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Crowley stopped believing in love a long time ago.
He did believe in love once, honestly. He loved the stars. He loved the way the gasses swirled and gathered into nebulae. He loved to watch his machine working, loved to watch the stars be born. He'd poured his soul into the stars.
And then he Fell. He asked Questions, and he Fell.
Crowley's Fall was somewhat… relaxed; everyone knew that. What they didn't know was that he'd sauntered vaguely downward with the threat of much worse hanging over his head if he did not keep sauntering. It was a we strongly suggest you resign sort of Fall.
Crowley stopped believing in love around the third or fourth stair.
It'd been nagging at the back of his head since his very first Question was stiffly ignored, the creeping, insidious doubt. Does God actually care about what I'm doing? Of course She cares, She's love incarnate… right? Would love incarnate really ask me to pour my heart and soul into something She knew would be thrown out in mere millennia? No… would She?
He didn't know the answer to whether or not his beloved stars would be ended so soon, but what he did know was that She never answered. The Metatron answered occasionally, but only to tell him to shut up and get on about his business. Crowley never heard a word from Her. Eventually the other angels got sick of him and told him to get out or they'd get him out themselves, so Crowley Damned himself and left for Hell, because where else was there to go? It was Heaven or Hell. Not like there was much of an alternative.
And then he spoke to the Angel of the Eastern Gate. And he was confused. Because the angel – that little principality, Aziraphale, who said hello to him and held his blueprints for him before the beginning – was good .
Crowley had long given up hope on either side being good . Hell was obviously bad, they were evil on purpose. It was kind of their entire thing. And Heaven was full of pompous dicks, every single one of them so full of their own superior holiness it was unbearable.
But Aziraphale – Aziraphale was well and truly good. He gave the humans (the humans !) his holy flaming sword, because it was going to be cold. Because he saw a creature that could not fend for itself and decided he could not bear to watch it suffer. Seemingly without even stopping to consider the consequences of helping, because there was no way the angel was not going to get into massive trouble for that promethean stunt.
But he did it anyway, and that's what threw Crowley for a miserable loop. Aziraphale showed compassion to a creature even though it had already lost God's Grace.
Something made sense to Crowley then.
That's not an angel, he realized. I don't know what he is, and I don't really care, but he's not an angel.
Later, over the centuries, Crowley came to the conclusion that his initial realization was wrong. Aziraphale was an angel, without a doubt. It was more like… Aziraphale was the only angel. The only real angel. The only being who was kind for the sake of being kind, who was generous indiscriminately. He really, genuinely wished the best for everyone.
Knowing Aziraphale only made Crowley hate Heaven more – but it didn't make him more of a demon. If Heaven was Up, and Hell was Down, Crowley was moving steadily Sideways. He still believed in things, but he believed in things that were real. Actual, tangible things. Crowley believed in alcohol. The leather interior of the Bentley. Best of Queen. Plant misters and verdant houseplants trembling with fear. He believed in wine and the smell of old books. Antique couches. Telling "customers" to fuck off. If the bookshop were a church, Crowley might've even redeemed himself by now. At least the dry old floorboards didn't burn his feet - not consecrated, just sacred. All things considered, Sideways was pretty comfortable.
The thing was, his fingers were still tangled tightly with Aziraphale's, and his arm was starting to hurt from having to stretch so much.
But he was not going to let go of Aziraphale's hand after holding it fast for six thousand years. He was not . So Aziraphale's hand was soft, sue him. And perfectly warm. So what. Maybe he wanted to hold that hand forever. Maybe he wanted to hold the whole angel forever. And maybe… maybe he did still believe in love. Just a little bit. Just Aziraphale.