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“Ssstarsss”, Crowley mumbled drunkenly, his bloody hiss pestering him again. He sat on the roof of AZ Fell and Co, just out of sight so no one down below would see him and ask questions he didn’t feel like answering. Which were any and all of them these days.
“Bloody twinkly bitsss.” He pulled off his sunglasses and tried to concentrate on the sky. “Can’t even sssee one blasssted nebula from here. What’sss it all good for?”
Still somehow the stars have always been symbolic for Crowley. A symbol of everything that could be. And also of his relationship with Aziraphale. Which was funny considering how little time they had ever spent looking up at them. Often they had met during the day, especially in the beginning. The first time after his Fall they had seen each other on earth, had been right there on the walls of Eden after Adam and Eve had left. It had been daytime then and there was also the first ever storm brewing overhead. Cloud cover had never been conducive to star gazing.
The next time he remembered was right as the rainfall that precipitated the Great Flood had begun. It had started rather innocently but quickly proved to be working hard to drown everyone in Mesopotamia. Everyone but those on the ark, and a rather worse for wear angel and a demon, who in all honesty hadn’t been doing much better. Again, lots of clouds and rain for 40 days and nights. No chance to look up at the stars. Not that either of them would have been in the mood.
During the business with Job they had been stuck in a basement. And there had been a storm again. After everything, when he had sat with Aziraphale while the angel had been trying to get through his crisis of belief about what it meant to be an angel, they had watched the sky. Or horizon, more like. But once again it had been daytime then.
After that they met more often but still with centuries in between, until the time in between had shortened to decades and then years. Ever since the 2000s had come around there had hardly been a month where they hadn’t found some reason to meet. And after the world didn’t end they had seen each other even more frequently. The bookshop had very much become his home. Or maybe it hadn’t been the bookshop but the company. Not that he had ever admitted to it.
The Job thing had made him realise how similar their situations had been. And he had thought Aziraphale had noticed it as well which was why both of them kept seeking the other out. Their opposite the only confidant, although they should have been enemies.
But they had never actually spent time looking up to the stars. Not that you could see much of them in modern day London anyway, even when the skies were clear, due to all the light pollution. It would have been a strange activity for them anyways. Too quiet, too… intimate. They had always kept their distance even after the apocalypse didn’t happen and they were seemingly on their own. Less distance then, sure. The more time had passed the more the distance had decreased. And if he was honest to himself, and why shouldn’t he be now, it made little difference, really. If he was honest with himself, then he had been waiting for Aziraphale. Always waiting for him. Waiting for him to become comfortable enough, to give him a sign. Any sign, really.
But at the same time it had felt like they had been waiting for Heaven and Hell. If they wanted to, Hell could still drag him down. There was nothing stopping them but their uncertainty of what to do with him. And he suspected it had been much the same for Aziraphale. Waiting, hoping but waiting. As if they had been in a holding pattern, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He sighed deeply. He’d been doing a lot of that recently. Downright pathetic, really. Disgusting even. He tried not to think about it too much, growled instead which sounded much like him, and tried to find anything familiar in the night sky. A constellation, a planet, anything really. But the stars swam in front of his eyes. Well, he was quite seriously drunk.
And his thoughts drifted to Aziraphale again. The stars reminded Crowley of the angel. Was it all just because of their first meeting? They had never mentioned it again. Aziraphale would sometimes reference that Crowley had used to be an angel. But they never spoke of what was before The Fall. Of their experience in Heaven. It was one of only a few subjects that seemed to not exist as conversational subjects for them. Maybe they should have spoken about it, though. Maybe then Aziraphale would have understood…
He remembered how he had enjoyed his work on space and the nebulae in particular. They might not have been his design but it had been simply brilliant to be responsible for something as grand and beautiful as that. To create, to build. That was one of the things he enjoyed so much about the human world. All the clever things they invented that made life more convenient. (Humans were also great at inventing shit that royally fucked things up but that was beside the point.)
That’s the kind of creativity angels had never mastered and seemingly had no desire to either. They followed the big plan, built everything that they were supposed to. Yes, they had built earth and space and everything in between. But they had followed orders and then ended there, never thought up anything new. Never improved on an already existing concept. The demons weren’t much better. Both factions only implemented things the humans had thought up on occasion if they seemed efficient - even if they misunderstood them entirely.
Crowley however had always jumped on any new idea and any new thing. Had to see each new invention, each new discovery for himself. And the only things he himself still created on occasion were elaborate plans to annoy humans just to see what would happen. And less often now since he didn’t work for Hell anymore.
