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It was one of those miserable days when one feels like a useless creature of lost potential. Like you could have been a Someone but you ended up ruining everything and became yourself. Nothing ever seemed to be able to silence the painful thoughts and the endless, nagging ‘what-ifs’. So on days like these, Crowley got drunk.
It did not help. Not in the slightest.
But he did it anyway.
At the moment, he was staring blankly at the statue in his flat from the cold marble floor with his back against the couch. The umpteenth bottle of cheap wine (no energy to create expensive one out of thin air) in his hand. The sunglasses were still perched up high on his nose. He spent the whole day like this. Staring, thinking, drinking.
The thing was...
He didn't even remember his time in Heaven.
And yet...
Why did it still hurt to know he had fallen out of it?
Why did the knowledge that he could never fix it stung so much?
Why did –
“Crowley!" whined a familiar voice.
If he wasn't so out of it Crowley might have startled at the pained sound of Aziraphale's worried voice. If he wasn't so out of it maybe he would have heard his phone ring several times before the angel decided to use a spare key to the flat. Of course, an eternal being sensed something wasn't right. Like any good friend would.
"What, in Heaven's sake, are you doing?" he asked, taking the wine bottle away.
Heaven, echoed in Crowley's mind as he finally looked at Aziraphale. His eyes were huge with worry, frantically searching Crowley's face for something, Crowley didn't know. His hair burned like a fiery halo in the day's last sunlight. Heaven! (Crowley might have accidentally exclaimed it while throwing his hands up.) Heaven, that's exactly what he's talking about. It never leaves him alone. Alone!
He squints his eyes at Aziraphale (not that he can see it with the sunglasses in the way).
"ME?! What the Heaven" he spits "are You doing here?"
Here! Lo and behold an angel walking the earth!
“Shouldn’t you be Up, with the angels?”
“Wha- what are you talking about?!” started Aziraphale, surprised at the anger, confused Crowley was talking about in his drunken state.
Crowley stumbled closer, pointing fingers up and to the angel and gesturing wildly clearly not in the right state of mind.
“You. Up. With the angels. Bassking in the light. On sssome fluffy cloud.” Pause. Brows drew close together. “On a tile floor. Whatever! Riding the hhhhh, the hvvv, hoverboards!"
Crowley miracled another bad wine bottle in his hand and took a swig.
"I don't think I understand, what-"
"Heaven!"
"Yes, I got that part but what about it?"
"Kicked me out!" Then quieter he added, "I can't go there."
"You've been there a month ago, remember? In my body? After the Armaggeddon that wasn't."
"It'sSss, ugh!" Crowley took off his sunglasses and massaged the bridge of his nose for a second to gather thoughts. "'S not the same, angel, i mean-. I, gah! Lost it! No return! Fell from it, swoosh down like a.. a thing. Like a gravity thing." He put his head on his knees. Tired. Just tired.
He heard a soft "ah" escaping Aziraphale as he could finally put a cause to his friend's distress. In the corner of his eyes, Crowley saw him take a swig from the bottle then with a twisted face look at the label.
"Fresco?" Aziraphale mumbled to himself eyeing the bottle. How heavenly, indeed.
Heaven, huh, ah. He plops on the sofa. Crowley mindlessly leans on his legs from the floor. And he puts a hand or his head without a thought.
The sun hid behind the landscape, leaving the apartment in the dim light of a faraway street lamp. Everything is quiet. The only noise being the brush of fingers on hair and the demon's drowsy breathing. The demon.. was Crowley still a demon? Aziraphale wondered while looking at his friend. He, himself, was not exactly an angel either, was he? Would he be allowed to go to Heaven if he needed to?
"I don't even want to," Crowley's murmur broke the stillness.
"Huh?"
"I wouldn't want to be a part of heaven. It's just that... It left me... Empty. Like there's a missing piece. And I can't do anything about it."
Aziraphale hummed. He twisted a strand of Crowley's hair, making a loop out of it.
"Yeah."
"Yeah? The fuck does yeah mean, angel?"
"I can't exactly go back to heaven too, can I now?"
This startles the redhead. He looks up at his friend and partner and sees how glassy his eyes are and how sad is his smile, like a tragic realization dooming on him. Then there's a sob. A broken breath and the tears filled his eyes. Crowley rushed to sit beside him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm around him to comfort him like it's a wing.
"Oh, I, shit, Aziraphale, I'm so sorry. I didn't even think about-"
"No that's quite alright, dear," he says way too fast. "Heaven hasn't been exactly the most welcoming, ah, well, since the Rebellion, I suppose. Everyone's constantly looking behind their backs and not trusting anyone. Angels were keeping their distance. Everyone was rather mean and hostile, truly, hah" he let out a watery chuckle.
Aziraphale took the handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face before adding in a calmer, more joyous voice: "But you know, heaven doesn't have to be the heaven per se. It can be anywhere. On Earth, even. It's like that one song."
"Song?"
"Heaven on earth thing song?"
"Heaven is a place on earth?"
"Yes! This one. Precisely, thank you, dear."
He smiled. Crowley smiled back and clinked his wine bottle with Aziraphale's.