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"It was a shame though, what happened with her first born. Do you recall?" Aziraphale asked quietly, and Crowley immediately wished he wasn't a part of this conversation anymore (and desperately wished he still had his glasses on). They’d been drinking, discussing various odds and ends of their time on earth, and he had no idea how they’d ended up back so close to the Beginning but he wished they hadn’t.
Of course Crowley recalled. It was a brutal ache that had haunted him for thousands of years, one of many he didn't examine too closely because it would just put more pressure on the cracks already spreading through his charred heart.
He'd still been Crawly then, and largely left to own devices on earth after the success of that first great tempting. And he'd thought to explore a little, see what else creation held, maybe see what had become of the poor humans.
By the time he'd caught up to them, they'd finally found somewhere to settle. She had given birth, and he couldn't help but marvel at the strange little thing she held to her breast. It had first brought to mind a caterpillar, fat and wiggly and mostly useless. But the longer he observed the growth of this first family, the more he found himself becoming increasingly fond of the small creature.
They called the child Cain. He grew so quickly it seemed, from a completely helpless lump to a mostly helpless lump, toddling around on short, chubby little legs. By that point, his mother was expecting again, and Crawly had become fascinated by the antics of the first child.
Crawly kept his presence masked from Adam and Eve, not particularly wanting to dredge up any bad blood or give them the wrong impression. But he'd indulge his curiosity (reconnaissance, he tried to tell himself, about how this new type of human worked) and he'd sit with their son while they were distracted, out in the fields or tending the animals.
He learned Cain liked it when he made silly faces, and was fascinated by the bright red of his hair, reaching out with tiny hands to tug at it, which should have been irritating instead of endearing. He started bringing the child treats of sweet fruit to snack on while they watched his parents at their work.
Crawly ended up unintentionally overseeing the birth of the second son, whom they called Abel. He could not ease her pain, that was no longer in his ability, but he stayed near their dwelling throughout the birth, just in case (in case of what, or what he planned to do, he hadn’t really thought of). But all went well, and the boy was strong and healthy, like his brother before him.
In their early years, Crawly was a near constant companion to them in their hours of play. With gentle suggestion, he was able to convince them to keep him a secret, keeping their parents from one more worry. He continued to bring treats (fruit or shiny rocks or flowers woven into small chains), and they taught him their favorite games, or braided his hair while he made up stories for their amusement (maybe this was where his imagination truly started to take shape, children are a demanding audience). And he found that, despite himself, he was becoming fond of them.
There had never been children before, they were the first, and he decided he rather liked them. Their constant teasing, the fights they didn't mean, their jokes and their laughter, but above all else, he loved their questions. They were small, and curious, and challenged everything with a spirit that seemed too big for their tiny bodies.
Crawly was called away eventually (no rest for the wicked as it were), and by the time he returned to check in, the boys were young men.
Cain was in the fields, tending to the harvest. He had a real green thumb, could make anything grow it seemed. Abel had a way with animals and a love of wandering, and so tended the sheep. They seemed happy in each others company still, and happy with their lots.
Crawly did not reveal himself to them, figuring it was best to remain a memory in their childhoods and not have to explain what he was to these now men, who had come to know God in a similar but oddly removed way to their parents. But he left them each a small chain of flowers, because he couldn't quite resist.
And so he'd wandered for a bit, enjoying the way creation continued its development, knowing that soon enough he would be called away to attend to some dastardly deeds, but for a time he had something very close to peace.
But as Crawly's wanderings brought him back, he found a scene much changed. A bitterness had settled between the brothers, a resentment that was starting to fester. He found the source of this divide, two altars set in sacrifice, and it was clear to anyone with eyes whose had been accepted and whose hadn't. His heart sank as he recognized the edges of a Test.
Their parents spoke in whispered tones away from their boys, wondering at the rejected offering.
Maybe he did not give his best , Adam suggested.
When have you ever known Cain to give less than his best? Eve replied.
Crawly got nervous.
He'd sought them out, hoping maybe the air could be cleared. He had no idea how, but there had to be something. When he found them, they were walking together, away from their homestead, and they had begun to argue.
The argument turned physical, shouting led to shoving led to brawling, and they tumbled to the ground. They'd done this many times as children, Crawly remembered, but it always seemed to relieve some of their frustrations, and they'd walked away hand in hand, argument forgotten.