Oh, and of course the much less elaborate but much more satisfying plans to have fun with the angel. To let him experience new things, new food, new sensations. It was fun to see the world through his eyes. And to tease him, of course, to argue with him. Sometimes just for the sake of it. The way Aziraphales eyes would sparkle sometimes, so expressive. He really couldn’t keep a single emotion off of his face, he was entirely hopeless at it. That’s what made all of the interactions with him even more entertaining, seeing what reactions he could coax out of his angel. If he could make his eyes shine just like the stars.
“But I guessss that’sss over now”, he mumbled, taking another swig from his bottle of whatever alcohol he had grabbed today. Some kind of whiskey, he thought. He didn’t care. It didn’t help anyway. But he didn’t know what else to do. So he just drank and laid down on his back up on the roof of what had used to be Aziraphale’s bookshop. Just above of what he had begun to think of as their little haven. But he would have ripped out his tongue before ever exposing that thought.
He looked up at the sky, at the stars that had meant so much to him. But here and now they only looked like bright but cold spots of light. (Currently bright, cold and fuzzy, actually. That last bit was completely on him, though.) Entirely unremarkable. All of the brilliant colours of the universe were mostly invisible here on earth. Or maybe that was just his eyes. The Fall had changed him, changed his eyes. He could still see colour, yes. But differently. He wasn’t very good at recognizing reds or telling them apart. Any colour containing red looked strange to him now, though he could hardly remember what they had been before. Add to that the fact he felt the need to wear sunglasses most of the time - both to shield his now more sensitive eyes from too bright lights and the curious or even shocked glances of humans. (Or the preying glances from most other beings, angels and demons alike.) The tinted glasses certainly distorted his colour perception even more.
It was probably why Crowley stayed with mostly black and grey in his clothing or any of his chosen surroundings. Well, and style to be honest. Couldn’t go wrong with black. He tried to add a bit of red. However, even if he could’ve been bothered, Crowley wouldn’t have been able to explain why he would purposefully add a colour he had trouble distinguishing at all.
Aziraphale had always worn muted colours. All light colours, yes. But all beige, light brown and off-white. Some light grey and light blue, but mostly warm colours. Comfortable. Soft. Worn in, old and well-loved clothes. So different from the other angels. So very Aziraphale. Crowley wondered if he wore the same tailored, stiff and cold suits as the other archangels now. Had they changed him in other ways as well? Or would he stay who he was?
Crowley noticed that the stars had vanished, the sky had become heavy with clouds. He sighed and took another mouthful of the alcohol he didn’t even taste anymore. He spilled some of it over himself, drinking while he was laying down as he was. But there wasn’t anyone to see, no one to quietly admonish him for it.
He missed the stars. Especially the ones in the angel’s eyes. Was this still part of his punishment? Would he continuously lose whatever gave him the slightest bit of comfort? Had his crimes really been that terrible? If he shouldn’t be this way, then why had She made him this way? The same old questions. Thousands of years later and he still had no answer. But he couldn’t stop asking questions either.
He missed the stars. He wanted to see the angel’s eyes glitter and shine again. Like they had when he had pulled Crowley out to dance. Silly angel. He only ever had to ask. He would have gladly made a fool out of himself with his bad dancing at any time if the angel had only asked. He would have grumbled about it and possibly poked fun at Aziraphale for it, of course. But he still would have done as asked.
The request had hit Crowley with a shock, had left him bewildered. Had made him hope beyond hope that maybe their time was finally approaching. Even when he had argued with Aziraphale about the prudence of the whole charade with the bloody ball while demons were lurking around outside. Even then Crowley had savoured the feeling of the angel’s hand in his.
He missed the stars. And he knew he had lost them now. When he had poured his heart out to Aziraphale, he had known it would be in vain. Aziraphale had already made up his mind before talking to him. But Crowley had known he had to say his piece or he never would and it had felt like his last chance. Before they took his angel away to a place he couldn’t follow. Which had been what he had actively tried to prevent, throughout all of their time together. They both had. Until Aziraphale decided to leave on his own accord. Leave their haven. Leave him.
Once more he had hoped that maybe there was the slightest chance he could’ve changed the angel’s mind, although he never had been able to before whenever he had asked him to run away with him. So, why would it matter that he dared, that he trusted and made himself as vulnerable as he had been in millennia?
“Oh, I know why now”, he thought with a mirthless chuckle. Just the idea he’d ever even want to be an angel again! Had the angel understood what he had said? What he had implied? That Crowley wasn’t, could never be good enough unless he became an angel again. Unless he became someone he could never be. Probably not, to be honest. But it didn’t matter. It still felt like the angel had stabbed him in the back.
