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“Oh, Crowley… Nothing lasts forever.”
The words repeated in his head. Over, and over, and over again. A broken record, or however the saying went. More broken than any he had ever heard. Yet, it was as clear as the First Day. As cold as the First Rain. Made his ears ring like nothing else. Louder than any Queen song he could play, even at full volume. Not a single thing in the world could drown out Aziraphale’s voice; not a single thing in the world could make him forget the look he gave him just before he walked out for – what would likely be – the last time. Not even sleep made it stop. When he slept, it was worse, if anything. Then it had to be so much more real. Dreams of Aziraphale were much too close to reality. Much too close to him actually being there. Too much, it tricked him into the belief that he could reach out and touch him.
Crowley’s foot pressed down further on the Bentley’s gas pedal, gritting his teeth, feeling like he would explode into a million little glowing bits of ash if he kept thinking. His heart ached but he didn’t want to feel sad. He wanted to feel angry . Angry at Aziraphale for leaving him. Angry at himself for letting him. Why did he let him? It didn’t matter though, did it? It was over. It was done. Crowley had lost the angel. Out of everything on Earth, in Hell, in Heaven, that was the one true thing he feared. Losing Aziraphale. And he had. He’d gone and lost him for good. For forever. If he kept dwelling, what was the point? That’s what he kept telling himself, but it wasn’t working. Not even a little bit. All he wanted to do was dwell. Maybe if he kept dwelling then something would change. Maybe, suddenly, somehow, someway, Aziraphale would just materialize in front of him. They would go dine at the Ritz and they would go to St James’ Park and everything would be fine .
Slamming on the brakes so suddenly that he nearly flew through the window (he had not put on his seatbelt, just to feel a little more reckless), he yelled out and felt the seat beneath him begin to singe. Started to burn with a fuel of pure hatred. Pure loathing. He loathed Aziraphale for abandoning him. Leaving him stuck on Earth all alone with his thoughts. Being left alone was the worst punishment Crowley could be given. Worse than anything Hell or Heaven could do to him. It was torture , plain and simple. The ache in his chest and the pounding in his head was unbearable that, for just a moment, he considered the Holy Water. But the thought was so brief he couldn’t even be sure he had really even had it at all. It lingered there, in the back of his mind, nonetheless. But he couldn’t grasp it tight enough to understand what the thought was. Perhaps that was for the best, but he wanted it. He wanted it because it wasn’t, for the first time, some thought that related to the angel.
Humans, when experiencing the stages of grief, usually went in a proper order. A slow order. They took time when processing such a loss. But he was a demon, and it was Aziraphale, and nothing coming to them could be anything that simple. First of all, he’d completely skipped denial. There was no denying that what happened was what had happened. Rather than denial, it was more of a feeling of disbelief. He figured there was a higher chance that Aziraphale would stay, but he didn’t. Crowley believed the chance of him leaving had become so slim, and he’d been so wrong. So unbelievably wrong that it shocked him.
Disbelief was short-lived. But anger wasn’t. He was still in that stage, at least he thought so. His body felt like fire, both literally and figuratively (it was a miracle that he hadn’t set the car aflame – yes, again, both literally and figuratively). It hurt him inside and out alike, and he wanted more than anything to abandon his corporation. But then he’d go back to Hell, and he would be a traitor, and that would be far worse than his current situation.
Crowley took a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to regain control of himself. His hands, white-knuckled on the steering wheel, relaxed slightly. It was Aziraphale who had once told him about “breathing exercises.” That thought that it was the angel who’d told him helped a bit. Even though he didn’t want to think of him, a positive memory was preferred to the last interaction of theirs being played on repeat in his head. They had been through so much together. They’d faced the end of the world just as they’d faced the beginning of it. All had come crashing down so suddenly, and that was near-impossible to come to terms with.
The radio in the Bentley changed without his permission. Moonlight Serenade. It also began to drive itself, back in the direction they’d come, back to the bookstore. Back to where Crowley did not want to go. Yet he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Although, he wasn’t trying to, either. He couldn’t. He just sat there. Watched as the cars on the other side of the road passed by. Watched as day turned into night as he went. Watched the moon fill the sky and for once be uninterrupted by clouds or fog. It was a twilight far too gorgeous given the day’s previous events.
A twilight that Aziraphale should have been there sharing with him. But he wasn’t. And it wasn’t fair at all.
Crowley’s head then rested on the window, tears forming in his eyes. He had already reached the stage of “depression,” it seemed. Staring up at the sky, he imagined that the angel was looking back down at him. Was he thinking of him, too? Were they both stuck in each other’s heads?
“Oh, Angel… Why’d ya have to go…? ”
There was no reply, but the stars in the sky seemed to shine just a little bit brighter.
If only Crowley could see them, because that night, they were shining just for him.
“One, two, three… One, two, three- That’s it, dear. See? Not so difficult!” Aziraphale’s voice, soft and melodic, carried the rhythm of their dance. With each step, each graceful turn, a sense of vulnerability blossomed between them. It wasn’t just the dance itself—it was the unspoken connection, the shared tenderness between them. Something that should never be shared between an angel and a demon. But there they were. Dancing as if they were two other people, two people who could share tenderness.
And Crowley’s movements, though initially hesitant, soon gained a fluidity of their own. He found himself drawn into the rhythm, his body responding to Aziraphale’s guidance. Their proximity intensified, their faces mere inches apart, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. In the dim moonlight, Aziraphale could see every nuance of Crowley’s expression, every flicker of emotion that danced across his features. As they continued to move in harmony, Aziraphale’s focus shifted from the steps to the dance partner before him. He couldn't help but be captivated by the sight of Crowley—the way his hair caught the moon’s silver glow, the way his eyes held a mixture of astonishment and vulnerability that he rarely allowed to surface. For a moment, he found himself more captivated by the demon than by the dance. He nigh on let himself become distracted!
Their steps faltered at times, a stumble here and there as they navigated the rooftop with a blend of grace and laughter. Aziraphale’s gentle laughter filled the air, a joyful sound that seemed to infuse their dance with an infectious energy. He caught Crowley's gaze, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of mirth and fondness.
“Easy there, Crowley,” Aziraphale teased, a playful smirk curving his lips. “You’re quite the handful on the dance floor.”
Crowley’s response was a lopsided grin, a rare display of genuine amusement that warmed Aziraphale’s heart, made it “skip a beat,” as the humans would say . “Blame it on the centuries of rusty demon feet. I’m doing my best to keep up with an angel , you know. Most Heavenly being of all beings, and yadda yadda…”
Gasping, Crowley’s heart raced wildly, and he sat up. He looked around, confused as to where he was, but looked to his left. There it was again. Aziraphale’s bookshop. The one place he didn’t want to be and the Bentley had brought him there. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. He didn’t want to. Exactly what he didn’t want to happen had happened, and he woke up to a nightmare just the same.
His face heated up, and tears made their way to his eyes again. Crowley grabbed the steering wheel and sped off once more.
“ Fuck you, ‘Supreme Archangel’ Aziraphale. ”
The tires spun and hissed with his words as he drove into the dark, away from Soho’s streetlights, away from any remembrance of that angel. He would be having an extremely alcoholic dinner, and not at the Ritz…