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The thermos of holy water felt heavy and cold in his hands.
He considered it, turning it over and over, listening to the contents slosh around. Dread pulled on his stomach. It made him feel weak; he wanted to lie down forever. He wanted all of it to stop, if just for a moment.
Crowley took a shaky breath, and unscrewed the lid. He stared at the water. He could feel its power; it felt as though he were basking in the sun just being this close to it.
He closed his eyes, leaning forward until his forehead was resting on the edge of his desk.
Then, he whispered his only reason to stay alive: Aziraphale.
How could he ever give up the chance to see Aziraphale’s face? To hear his laugh? He couldn’t die; not yet. All the pain he had ever felt was nothing compared to his angel’s smile.
“Aziraphale,” he whispered. He was trying to convince himself. “Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale.” It was the only thing keeping him alive. The only reason he drew in his next breath.
“Aziraphale.”
“Dear? Are you alright?”
Crowley shot up, the thermos almost slipping from his grasp. He set it on his desk before anything bad could happen, and turned to face the angel now standing six feet away.
“‘Ziraphale?” he said, his voice cracking slightly.
Aziraphale was glancing between Crowley and the thermos, eyebrows lowered in worry.
“What are you doing here?” Crowley asked. “How did you get in?”
Aziraphale inhaled sharply, taking a step closer. He looked as though he was trying to find a way to grab at the thermos without Crowley snatching it back.
“You…You prayed to me, my dear.”
Crowley blinked.
He remembered his position from just a moment earlier; his forehead on his desk, eyes closed, voice reverent. Whispering a plea, a prayer, a request.
“You heard me?”
Aziraphale stepped closer. He was now staring solely at the thermos. Crowley stood, taking a step back to show that if Aziraphale wanted to take the thermos, he wasn’t going to do anything.
“Yes, of course I heard you. I…Were you going to…? Actually?”
Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered up, catching Crowley’s.
Crowley opened his mouth, fumbling for words. It seemed silly now, with Aziraphale standing in front of him. It seemed stupid to take his own life.
“Yes,” he finally answered, voice a whisper.
Aziraphale exhaled, all the air rushing out of him at once as if his worst fears had been realized.
Moments passed by in silence. Crowley couldn’t make eye contact; the moment felt much too intense for that. His eyes lingered on Aziraphale’s coat. He could feel his angel’s eyes studying his face. Worry and sadness pulled at his features. It was too much for Crowley to bare.
“Why?” Aziraphale finally asked.
Crowley sighed, looking up. “Because… it’s… Christ, Angel. You can’t just ask someone that. It’s hard enough— I mean, humans can’t even— I have six thousand years worth of answers, okay? I’ve… wanted to kill myself since the Fall. I’ve wanted to kill myself for a long time.”
Aziraphale gasped, and Crowley realized, suddenly, that the angel was crying. He stepped back, emotion rushing through his chest and making his ears ring. It was too much. It was all too much.
He stumbled, and Aziraphale rushed forward to steady him.
“I’m sorry I never noticed,” Aziraphale said, tears making his voice shake. “I’m sorry I never did anything, dear.”
Crowley was about to protest, but the weight of what he almost did came crashing down on him. He let himself fall under it; he let himself be caught by Aziraphale. Aziraphale held him tightly, hand cradling the back of his head.
“I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale repeated. “I’m sorry.”
Crowley wanted to protest, wanted to say it wasn’t his fault, but all he could do was cry. Sobs shook his body; he felt weak. He just wanted to be held. He just wanted to be held. He just wanted to be held.
The crying lasted for longer than he would have liked to admit. He clung onto Aziraphale like a little kid, hopeless and lost and desperate. Aziraphale held him through it, whispering little reassurances into his hair.
When the crying finally stopped, Aziraphale pressed a lingering kiss to Crowley’s forehead. The weeping demon leaned into it, gasping for breath. He felt himself relax as Aziraphale ran one hand through Crowley’s hair, the other hand still pressed against his back.
“It’s not…” Crowley hiccuped against Aziraphale’s chest.. “It’s not your fault. I’m stupid, I…”
“Well, at least you prayed to me. Deep down, you want to be alive. I can work with that.”
Crowley’s brow furrowed, and he pulled away.
“I didn’t mean to pray to you,” he whispered, looking into Aziraphale’s eyes. “I didn’t know you could hear me.”
Aziraphale, looking confused, took Crowley’s hand into his, if just to still be in contact with him.
“Why did you say my name, then? You whispered it, over and over and…”
Crowley looked away, overwhelmed again by emotion. He took a deep, shuddering breath.
“Because you’re my only reason. To stay alive. I was trying to convince myself not to do it.”
He risked a glance at Aziraphale’s face; unreadable emotions flashed minutely across his features.
“Oh, Crowley,” he said finally. “Crowley.”
Aziraphale kissed him.
When they pulled away, Crowley was crying again.
Azirapale reached up to wipe the tears away.
“If you ever, ever think about something like that again, pray to me, okay? Or… just call me. You can call me too, I wouldn’t mind that.”
Crowley let out a tearful giggle.
“Okay. I will.”
“I’m serious, dear. If you ever kill yourself…” Aziraphale sighed, shaking his head as he searched for the words. “I’d be next. I can’t do this without you.”
He kissed him again; first on the forehead, then on the nose, then on the mouth. Crowley glanced at his desk, and noticed that the thermos was gone.
Surprisingly, relief flooded his chest.
“Angel?” he said, voice quiet.
“Yes, dear?”
“I’m tired.”
“I know, dear. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
Crowley hummed, the words visibly calming him. He closed his eyes as Aziraphale brushed a hand over his hair, his face, his shoulder, reassuring him quietly that he was here, that it was going to be okay.
“I love you, angel.”
“I love you more.”