“Ugh, damn it all to hell!” He lifted the stupid bottle to his mouth and gulped down the last of the liquor. When he dropped his arm again, he just let it fall to the side, not enough will left to do it properly. His hand hit the roof with a bit too much force. The bottle shattered in his right hand, spraying him and the rooftop with shards. The wetness he felt on his right palm probably meant he was bleeding but he didn’t care. He was spiralling, he knew he was, and he was helpless to stop it. His left hand came up to rub harshly over his face. Crowley decided that the moisture he felt there must be the soft drizzle that had begun to fall. Or possible splattered liquor. Or blood. Anything that wasn’t bloody pathetic.
But the thing was- The shitty thing of it all was- The angel had not just stabbed him in the back, he had then gone on to twist the fucking blade as well. And kick him for good measure. He might not have intended to, but it had been the result of his actions nonetheless. In a last ditch desperate attempt Crowley had kissed the angel. It hadn’t been the kind of kiss he had imagined when he had dared to imagine one. But it had been the only one he could have given right then. And for a moment, it had felt like he was finally getting through. He thought he had felt the angel, his angel, hold onto him. But maybe that had only been his imagination.
Crowley got up on unsteady legs. If he fell off the roof and broke his neck, it would only be fitting. Hell could have him then. It didn’t matter where he was, it was all bloody torture as far as he was concerned. Standing upright, he felt slightly less wretched at least.
“‘I forgive you’?!” His throat felt scratchy as he yelled at the sky. He started pacing on the rooftop, feeling like he had been pulled tight, his skin too small for him. The shards of the broken bottle crunching as they broke further under his boots. “Sssriousssly, angel? Who sssayss that, when… Ugh, you blasssted bassstard!”
“Crowley”, came a quiet and all too familiar voice from behind him. He stopped dead in his tracks. His chest was heaving as he was panting harshly for breath even though he shouldn’t have needed air. Quiet, measured footfalls came up from behind him. He didn’t know if he should jump off the roof or turn and charge in anger. He didn’t know if he could do either. He just froze.
“I’m so sorry”, the angel said from right behind him. “I didn’t- I-” A sigh so heavy Crowley could feel it against his back. “I have no excuse. I never meant to hu-”
“It’s been months, Aziraphale”, he grumbled, interrupting the angel before he could put a name to Crowley’s humiliation. The hiss was barely audible now, shocked right into submission.
“I am aware. I tried coming sooner but… was unable to.” There was more to this he knew, but he didn’t ask. Not now, anyway. He simply kept still.
Another sigh behind him, another step closer, though more hesitant than before. Even through the cold drizzle and his jacket he could feel Aziraphale’s body heat now. Crowley felt his breath stutter in his chest, when he felt a leaden cold, he hadn’t even been aware of, slowly seeping out of his muscles.
“You were right, Crowley”, the angel said. But quickly followed with: “And you were wrong.” And then Aziraphale touched his arm, held on to him tightly with one more great sigh. “I was both right and wrong…”, he continued more quietly.
“I believe we should have a proper talk.” A forehead fell against his shoulder. And then barely perceptible: “...my dearest Crowley.”
“Hmm”, he said then, suddenly able to react again. “We should. We bloody well should! Have the talk of a lifetime. Of dozens of lifetimes! Like fucking sensible people!” Crowley shouted. He drew in a large, steadying breath and let it out slowly.
“But first-”, he said more calmly and then turned swiftly, taking the angel into his arms while the other was startled. He almost carded the fingers of his right hand through the hair at the angel’s neck - before he saw the blood there, remembered, growled and cursed under his breath while he quickly lifted his left instead.
The angel's hair was soft and wet, the rain coming down more heavily now. His blue eyes surprised but not objecting. Crowley leaned his forehead against the angel’s, their noses - cold and wet - touching. “But first…”, he said again, sounding almost confident but feeling anything but. He closed the last bit of distance, his lips brushing against Aziraphale’s softly, slowly, before he drew back just a tiny bit. He looked directly into the angel’s eyes, his sunglasses long gone. Waiting, always waiting for his angel.
But then Aziraphale touched his shoulders, the hands sliding down just a little to his collarbones where he took the lapels of his jacket and pulled Crowley in slowly. The angel, his angel, pressed his own lips to Crowley’s then, softly first. Then more firmly, spurring him into action, Crowley’s lips sliding against the angel’s, nibbling at them. His tongue flicked out in between. Tentatively at first, softly tasting the angel’s lips, licking them. Until he felt the other’s lips falling apart just a fraction and he could slide his tongue inside, searching and then finding the other’s tongue. Exploring, gliding, stroking.
“Ah”, he thought then. “There they are. Fucking finally.” His stars.