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Falling was inevitable.
Crowley wasn't oblivious of that. When he was created by the Almighty, he fell many times upon using his wings for the very first time – it was an odd sensation, having a heavy set of appendages protruding out from your back, and he admits, it took him longer than the other angels to get comfortable with them and even longer to discover the posture that best offset the extra weight.
Crowley was no stranger to falling. He had his fair share of toppling over as he adjusted himself with his wings, so much so that he frequently spent time with the ground more than he'd like to admit, but once he had adjusted, falling became a rarity that he seldom became acquainted with afterwards. He no longer had to miracle his little scrapes and bruises away and falling became something of a vague dream in the past, fading away till it disappeared.
Crowley hasn't fallen for thousands of years, and in those years, he became one of the most stable fliers in Heaven, a known feat that he honed and was very much proud of. A feat that even the Almighty herself had acknowledged, praised even, and in her recognition, had appointed him as an archangel of Heaven under the alias of Raphael. Him! The Almighty had noticed his skills and entrusted him with such a significant position and responsibility, and the first thing Crowley had used his powers and ranking for was to dabble with space and its vast void.
Crowley had always been fascinated with space and its open emptiness, just waiting to be filled. He had taken one look at it and decided that it was simply too dark, so he had waved a hand in the air, collected some hydrogen and helium and fused them to create some light. Tossed his new creation up into space, and as he watched it twinkle light years away from Earth, stark against the dark, he decided to call it a star.
Crowley had loved, still loves, astronomy - how could he not when the majority of celestial bodies floating up there were forged from his very hands and mind? They were his creation, and he will love them thus.
Crowley had expected the Almighty to be the same; after all, he had modeled his appreciation for all creation based on the Almighty's own unconditional love for her own. At least, what Crowley had idealized as unconditional, but as he executed his duties, dealt with the affairs between Heaven and Earth, Crowley started to question the motives behind some of the Almighty’s actions.
As a rather high ranking angel, Crowley's position never let him stray far from all decisions and information being exchanged between the mortals on Earth and the Almighty. As an archangel, Crowley even had a say in some of Her decisions, aside from passing along Her messages to the humans once in a while, but of course, more often than not, the Almighty makes the decisions under Her own jurisdiction, and Hers alone. And truth be told, Crowley wasn't particularly at ease with some of them to say the least, most notably the Great Flood of 2345 BC. Crowley had been the one tasked to forward the message to Noah about it, to alert him to build his Ark, but as the Almighty's plan began to fully unveil itself, the message had left a bitter aftertaste and uncertainty shifting in his heart, a terrible realization of what this flood would entail for humanity. Crowley, however, deigned to voice out these concerns, merely storing them away in his thoughts to be pondered upon; he had seen what the Almighty had the power to do to those who doubted and were unfaithful to her. Humanity was going to be Her example, and Crowley didn't dare to give any indication of any unfaithfulness if only to deter Her wrath.
Regardless, the Almighty had sensed his apprehension, and had tried to reasonably justify the event as a way to wipe clean the corruption that had seeded and bloomed during that time period, pull the weed from its roots, as She said, but Crowley had remained horrified by the devastation that it had implied, the way it had burdened onto Earth an excruciating death with the slow drag of a dagger as opposed to the swift end of its point.
As much as he tried to rationalize the Almighty’s justification, he couldn’t help but see it as nothing more than a massacre, and his belief in Her Great Plan slowly started to fray upon seeing the thousands of innocent people suffering alongside the few corrupt. It was a price that should’ve been too expensive to pay, and a sense of something akin to betrayal budded within him as what Crowley had hoped would’ve been a merciful reprieve for the innocent was met with callous indifference instead. Crowley's trust in Her Great Plan diminished, but despite the doubt that had started to grow, he still found it in him to retain some of that trust in the Almighty – She’ll see how cruel the Great Flood had been and stray from such harsh punishments for the mortals in the future.
Crowley had sustained that hope and continued on to serve Her, allowing his doubt to fade out with time, but less than 3000 years later, Crowley's mistrust was waxing again. 34 AD and She was sacrificing her son in the name of the sins of humankind, allowing the humans to torture him for days in the same cruel way she had allowed the innocent to suffer under the faults of the corrupted few.
The straw broke the camel’s back, and what hope and trust remained in the Almighty and Her Great Plan vaporized before Crowley's very eyes, as real and tangible as the merciless acts he had witnessed be done by the one who was supposed to be most merciful. Trust is such a fickle thing, and so was his tongue, but Crowley didn’t regret letting the question slip out as the Almighty confronted him about his growing lack of faith in Her: Who are You to toy with these mortals’ lives, all for the sake of Your plan?
The Almighty had paused for some time, Her light shifting and pulsing above Crowley as if contemplating an answer. Crowley had glared at the source of light and expected a glare back, maybe a ribbing in return, but was taken aback by the dimming of Her light as a voice, gentle and apologetic floated out softly: “Oh, my lovely angel, how I wish you had understood.”
A moment of perplexity had crossed Crowley's features, and in the same second, a pain, sharp and searing, fanned down the span of his outspread wings. The agony left him gritting his teeth harshly, barely withheld grunts pushing past his lips as he spiraled to the ground in the intense haze of black and red that clouded his vision. His wings were burning, Crowley knows they were, even as he squeezed his eyes against the on-slaught of heat slowly creeping across his back muscles, crawling from the stems of his wings. Hands, burning hands, aflame and scalding were crumbling his appendages with their callous touches and fists; Crowley vaguely registered Her voice, gentle, sweet and caressing in his ears, whisper, “I had so much hope in you”.
The pity, resonating louder than the actual words, had Crowley fisting his own hands against the ground as tears pricked his eyes. He was fighting a losing match, he knows he was, but even as breathless huffs strained indecisively in his throat, strangling him with the sheer refusal to surrender, even as a heavy sob gurgled out in his desperation to extinguish the flames, dear Heavens, they’re being incinerated, he still manages to flick a bitter glare up at the Almighty amidst fire.
“As did I,” Crowley choked out, despair clinging and lingering in the air as the light above faded away. In its place, clouds started to darken in somber silence, shading into a murky sable, as if reflecting his blackening, spasming wings in empathy. As the previously encroaching black haze over his eyes started to lift, he shifted slightly where he was sprawled out on the ground, face folding as the movement jostled his throbbing wing. Crowley notes somewhat vacantly that the scorching heat that was blazing across the base of his wings to the tips of his feathers had simmered down into a smolder, and in the wake of its hot temper, had left his wings twinging as it rode out the last flashes of burning sensation.
Crowley had stared at the ground for the longest time as he waited for the pain to subside to a manageable level, hands trembling against the cool marble. A part of him subconsciously gravitated toward the inviting relief offered by the cool surface, hoping proximity can mend what have been charred.
It wasn’t until he felt the first rain drop hit the back of his hand that the reality of his situation hit him hard: he had Fallen.
The Almighty… had watched him edge himself toward the end of a cliff and instead of lending a hand, had pushed him off... She had watched and-
Crowley twisted his neck around. The tail of an ashen feather breached his periphery and he snapped his face away. A sharp stuttering breath whistled out through clenched teeth.
-and made him into an example.
Swift tears mobbed his vision.
Hours of defiantly muffling his voice broke as a wail, raw and unhinged, reverberated into the accusing silence.