he spent weeks doing it without a break.
Most of times he forgot to sober up so after it he spent months sleeping. Just drinking and crying. Anything that hell wanted him to do he put down for later.
That’s how the second year of Aziraphale’s absence went, and the third too.
On the year fourth, he couldn’t stand it anymore and decided to just go to sleep, without an interruption. He managed to sleep for five years, until one night he had a very vivid nightmare about Aziraphale, all covered in blood and dying. He woke up whole in sweat and tears.
He didn’t know what to do with himself. His flat suddenly seemed dark and unpleasant and he didn’t think he could stand being in there anymore.
He went to the bookshop. It felt so much safer and so much more like home. Most importantly Crowley discovered that it still smelled of Aziraphale after eight years. Everything looked the same, yet it wasn’t. The angel, the very owner of this place wasn’t here anymore so it couldn’t be the same.
Crowley went around brushing his hand on the stacks of books, the thick layers of dust staying on his fingers.
He left this place behind. What would Aziraphale think about it? This bookshop was his legacy, his everything. Crowley should take care of it; it was his duty. What kind of best friend was he?
He had to do something now.
So that’s how the next year of his mourning went. He stress or rather grief-cleaned everything. Not a smudge of dust could stay.
Sometimes he just hid in some corner and cried after he found something that reminded him of the angel. Which was most of the time of course, since the whole bookshop was Aziraphale.
When everything was clean, he rearranged books. About eleven times in row in different combinations.
Sometimes he hoped that Aziraphale won’t be mad about it when he’s back, but then he remembered that Aziraphale wasn’t coming back.
Crowley started to get numb. Numb to everything. He often laid on the bookshop’s floor daydreaming of Aziraphale’s return and he wanted to cry when he reconnected with reality and realized that the angel wasn’t there at all, but it was as if he lost all of his tears already, so he didn’t.
He asked himself many questions. It was in his nature, wasn’t it?
What if Aziraphale came back?
What would Aziraphale say if he was back?
What would Crowley say if Aziraphale was back?
I love you
He never got to say it. He missed his chance. He never got to tell his best friend how much he meant to him. How he was everything to him. Would he really be able to say it though?
When he thought about it, Crowley shut his eyes so hard it hurt and imagined Aziraphale standing before him. “I love you,” he said to the image in his head, “I love you,” he repeated. And for that brief moment he regained his ability to cry.
Crowley couldn’t do this anymore. His heart was broken, and he just kept reminding himself of it, like an idiot.
He found himself curling up on the sofa and cradling a tartan pillow to his heart. He wanted to sleep again. To forget for some time. Maybe a nightmare won’t visit him again if he would politely ask it not to. That’s what Aziraphale would probably suggest him to do. So he did it, in is head. Then he fell asleep without meaning to wake up anytime soon.