Chapter Text
Heartbreak hurts surprisingly less than Crowley thought. Of course it still hurts, I mean, it felt like his heart was being carved out of his chest with no remorse! But on top of that, his lips still burned with the passion, hatred, and betrayal that surged through the kiss shared between him and his- the angel.
Still, heartbreak hurt less than he thought it would. Mostly, he felt cold and full of something he couldn’t describe. Like every word he wanted to say to Aziraphale for over 6000 years was now compacted and shoved into his chest, and if he even so much as implied he loved Aziraphale, it would all come spilling out.
Crowley groaned, and took a long swig from a bottle of some sort of strong alcohol that he wasn’t too sure as to what it was. And frankly, he didn’t care. Being drunk and depressed was better than being sober and depressed. Stumbling out of the Bentley, he wasn’t really sure where to go from here. Most likely, he’d go to sleep for say… 1000 years?
In a drunken stupor, Crowley crashed onto the moonlit pavement of the park which the Bentley had stopped at, with only one topic lingering in his head.
"Why? Fuck…Angel, why are you so naive? Why did you abandon *us?* Why couldn't you love me ba-?"
Something was caught in his throat. Coughing that last word out into his hand, something fell out of his mouth. A single honeysuckle flower.
Shit.
This was new. Demons don’t get sick. And demons CERTAINLY do not cough up flowers. Maybe he should ask Azirapha- NO. No. He’s the Supreme Archangel now. He has no need of Crowley anymore. He only wants stupid fucking Kokabiel. The “angel he once was.” The only part of his past that he can’t escape. He feels sicker than he does now just thinking of him.
Oh right. He’s still sick. And he can’t talk to the angel about it, because someone forbid Crowley gets off easily. He really needs to sober up, this is not something he wants to deal with while drunk. And so he does. And he gets hit with a wave of pure guilt, love and anger, and with that impact comes another flower being hacked up and out of mouth. This time, the flower burns as it comes up, and the petals are covered in blood. Whatever this sickness was, it sure as fuck was serious.
If he can’t talk to Aziraphale, then maybe Muriel? They’re the one running the bookshop after all. A pang in Crowley’s heart, followed by another bloody petal. He hadn’t been in that bookshop since….
Another bloody petal. He didn’t know if he could actually do this. But honestly, did he really have a choice? It was either that or presumably discorperating from this odd, odd sickness. And he did not want to have to deal with that paperwork right now. So bookshop it was.
—————————————-
Aziraphale was cold. So cold. And alone. And so full of regret. He missed Crowley so much, but he knew that to miss him would be to put himself, as well as Crowley, in danger. And the fact that Crowley loved him, and wanted to be “an us” with him, only made his actions hurt more. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Crowley. He was too scared to face the ineffable truth about his feelings towards him, and now, as the Supreme Archangel, he didn’t have the time to focus on that. So he’d have to push down, way way down, until he could see the demon again.
For now, he needed to focus on the strange feeling itching in the back of his brain. Like something was wrong. Like someone was in danger. Aziraphale couldn’t tell what it was, so he needed to go to the only person he had anymore. The Metatron, the only angel who’d ever shown him even an iota of kindness. Walking up the stark white stairs to his office, that feeling in his brain came back, this time more searing. Something had to be done about this.
After being let into his office, Aziraphale stood close to the door, almost afraid to say something to the Metatron.
“Yes, Aziraphale? What do you need to speak to me about?” The Metatron spoke coldly. It sent a shiver of anxiety down Aziraphale’s spine.
“Yes, hello. I needed to speak with you about some…feelings I’ve just recently gotten. Like something is wrong. Has anything come up recently for me to be worried about?”
“Are you telling me you came here to bother me and waste my time about some feelings? Aziraphale, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Whatever it is, you can take care of it after all. You are the Supreme Archangel, after all.” His words were laced with venom, and seemed as if he really didn’t care for or respect Aziraphale. Which, if Aziraphale was really being honest with himself, he never really did. But that was another thing Aziraphale didn’t want to deal with right now.
“R-right, you’re right. Thank you.”
“Off you go then. Please don’t bother me with these…silly little inquiries again. We have the Second Coming to focus on, we can’t get sidetracked.”
Right. The Second Coming. Not much was told to Aziraphale about it, but nothing ever was. Aziraphale sighed. Maybe he should see Crowley, maybe he’d have some wisdom on it. But no, no, he was sure Crowley hated him. It wasn’t worth the energy. But oh, how he wanted to see him. How his heart ached to see his face, his voice again. Aziraphale’s heart was squeezed and tugged at, and the feelings he’s kept for more than 6000 years began to bubble up again.
—————————————-