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“No, no I can’t. Please. I- I changed my mind- I can’t leave him. No,” Aziraphale begged, whilst the elevator slowly moves up.
He was close to tears. Why did he think this was good. He didn’t want to go back. Not without Crowley.
A shiver ran down his spine as the Metatron grinned. This couldn’t be. No, it just couldn’t.
“You will stay here. You decided on this. It was your choice.”
“No, I- you tricked me- you must have. I don’t want this, let me go back,” his voice grew silent as he spoke, tears running down his face.
When the elevator doors opened, a small noice could be heard. It reminded him of the small bell in his book shop. Crowley had rolled his eyes as it was installed but he liked it.
And Crowley had grown to it as well.
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‘Just keep on driving, just drive, that’s it, it’s nothing you’ve never done before,’ Crowley thought as the Bentley sped through the streets of Soho.
He drove long, his brain was tired, so so tired, he should’ve crashed. But he didn’t. Sadly.
When the Bentley reached the book shop he resisted the urge to open the doors with a miracle. He couldn’t. He always performed them for him. Aziraphale.
Tears welled in his eyes, burning the skin of his eye lids. It hurt. It hurt a lot but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
I forgive you
Crowley flinched as the memory came back to his mind.
“Why, Angel? Why?” he whispered to himself as he pushed open the doors of the bookshop, hearing the familiar ring of the bell. He forced his body to move forward, entering the warm space.
“Mr. Crowley! Good to see you back,” he heard Muriel say. They smiled.
How they could smile? He didn’t know either but he felt like crying.
He was a demon, he then remembered. As Aziraphale had said so wonderfully.
You’re the bad guys
He, Crowley, had been called bad again no by the angel. He had thought they were over that but apparently not.
“Yeah yeah. Hey.” he answered to Muriel. He really had forgotten to answer.
Crowley turned away and went to the back of the book shop, leaving Muriel alone in the front.
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As the winter began, Aziraphale still wasn’t back on Earth. He liked winter. It was nice and cold, and everyone drank hot chocolate. He wished he could be down, making little miracles to turn the people happy.
Instead he was kept in an office. He wasn’t even allowed to leave it. He wanted to at least check up on Crowley.
That’s why he took the first chance he got to sneak out of the office. He had to appear calm, he remembered, as he moved through the seemingly endless hall to the elevator.
That was when he saw it. In a small room, there was a projection. A projection that showed the people.
Aziraphale quickly looked around. When he saw no others he opened the door and walked in.
It didn’t take him long to figure out how to navigate the projection to different people.
When he found Crowley, he was shocked. He looked bad. Really bad. There was nothing more of the one he knew. He looked. Different.
He had long hair again, shoulder length. That was the only difference in his looks. The clothes were the same. But then again, he couldn’t really see anything in much detail.
He still noticed the change in the demon’s demeanor. His eyes seemed- he didn’t know how to describe it.
Empty. That’s the closest he could get. Crowley’s eyes looked empty. Maybe, with a little miracle he could make him feel better.
He concentrated but nothing happened.
This was harder than he remembered. He just had to try again.
Aziraphale concentrated again. His wings opened behind him and his halo appeared as the grace began to circle in his vessel.
He opened his eyes to see that it had begun to snow on earth. Yeah, that should work.
He heard the steps of the Metatron far away. He had to admit that sadly he had gotten used to them.
Quickly he moved out of the room and back into his office.
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Over time, Crowley’s body grew numb. He didn’t really feel anything anymore. He just couldn’t get over him. Over Aziraphale.
It got bad. He didn’t use miracles anymore. Not to make himself feel better. Hell, not even to cause mischief, something that had always brought him fun. Like when he helped to invent Legos.
That was funny. He grins at the memory.
He pushed his glasses a little higher, his fingertips brushing against the scarred skin of his cheeks. He flinched.
It was annoying. His tears were made from holy water. He didn’t know how it was with the other demons. How it didn’t kill him? Maybe the ‘oh so great almighty’ wanted to make him suffer even more.
It had hurt the first few months. Then he began to not show it anymore. His tears were all used up.