This was different. The blows were more vicious, the things they shouted at one another more cruel. And just as Crawly stepped forward, intending to intervene in some way, no longer able to just stand by and watch as their fight spiraled out of control, Cain took up a stone and brought it down hard on Abel's head with a sickening crack. Abel abruptly quit struggling.
There was blood on the stone and blood on Cain's hands, blood covered Abel's face and dripped down to seep into the dirt. The rage had faded from Cain's features, and he simply looked shocked. He dropped the stone, and reached out with a trembling hand to touch Abel’s battered cheek, running a thumb gently along his cheekbone as if brushing away a tear (but only smearing the blood further). Cain tried to shake Abel by the shoulder, as though this would rouse him, as if he hadn’t gone past the horizon of ever waking again.
It was the first death.
It was the first murder.
It was not, however, the first regret.
Oh no little one, what have you done? Was all Crawly could think, and then he felt something Shift. He could feel the Almighty's attention turning towards this new and gruesome scene, and Crawly fled.
He had found somewhere far enough away not to draw Her attention, somewhere with soft earth and reasonably green plants (not nearly so lush as Eden, but as close as he'd probably ever get again), and he had covered his face and wailed. He’d curled in as tightly as he could in this form, arms wrapped around himself, and tried to contain the sobs bubbling up in his chest.
He wasn’t completely sure why he was as upset as he was, since, as a demon, the advent of murder and the tarnish it brought to humanity should please him. But he was undeniably upset, hurt in some new but not wholly unfamiliar way, and the confusion this bred only upset him more ultimately.
And there was one thing that crossed Crawly’s mind, as he huddled in his spiral of guilt and grief, and that was that on the slim chance he ever saw him again, he could not tell the angel. The strange angel Aziraphale that he’d met at the Eastern Gate, who’d given up his flaming sword to the humans because she had been expecting . He’d find out of course, there was no way something like this could remain unknown to him, but Crawly didn’t think he could handle the accusations of his having a hand in causing this demise.
So he’d locked it all away, never forgotten, but set aside, to avoid the pressure to explain and the ache of what had happened. There would be other heartbreaks to bear, time would see to it. And by the time he saw Aziraphale again, there were other things going on, and other things to talk about.
And in 6000 years, they’d managed not to speak of what became of Eve’s sons even once.
That is, until tonight.
Crowley felt a hand on his face, a thumb brushing along his cheekbone, wiping away something damp there (Blood, his mind supplied, even though he knew that wasn’t right, that was a different person’s cheek in a different time, in a different place). He flinched at the gentle touch, before he gathered himself back in the present, focusing his eyes to see Aziraphale had moved so very near, and realized it was Aziraphale touching him.
“My dear, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize...” He was so gentle, his touch and his voice so soft, and it took Crowley a moment before he realized he'd told the story aloud for the first time since it happened.
"She was testing them, always testing. Very testy, the Almighty is. It's part of the deal, I get it. It just seemed so.. unfair." Crowley sniffled, trying to steadfastly pretend he wasn't. "They only ever did as was asked of them, why provoke them like that? I thought that was my lot’s job, goading people to see if you can’t get a bad response."
"Crowley…" Aziraphale's tone was firm, but less a chiding than Crowley would have expected.
"Don't you dare say 'it’s ineffable', angel. I don't think I could handle it right now." He couldn't quite meet Aziraphale's eye, but unthinkingly leaned into the hand still resting against his cheek. He probably should sober up, but that seemed like a lot of effort just at the moment.
Instead of answering right away, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close, a hand lightly petting his hair. The angel pressed a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head, which soothed some fraying place in him the demon hadn’t been completely aware of.
"It wasn’t your fault, you know. What happened, it wasn’t because you were or weren’t there. They made their choices, and the Almighty did what She does, and whatever the case, it is what it is now. For better or worse, we have to carry it, and learn to continue living with it. That doesn't make it hurt any less, I'm afraid." The angel's fingers combed through his demon's hair, while said demon hid his face against his angel's shoulder, trying to hide his tears.
"But I'm here if you need a hand with the weight of that, my dear." Aziraphale laid another gentle kiss atop Crowley's head, and it was almost too much for him to bear.
Crowley wanted to make some snide comment, some snarky remark on his nature or some such. But, if only in that moment, they were past the point of such pretense, and he couldn’t find it in him. Instead he just burrowed in closer to Aziraphale, taking comfort in the angel’s warmth and soft touch, and slowly letting the tension bleed out of him as he calmed under the angel’s hand.
And in those quiet, still moments, Crowley decided that he was very glad to have someone to help carry these things.