Work Text:
Crowley doesn’t know how much time has passed since he’d cut himself off from the world and been shut up in the bookshop, as he’s spent all of his waking moments since then in a drunken haze. He only knows it’s been a while due to the state of his hair.
Having clearly not been washed or brushed in a fair bit, it lays flat in stringy red pieces around his head, but most startlingly, it ever so gently brushes his shoulders. Clearly a significant amount of time has gone by. It seems like just yesterday that Aziraphale left, with the pain still feeling so fresh, while simultaneously feeling like he’s having been crushed by this all consuming despair and emptiness for what seems like centuries.
Time is a complex thing for a being like him, fast and slow, near and far, beginning and the end. All Crowley knows is that regardless of how long it’s been, clearly at least a year by his hair’s calculations, the wound is still just as fresh as the day it happened, and that he needs more wine, cause he can still hear Aziraphale’s betrayed “I forgive you” playing over and over again in his head.
Time to pop another cork.
At first, Crowley had tried to keep up pretenses, forcing himself to go through the motions, so that anyone who happened upon him would think he’s fine, or at least semi-functioning. Not that he ever spends extended amounts of time around others, or really even cares what they think of him, but for the few individuals he does associate with as of late, he put on his best performance. On the inside he may have felt like he was being suffocated by agony and that his entire essence had been ripped out, but on the outside he was his usual sly and snarky self, if a bit more somber.
He showed Muriel the ropes on running a bookshop, most importantly on not selling any of the books. He also gave them ‘Human 101’, so they could at least try and pass as a regular person, although their odd and naive demeanour probably would’ve helped keep people from wanting to buy books, so maybe he could’ve skipped that lesson. All the while he kept up to date with Maggie and Nina. Making passibly friendly conversations while checking out the record store for old Queen vinyls, and stopping around the coffee shop to order his usual six shots of espresso, even though he couldn’t even taste it anymore and it sat like led in his stomach. He saw them together frequently and everyday they seemed to be getting closer, while Crowley’s heart broke a little more as each day passed.
They all knew something was wrong, as the fact that Aziraphale was clearly no longer around, but they didn’t know why, and he got the point across to them to not ask what happened, nor bring him up at all. As painful and exhausting as it was, he kept up appearances.
Crowley spent two weeks keeping up that facade after Aziraphale left, as a small part of him had held out hope that he would realize his mistake and come back to him. He would even settle just for their dumb apology dance, rather than an actual spoken one with words and truths and feelings, if it meant he would be able to exist around him again.
To see his beaming smile and the way it made his eyes sparkle, lighting up his whole face. Hear his giddy laugh, so full and infectious. Feel his warmth and the way it surrounded you, made you feel at home. Without those things, he felt sucked of life, lonely, and very cold.
Crowley was alone for the first time in his entire existence, and he felt lost.
When it became clear after those two weeks came and went that Aziraphale was not coming back, that he really did choose Heaven over him, that was when Crowley broke. It nailed home that he truly wasn’t good enough as he was, that he was indeed the bad guy, and utterly unforgivable. It was then that he gave up the mask, put a stop to his little charade and holed himself up in the back of the bookshop.
Admittedly, taking up residence in the bookshop was probably a poor choice, as it added more salt to the wound, reminding him of the moment that everything fell apart, as well as all the good memories he and Aziraphale shared there. Crowley was weak though, he couldn’t completely cut himself off from Aziraphale, no matter how much he hurt him, plus he’s never been known to make the healthy choice, as he is still a demon after all.
Nina and Maggie sought him out having noticed his disappearance, bringing with them what they thought to be words of comfort and wisdom, only to be received with disdain and a snarl. Muriel also tried cheering Crowley up, trying to bring him a warm cup of tea, only to have it knocked out of their hands and met with a cold stare. No matter what any of them tried, nothing could help, and Crowley quickly grew tired of their incessant hovering. He made it known he was to be left alone with a big show of false anger and rage that he knew would be sure to keep them away, even going as far to put up a miracle barrier for privacy.
All he wanted was to be able to wither and mourn in solitude, to try and dull the pain that wanted to swallow him whole in silence, no matter how long it took.
It’s the middle of the night and all is silent and still on Whickber street. Inside the bookshop the lights are low and a soft tune plays. Crowley, fiery hair grown longer, waistcoat haphazardly done up and clothes wrinkled, is quite clearly drunk and lays sprawled out on the couch. One arm dangles down to the floor, clutching a nearly empty bottle of wine, with many others empty nearby among his discarded glasses and blazer that was carelessly tossed aside earlier. He has a weary look on his face, eyes tired and sad, as he listens to ‘Love of My Life’ by Queen on the gramophone.
