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Crowley wakes with a scream.
The room is cold, and pitch black, and all Crowley can see is Her face. His throat aches- from screaming, he presumes- attempting to banish the knowledge that it hurts because he'd wasted his voice asking why.
His corporation trembles, hands shakily gripping the bedsheets, body sick with nerves and the fear that it'll never end.
He's not all mentally gone, of course. He knows where he is and has a semblance of being okay- at least physically- but the memories keep coming back, and he can't stop them. Crowley feels farther and farther away the more that he remembers the begging, the pleading-
Until Aziraphale holds him, and he feels grounded for the first time in hours.
He wonders how long Aziraphale had been there. Had he come to bed at any point? Did he just come up? He's resolved to say it doesn't matter. Aziraphale's here with him, and that's all he needs.
Aziraphale's eyes search Crowley's, wide and blue and painfully concerned. Crowley wants to kiss it better, tell him he's sorry, he'll stop acting up soon, to go back to bed (or his reading nook, more accurately)- but Somebody, his eyes burn, and all Crowley wants to do is to be held by him, for Aziraphale to save him this time.
Aziraphale's hands grasp at Crowley's back, frantically checking every spot he can reach, eventually landing on the back of his head after he'd confirmed he'd sustained no physical injuries. Crowley's hands grip Aziraphale's sweater, tight. He's probably snagging it, but he's damaging it anyway, to his dismay.
He'll make it up to Aziraphale later, if he gets out of this.
Crowley hates being so bitter. He hates that Aziraphale has to put up with this. And he hates, possibly most of all, that they've gotten away with what they've done to him. Rewarded, even, for what they've done.
He'd always been a believer in spiritual comeuppance, being a demon born to do exactly that. He'd glued far too many coins to the road and inconvenienced too many shit humans to not believe in it. It just doesn't apply to him, Crowley supposes. Just more insult to injury.
That, and Crowley can't say they've hurt him, can't expose their actions. Heaven would have to fall before he could properly speak it. He's always met with violence, or another threat on his life. Nobody really cares what's happened to him.
The most of them, even some humans (though he only half-counts religious zealots as humans), justify and support it.
They're angels. She's God. She wouldn't do that. You're lying, like you always do.
Or something along those lines.
Crowley's well aware that he looks scared, or more truthfully, that he is scared. But he can't hide it from Aziraphale this time. And that's sort of relieving, no matter how much he wants to pretend it's humiliating. And maybe it is, in some form. But he can't be bothered to dwell on it now.
"What are you thinking about, dear?" Aziraphale whispers, breath soft upon Crowley's neck. He can feel Aziraphale's lips flush against his neck, and the feeling is so wonderful that he can't help but sigh, albeit a bit wetly.
Aziraphale knows what's got him upset. But he wants Crowley to talk about it. Normally, Crowley would fight this. But today, he wants to scream.
"Everything. It's just so damn-"
"Unfair."
Crowley melts into Aziraphale's chest, defeated.
"Yeah."
There's not much he can bring himself to say at the moment, but he tries, in between sobs.
Aziraphale grips Crowley just a bit tighter, and Crowley feels himself finally coming back.
"My dear. You were never at fault. Simply.. handed the wrong deck of cards." Aziraphale tries, grimacing at the irony.
Crowley doesn't fight it this time. He's tried to look for any wrongdoing that could have warranted what he'd been put through. He'd been doing that for years. He'd always just come up with nothing.
So had Aziraphale.
The tiredness comes quicker than he registers, and Crowley's sobs eventually subside to the occasional shudder. The weight is still suffocating, but he hopes he can sleep it off. (He'll feel like shit in the morning. But he'll be happy to see Aziraphale at his side, even if he looks silly in his older than antique nightcap.)
Aziraphale presses a kiss to Crowley's cheek, furthering him to sleep, resolving to kiss him better in the morning.
For that, he's glad to be an angel.