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Crowley parks the Bentley. Raindrops pelted down on the windshield. Not quite sure when the rain had started or why it was coming down so hard, he couldn’t care less. Stepping out, Crowley hadn’t bothered with a miracle. He might as well feel like he did on the outside as he did on the inside.
Drowning.
Walking up to his old apartment in Mayfair, he was dripping in the stuff. Leaving pools of water everywhere he stepped as he walked to the door of the apartment. Mail was stacked on the edge of the door with his name on it. Electing to ignore it, he opened and closed the door with the pile of mail, now soaked, lying there.
The apartment looked the same. Shax hadn’t bothered changing anything aside from a single cup on the countertop. Holding it in his hands he turns it over, reading the word “bitch.”
His grip tightened at the thought of Shax. Had she stayed in her lane, and not interfered, likely things would have been fine. It was easier to blame another demon for his own demise rather than remembering the angel he loved choosing to leave him.
Without a thought, he threw the mug against the wall, the sound of it shuddering bringing momentary relief.
Right, he thought. Why not?
Walking down the halls of heaven felt hollow. The Metatron was walking next to him, showing him around heaven as if it had changed in any way that would matter to the new Supreme Archangel. The words that came out of his mouth seemed drowned out by the angel's own thoughts.
He kissed me. He really kissed me, he thought. There had been no time for the angel to really put the pieces together. Now that he was in heaven, reality washed over him. Gasping for air at the final realization of what he had done; leaving his best friend behind. No. That's no longer acceptable, let alone accurate. His Love. He left his love. He left him for what ? A job that he doesn’t even want? Aziraphale tried to remember why he even said yes in the first place. He had been so sure it was the right thing, and now? Crowley's words echoed in his mind.
How could someone so clever be so stupid?
Crash
Glass and ceramic pieces remained scattered about the apartment. If Crowley could break it, he sought to make it so. Ripping down glasses and mugs, throwing them to the side to hear the shattering sound that seemed to, at the very least, felt gratifying.
He grabbed a bottle of wine, having planned to throw it, too, remembering that he was gifted by his so-called friend.
No. They were still friends.
Right?
He popped the wine bottle open and brought it to his lips, tilting the bottle up. Wine escaped his lips, dripping down his jaw, mixing with the tears the demon hadn’t realized he had begun to shed. The bottle was nearly empty when he stopped. Looking at the red liquid, swirling it in the bottle, remembering it was a post armageddon gift. Now, it was but the beginning of the next.
“Ngk!” he screamed as he threw the bottle against a new wall. Wine stained the wall, dripping down to the scattered glass beneath it.
The Metatron's words broke through the fog that was Aziraphale's thoughts. “And here is your desk, we don’t have much use for them but perhaps that will change, yes?”
Aziraphale nodded softly. He waved the Metatron goodbye, electing to create a sound barrier around his new desk that simply sat in the middle of a random corridor. He had been struggling to hold back his tears walking with the Metatron that he miracled them to earth, who knows where.
Sitting down at his desk, head in hand, he began to sob. Trying to remember why he was there in the first place. Thinking back to his conversation with the Metatron, how he knew about Crowley and his arrangement. Worried as to how heaven might retaliate against them had he said no. So he said yes. To protect him, he told himself.
Crowley had all but confessed his love for Aziraphale moments before the kiss. It should have been a moment of celebration, a loving reunion as they both, at last, had each other.
Instead, it was painful. Heart-wrenching.
And there was nothing the angel could do about it. So, he cried.
Crowley, hunched forward, taking long strides down the hallway. The door opened before he could reach for the handle, as it feared for its life.
As it should, Crowley thought.
Standing at his desk, arms stretched out, he threw whatever plans Shax had left to the floor. For good measure, he set them ablaze. Flames fanned around him, rising to meet him. His hands were flat against the marble desk. He curled his fingers, dragging them down into the marble as he screamed into the flames, trying to release his rage as he cried out.
He slumped down into his throne, left only with the sharp pain of his own broken heart.
Crowley took his sunglasses off, throwing them against the already frightened door. The broken pieces lay on the floor.
Looking up, his mind was filled with so many questions. For himself. For Aziraphale. For Her.
One that had encompassed them all.
His eyes shone amber yellow, full of tears that began streaming down his face, as he asked “Why?”