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Sometimes, on the nights when Crowley felt entirely alone, he sat in the darkness and gazed up at the stars. Not from London, generally. He drove out to the countryside away from all the city lights, parked his Bentley, and thought.
He’d never been scared of darkness, not even in his first days as a demon. Demons could see in the dark, even the dark that made up the deepest pits of Hell. And besides, Crowley had always been determined to crawl back out of the shadows. To once again stand in the light he’d lost when he Fell, even if it was a light of his own creation.
He really hadn’t expected that light to come in the form of an angel. One who smiled brightly and laughed with such delight at all the little things this world had to offer. Aziraphale was warmth and kindness and joy, all the things Crowley longed for with every fiber of his shattered, clumsily pasted-together heart.
But Aziraphale was also as unreachable as the stars. A being of light, yes, but Crowley was a creature of darkness. On opposite sides, their paths heading for a collision of the worst kind. Headed for war.
That was the trouble with being the one who sucked at denial. Once Crowley started thinking about a problem, he couldn’t stop. It just raced around him, relentless.
But Aziraphale could bury his face in a book, vanish into the Hundred Acre Wood or Middle Earth or humanity’s past. Vanish, and forget all about the eventual Apocalypse.
And the ease with which he could deny, repress, forget…
Would he do that about Crowley someday? If the War happened, if Heaven won, would Aziraphale vanish into his angelic duties without a glance back for his friend? Would he deny that they’d ever been friends at all?
Would all their precious time together—and Crowley himself—be forgotten?
That was what haunted Crowley most, all these lonely nights in the dark. He wasn’t sure what would happen to demons if Hell lost the War. Nothing good, obviously, and that scared him. But even the concepts of destruction or eternal torment were nothing compared to the terror of that possible future.
A future in which his best friend forgot him and just carried on like they’d never met. Like they hadn’t formed the Arrangement and helped each other. Like they’d never developed a bond. Like they weren’t important to each other.
Crowley loved Aziraphale, no denying that. The first seeds had been sown in Eden when Aziraphale was so nervous, admitted to giving away his flaming sword, and sheltered Crowley from the first rain. But it takes time for anything to grow, and grow it had. Over the millennia, Crowley’s fascination with the odd, fussy angel had blossomed into love.
It infuriated him. Not fucking fair. Of all the beings in the universe, why this one? This angel, so soft and silly and prim. So self-righteous and stubborn. So enthusiastic and gentle and kind. So bright and cheerful. So loving, in his own hesitant, repressed way.
So incredibly out of reach, something Crowley could never have.
Crowley sighed and dropped his head in his hands, simply stayed like that for a moment. He was being ridiculous, sitting out here like this and sulking.
And obsessing about their problems did him no good. It just trapped him in endless overthinking, his mind charging around in a frantic, desperate search. A battle for a solution, a fix, something that would let him and Aziraphale be best friends forever in a very literal sense.
“Bloody idiot, that’s what I am,” he said to his car. The Bentley, of course, didn’t respond. Crowley leaned back against it anyway, seeking what comfort he could. From a car.
He sighed again. This was just making him more miserable, which meant he should damn well give up and drive back to London. Get really drunk. Maybe sleep for the next year. Do anything other than sitting here, stressing about the inevitable death of all his dreams.
Once in the car, he grabbed a Mozart disc and rammed it in the player. Instead of Mozart, he got “Love of My Life.”
He switched the player off and drove home in silence.
The depression sank in, heavier and heavier, until he was drowning in hopelessness. And yet, even as despair tempted him to surrender, his mind still raced for a solution. There had to be something, some way to be happy. He just couldn’t find it.
He parked outside his flat and stared at the steering wheel for a while, heart aching. And then there was a gentle rap on his window.
Pulse racing, he jerked his head up. Aziraphale, a tight smile on his face, gave a little wave.
“Uh.” Crowley waved back and opened the door, careful not to hit his friend. “Hi. What’re you doing here?”
“Oh, I’ve been ringing you all night and no response. Not even on your walkie-talkie!” Aziraphale pouted at him. “You always answer your walkie-talkie when I call. So I came over and waited for you to get back. I’m so relieved you’re okay.”
Crowley’s throat tightened, and tears stung his eyes. Wow. He’d been out sulking, fretting about the future, wallowing in his fear of being forgotten. And all along, Aziraphale had been worrying about him.
“S’ called a mobile, Aziraphale,” he managed once he was pretty sure he wouldn’t cry. “And sorry for not answering. I just, uh. Was out on a drive, didn’t bring my mobile.”
Brow crinkling with concern, Aziraphale searched his face. “Well, it doesn’t look as though you had much fun. You look positively miserable.”
“Eh.” Crowley shrugged, still in the car. He couldn’t quite bring himself to move, although his despair had lifted. “Why were you trying to get ahold of me?”
To his utter shock, Aziraphale bustled over to the passenger side of the Bentley and climbed in. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out for a late night snack. It sounded like a lovely idea. We can take this death trap of yours, I suppose.”
Crowley stared at him, speechless. Aziraphale looked downright determined to cheer him up—chin raised, hands folded, jaw set.
How could he have ever thought that Aziraphale would forget him someday?
With a long, relieved breath, Crowley started the Bentley and pulled back out into the road. “Yeah. Sounds like a good way to spend the night.”
Despite the car’s moderate speed, Aziraphale clutched at Crowley’s arm. “Oh,” he said with a shy look. “Afraid I’m still not used to this vehicle. I shall have to hold onto you to keep myself from flinging all over the place.”
The gentle support and comfort—couched in deceit though it was—lifted the heaviness on Crowley’s heart. “Yeah, all right,” he said gruffly.
Aziraphale smiled at him, and hope reignited. Maybe they really could have happiness after all, at least for now. And Crowley planned to enjoy every second of it.