Clumsily, he brings the bottle to his mouth for a sip, and a small amount escapes his lips and trails down his jaw as he swallows. The song ends and then starts back up again from the beginning, Crowley having miracled it to play on repeat hours ago. He drops his arm back to the floor, and quietly mutters to the ceiling, “nothing lasts forever”.
His eyes start to sting and well up, with one single tear daring to escape and run down his cheek.
“ Love of my life, you’ve hurt me. You’ve broken my heart, and now you leave me. Love of my life, can’t you see? “
He hastily brings his free hand up to his face and rubs it away. “You aren’t crying, you wouldn’t dare,” he grumpily utters to the empty room. When his tear ducts refuse to obey orders, and instead continue to stay wet, he lets loose an irritated growl and starts making his way up off the couch. Albeit, more sluggishly and less graceful than usual due to the large amount of wine consumed throughout the night.
Now, standing straight up the room is spinning and his vision is blurry. He drops the mostly empty bottle of wine on the floor and slowly stumbles his way towards the small bathroom nearby, only bumping into and knocking over a few things along the way.
Once there, he fumbles along the wall in the dark till he manages to locate the light switch and flicks it on, then makes his way to the sink. Head hanging low and heavy on his shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, then reaches over to turn on the water. He lets his hands sit under the cool stream for a few seconds before cupping them together, allowing them to fill up with water, then bringing them up to his face. The cold water refreshes him, he can feel it dripping off his chin, and running down his neck.
Crowley takes a deep breath in through his nose, then loudly lets it escape from his mouth, and finally lifts his head up and raises his eyes to the mirror in front of him, taking note of his appearance. His red hair is a greasy mess with some of the long strands in tangly knots. He looks gaunt, with sunken cheeks and dark circles around his eyes.
Talk about looking the way you feel, he solemnly thought to himself. His eyes themselves looked dim and lifeless. Staring into his own snake eyes, he felt a familiar wave of self-loathing as he was reminded again of what he truly was.
A demon. The furthest thing from an angel. An unforgivable being, damned for eternity simply for asking questions. A being who will never be good enough as he is. Feeling his eyes start to well up again, he huffs and jerkily turns away from the sink and stalks out of the bathroom.
His intended goal is more wine, to help numb out his pain some more and ease him into a fitful slumber. He’s almost to the couch, with his cherished wine in sight, but before he makes it, he trips on his blazer that he’d thrown down previously. His knees buckle first, with his head on course to crash into the desk infront of him. Arms unable to stop himself in time, his head reaches its trajectory, slamming harshly into the wood. A large gash opens up on the right side of his face reaching from just above his eyebrow and down to his eye. Blood pours profusely down his face and blurs his vision.
The pain is bright and pulsing, as Crowley gets his arms under himself and tries to make his way back to his feet. Feeling extremely dizzy from the hit as well as all the alcohol, he’s very unbalanced and sways heavily back into the desk, displacing books, paper, and said cherished wine he’d planned on drinking, all of which fall to the floor loudly and the unopened bottles shatter instantly. Unable to steady himself, his tired and weak body is set to crash to the ground, again.
Luckily, this time he is able to catch himself on his hands and knees.
Unluckily, the shards of glass gouge deeply into his skin, sending sharp fires of pain up his limbs.
The breath knocked out him, head throbbing, and insistent painful stings shooting throughout his body, Crowley rolls over onto his back. Uncaring of the glass digging in uncomfortably beneath him, he lays there soaked in wine and his own blood.
He laughs bitterly at the absolute disaster this night has turned into, but what he else did he expect, he thinks to himself with a frown on his face. His vision starts to darken around the edges, eyes starting to flutter shut as he listens to Freddie Mercury’s voice continue to croon quietly in the background.
“ Love of my life, don’t leave me. You’ve taken my love (all my love), you now desert me. Love of my life, can’t you see? “
Looks like he’ll get that fitful slumber he was hoping for. The last thing he sees before his eyes close is a tall shape moving towards him with a bright spot on top, shining like a halo. Before he fully fades into unconsciousness he feels a gentle touch on his face and hears a soft “oh, Crowley”.
A feeling of peace overcomes him as he finally drifts off.