Instead he had searched for ways to help lessen the pain. He had been through alcohol and even cigarettes and weed. But nothing helped.
Then he had turned to self harm. First just a few snaps with a rubber band against his skin. And then he bag an to cut. First he had let his demon self heal himself but even that wasn’t enough.
He knew it was stupid, that it could technically kill him, if he didn’t heal himself.
Yet here he was again, a sharp blade in his hand as he ran it over the sensitive skin of his forearms. Blood began to slowly spill out of the cuts. They were deep but he didn’t care.
Slowly but surely the blood began to run down his arm, turning the pale skin on his arm a deep red before running onto the floor, painting a beautiful image of red rivers on the light tiles.
He resisted the urge to heal himself, something that had gotten easier after a few times. Instead he followed the blood with his eyes.
He watched for a few more seconds before wrapping bandages around his arms and cleaning up the floor.
Slowly it was all getting too much for him. He had hoped that his angel would come back to visit. Safe to say he never did.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He knew it, he had fought the battle so long. So, so long, yet here he was, giving up.
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‘I’m out. I’m really out,’ Aziraphale thought as he entered the elevator. He had escaped the Metatron.
He could go back down to Crowley.
Finally.
A smile on his face as the elevator made a small noise when the doors opened.
He took a deep breath in the cold air. His lungs were filled with air, again. This was good.
Aziraphale slowly moved through the snow, that covered the side walks.
He slowly walked over to the book shop, enjoying the feeling of the snow under his feet.
He miracled open the doors. The little doorbell rang. A bright smile on his face as he stepped in.
“Sorry, we are- Mister Aziraphale?” he heard Muriel say, their voice getting lighter as they realized who just entered the shop.
“Crowley must have told you to tell everyone, didn’t he?”
They nodded.
“Where is he at the moment?” Aziraphale was curious, he had expected for Crowley to greet him with an annoyed expression.
“Mister Crowley had just went outside for a drive. He went to see the ducks at the St. James’ Park”
“Thank you Muriel,” he answers, a smile on his face as he turned around and left the book shop, the doorbell ringing.
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Crowley was seated on the bench. He wanted to see the ducks.
‘Just one last time,’ he promised himself as he looked over the animals.
He stood up, he didn’t want them to see, they did nothing to deserve this.
Slowly, he walked back to the Bentley.
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When Aziraphale reached the park, Crowley was gone.
The angel stood there, silently, listening to the small radio of the people a bit further into the park.
“We have just gotten the news that the traffic on the tower bridge had come to an immediate stop. Apparently, a yet unknown person had climbed onto the banister. By-passers are assuming that they want to commit suicide and are currently trying to talk them out of it,” the voice in the radio spoke.
Aziraphale looked up. Not when he was back on earth.
He unfolded his wings, making him invisible to the passengers, before flying to the bridge. As soon as he arrived he folded his wings back in.
He froze when he realized who the person was.
Crowley.
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It was all too much.
As soon as he had climbed up on the parapet of the bridge a few cars had stopped, causing traffic to stand on hold at the moment. He had stopped listening to them, when in the corner of his eye he saw a flash of white hair.
Aziraphale?
He turned his head, but couldn’t see the person anymore.
An illusion. Crowley’s mind was playing tricks with him.
Without another thought he took the last step forwards. Moments later, his body hit the cold water and a sharp pain ran through his body, as his skin began to burn.
Just before he had heard the last thing he ever would. Aziraphale’s voice shouting his name frantically.
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He fell to his knees as he saw Crowley jumping, tears hitting the snow covered floor.
He tried to gather together the last bits of energy he had, it all having suddenly left him.
He stood back up and tried to climb up as well, but was held back by the other passengers, keeping him from jumping after Crowley.
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The next weeks were a blur. The funeral was nice, but it wasn’t enough.
He couldn’t give up. Not now. Muriel needed him. They had cried together when he told them the news.
He had started to open the book shop more often, even selling a few books.
Yet every time the little bell rang, his first thought was that it must be Crowley, making him look up in hope.
It never was him.
It never would be.