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Crowley was drunk. Very, very, so incredibly drunk if a human had drunk what he did they would have been dead hours ago. However Crowley wasn’t human and he drank and drank, the alcohol turning salty as it mixed with his tears that fell down his cheeks at a constant rate.
He threw the empty bottle of ‘Frontenac Noir’ against the wall, a shard of glass bouncing back in front of him, he was barely able to read at the best of times and in this state, it was worse however his damned brain was fully able to read “1793”.
Crowley couldn’t control the sob that left his throat. 1793, his angel in those fancy robes, chained up with some excuse as to why he couldn’t use his miracles. Crowley had been there to get him out, of course, he was HE would never leave his angel, just think of the paperwork.
The thought of the angel's voice lifting when he realised Crowley was there, the smile he gave when he suggested crêpes which he couldn’t pronounce properly.
Crowley grabbed another bottle and took a long swig, drinking half the bottle in only a few seconds. It was too sweet. Like his angel-
He hit himself in the head and rubbed his eyes making his sensitive eyes sting. “Why angel why why why why-“ he muttered to himself.
He caught sight of himself in the mirror, his hair was a mess, and had at some point grown, his sunglasses were discarded hours ago and his eyes were wet and red. He was shaking, a mix of sadness, anger and alcohol made it so noticeable he could barely hold the bottle in his hand.
“Who the hell do I think I am- why the fuck would he want me- GREAT PUSTULENT MANGLED BOLLOCKS TO THE OH SO GREAT BLASTED HEAVEN-“ he took deep breaths and drank the rest of the bottle he was holding before throwing it at the mirror smashing both glass objects.
“I asked QUESTIONS! Job could ask questions but I couldn’t?” The image of him and Aziraphale watching God herself talk to Job flashed his mind, “And because I asked you QUESTIONS I got cast out, sent down, fallen-“
He fell back in his chair, “He only wants me if I’m an angel… WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR SIDE- we could of been… us- I thought we were us, but hey look where thought gets me.”
His tears flooded his face in greater amounts than before, and that’s when he noticed his plants next to him, still in their cardboard boxes, yet shaking more than possibly they ever had.
“I don’t even care about you cause I suppose I mess up everything-“ he looks away from them, “of course he wants me to be an angel- of course, he wants me to be ‘better’”, he put air quotes around the final word.
He replayed the whole conversation in his head:
“He said I could appoint you to be an angel!”
“We’re better than that, you’re better than that angel we don’t need them-“
“It’s the side of truth! Of light….of good”
“Tell me you said no-“
“If I’m in charge I can make a difference.”
“And I would like to spend... I mean, if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can.”
“You and me, what do you say?”
“Come with me to heaven-“
“You can’t leave this bookshop”
“Oh Crowley, nothing lasts forever.”
“No, I’d not suppose it does.”
“Crowley come back! To heaven!”
“We can be together as angels doing good! I need you!”
“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you.”
“I think I understand a whole lot better than you do.”
“Listen, you hear that?”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“That’s the point. No nightingales.
“You idiot we could of been… us.”
“I- I forgive you.”
“Don’t bother.”
Crowley opened another bottle, ‘1941 Petrus
Pomerol’. He would do anything to go back to the war, that night in 1941.
Back then he was trusted, Aziraphale trusted him to shoot him.
Crowley remembers the nerves, he had never even held a gun before yet he was aiming it at the angel he loved- even if he didn’t admit that- and it scared him more than he thought possible.
But Aziraphale trusted him.
That… arsehole Furfur put the miracle blocker on, Crowley only noticing as he tried to stop the booing and that’s when it set in that he would in fact be shooting a gun at the angel, I mean just think of the paperwork.
But they pulled it off, and his angel even swapped out the photo using human magic and tricks.
Crowley let his head fall to one side. He wanted this flat back for the entire time Shax was living there, but now he was here it was empty, lonely and missing something.
The something was his angel but Crowley had messed that up, I mean who the fuck does he think he is- he stopped this train of thought realising he had already thought it, but he was right why does he think an Angel would actually want him he’s a fucking demon and he was an idiot for forgetting it.
He stood up and immediately fell back down and he grunted before standing back up drinking the rest of the bottle. Crowley didn’t really walk, he more sauntered, still not fully grasping the concept of legs and hips no matter how much he tried, and this only increased when drunk.
He was half tempted to turn into a snake and slither across his flat but that seemed an even worse idea so instead he hissed at himself to make his legs work and walk over to the Mona Lisa sketch on his wall and he threw it open revealing the safe he had.
He unlocked the safe and then paused, turning to look instead at his old plant room. He stumbles over and takes out a glove from a drawer and puts it on, making his way back over to the safe.
With a deep breath taking advice from the humans, he put the glove on and extracts a tartan thermos. It was empty but he didn’t want to risk touching any remains of Holy Water.
Not yet anyway.
Still holding the thermos, he leaves his flat, using a miracle to lock his door as he heads for his car.
Crowley, by human standards, was an absolutely terrible driver but with him now being drunk? It was only to get ten times worse.
He got in his Bently, which was still sad itself, even turning its own wheels yellow as a way of mourning, however, this only angered Crowley.
“YOURE MY CAR- your wheels aren’t yellow- only he could do that… I miss him too.” He drunkenly sobbed again before slamming down the accelerator and speeding off.
The Bentley started to play Queen as it usually does, however, it turned to an unusual choice of “Don’t try suicide” and Crowley hissed turning it off. “Don’t you start-“
He has no idea how he didn’t crash, taking complete advantage of the near-empty streets of Soho as he speeds to the last place a demon should be.
A church.
Not any church, mind you because even unconsciously, Crowley was a sentimental bastard. It was the same church that back in 1967 Crowley had staged a mission to take some Holy water.
Almost 60 years later, Crowley was back here, without a plan but so drunk he had the willpower to do what he had planned to do many years ago.
He stood outside the Church and looked down at the ground, “YOU FAILED DOING IT SO NOW I'LL DO IT MY WAY!!” He laughed maniacally, “I would never join you,” his head looked up “and I’ll never join you!” He grinned staring forward, “I won’t join a single one of you fuckers-“
He was about to step into the church when he remembered what happened in Edinburgh in the Victorian era. He got himself tortured horrendously for stopping Elspeth from killing herself and for getting Aziraphale to give her all the money.
“Ohh no dying, enough dying! No more dying!! Dying it’s just, it’s just… wrong!”
“Angel, angel say something that convinces her that poverty is ineffable and life is worth living.”
Crowley didn’t remember anything else, he knows he changed size but he was far too high at the time and far too drunk now to remember.
He does however know exactly what the angel could say to convince him to stay alive.
“I love You, Crowley. I’ll stay with you, we can be… us.”
Crowley shook his head and walked into the church, using a miracle to open the doors.
“OUCH-“ He forgot the detail of the church and how it feels like being on a beach in bare feet to put it nicely.
He was jumping up and down making noises as he walked quickly to the front of the church.
A noise came from the side of the altar. The noise revealed itself to be a priest.
“My child-“
“Not your child.”
“Son please-“
“Not male or human-“
“Why are You here then may I ask?”
“I need something.”
The priest sighed, “At this time of night?”
“Well isn’t god meant to be available to anyone any time?” He looks up, “THAT'S A LIE ISN'T IT? HMM? YOU DON'T LOVE US ALL!”
“Please stop shouting, who are you?”
“The demon Crowley used to be hell's representative on Earth.” He smirked.
“Sir you’re drunk if you just want to sit down-“
“Can’t you see standing here is hurting- now please fill this-“ he holds his gloved hand out and in turn the thermos, “with holy water.”
The priest takes it and does with a small bow of his head, before handing it back. “Do you wish to talk-?”
“Yes, but not with you, you represent her and she abandoned me and let me fall and now he doesn’t love me and only wants me if I’m an angel so you and your whole institution can leave me the hell alone.”
Crowley turns on his heel and tries to walk out with an air of superiority, but with his inability to walk it was difficult yet he got outside and stared at the now full tartan thermos.
He puts it down and slowly opens the lid and stares at the water, just looking makes his skin crawl and his mind is telling him to run but he knows that’s the worst thing he could do.
He puts his hands together for the first time since the Great War. “God, if you can bring yourself to listen to demons like me then know you’ll be happy with what I’m about to do. Now I’m finally gone and out of your way.”
“Gabriel you bastard if you can still hear these, have fun doing what I’ve been wanting to do for centuries and you did it in what a week?”
“And finally.” He took a deep breath, “Aziraphale. If you can hear this it means you’re already in heaven, but that doesn’t shock me. I meant what I said, we’re a team who doesn’t need anyone or anything else. I also meant every last part of that kiss. I'm just sorry I’m not good enough for you. I'm sorry that you need heaven because I’m not enough for you.”
“I know I said I would only use Holy water as safety for other demons but… Well I think this if for the best.”
“I love You, I miss You, I'm sorry angel.” Crowley couldn’t think of what else to say, Maggie and Nina were right he can’t communicate well so he just looked up at the sky and hoped Aziraphale knew.
After taking off his glasses and putting them to one side, Crowley picked up the thermos and held it above his head. “Oh, also Aziraphale? You can have our car and my plants.” Just as he was about to pour the contents of the flask over his head a bright light appeared and Aziraphale stepped out of the light.
“CROWLEY NO-“
“Angel-“ It was too late. Crowley had turned the thermos just that too many degrees and the water fell down his head, burning every aspect of his body, destroying him from the outside in till he was a melted puddle of goo.
Aziraphale stared in shock for a few seconds till he eventually broke down into sobs. For someone who never cried before it was a lot, his throat was sore with lumps in it, his hands shook and his knees broke as he knelt in front of where his best friend, his most trusted confidant, the one entity he could rely on, the one thing Aziraphale loved more than God.
Aziraphale refused to move, the only thing he did do was grab Crowley’s glasses and clung on tight.
“I love You too.”