Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Every story has the same ending. It always ends with Crowley alone. Usually pretending not to cry somewhere in London in the dark, cold and empty corners of whatever house or flat he is living in this time.
But, ever the optimist, Crowley had hoped this ending would be different. If bloody Gabriel and Beelzebub got a happy ending, if they got to run away together to whatever Hell or  Heaven or something in-between was so perfect for them surely it was time for him and the angel as well. There was a love in his eyes and a lightness he had never felt before, well, he probably had but he had pushed those memories down so far it was impossible to know what was real when he realised they were truly alone now and that finally they could just get on with loving each other. She was clearly fine with it if the Archangel and Duke of Hell could get away with it.

A pep talk from Maggie and Nina told Crowley everything he already knew, he seemed oblivious to them, but he was far too clever to ignore the emotions that the white hair and tweed stirred up in him, but maybe he just needed someone else to tell him it was okay to feel that way. They were humans, what did they know anyway, but somehow their words stuck with him as Aziraphale walked back into the bookshop.

Back home.

The next hour, Crowley remembers in fragments. He remembers Aziraphale interrupting him, the offer the angel had been made, and he remembers being left all alone again. As much as he tries to forget the desperation in his own voice begging the love of his stupidly eternal existence to stay begging to be told that he had just said no, he remembers the tears in Aziraphale’s eyes as he held his face and kissed him. A silent prayer to anyone who would listen to please, Please, just make him understand. But worst of all he couldn’t stop replaying in his head watching the Angel walk away from everything they had built together.

And that's how Crowley found himself. Alone again, every story always ending the same, and he was tired of it all.

The quiet was different this time; usually, it was a form of comfort to be on his own. There was part of him, again probably the part that was the eternal optimist, that knew he was alone and not lonely because he could always slink back to his Angel at the end of the day. But this time he was truly alone, no more angel to go for nice expensive dinners at the Ritz, for drinks in the pub and quiet drives through London to the South Downs just for the sake of it. This time it was just Crowley and his plants and his Bentley.

That was the scariest part of all.

He had spent centuries trying to perfect the space around him, so it did just enough to resemble the home he had once had and not the place he Fell to, there was a sleek silence to his stupid apartment all sharp edges and nothing that resembled him in sight not in any way that mattered anyway. He had once liked the peace and quiet of his flat, it wasn’t cluttered and it wasn’t chaotic it was a small oasis in the city.
But after a while, it would feel cold and empty, something he had once needed, after spending so long in Hell, where everything was crowded and loud all too dark and close together; the light, and the quiet of his flat were a saving grace.

But soon it became too quiet, and when it did he would just turn up at that stupid bookshop in Soho. Where it was cluttered and messy but in a way that showed how much the Angel loved his space and loved to collect his books, busy but in a way that felt safe rather than a threat like he could get lost just sitting looking at the books for hours not feeling like he had to move, to pick one up and read one but he can just stare out around him and knowing that no one was going to come and steal something away from him. The light soundtrack of the bookshop became white noise, whether it was an old vinyl playing from the gramophone in the corner, the rain hitting the windows or the general sound of London going about its business outside there was always a slight hum about the place.

Crowley walked back into the flat that was now his again, no idea how he got there or why he even came back. It was different now. It was both less and more that he remembered from before, maybe it was the lack of plants.
Stood paralysed in the space he knew that he would have to make the effort to bring the plants back up but right now it felt too heavy. Like admitting that it really was all over, that this was real and not some terrible horrific dream that he was having in another 100-year-long sleep. So he just stared out at the nothing.

His eyes caught something in the corner, the safe. It was open again. He hadn’t touched that thing since the very last day of the rest of their lives. Walking over with some deep hope somewhere in his chest that he couldn’t place, he didn’t even know what he was hoping to find there. The safe was empty, which for some reason was disappointing. There was a clear circle imprinted to the bottom, lighter than the rest of the metal like the contents of that flask had somehow seeped into the very core of the metal. Crowley ran his finger around the circle a few times and somehow felt it burn whether it actually did or it was just his mind playing tricks on him is up for debate. But somehow the pain felt, right. Something he couldn’t quite explain but knew deep down in his soul was something he deserved.

He wished there was more.
But that’s the kind of thinking that leads to dangerous places, slamming the door of the safe shut Crowley stormed away like he could leave the thought right there locked up and inaccessible.

Not really knowing what else to do, Crowley started bringing the plants back up to the apartment, they hadn’t done well living in the car for so long and more than once he had screamed until he was red in the face at them to just grow and be normal. Upon seeing they were back home though, they perked up almost immediately. Seems everyone was finding comfort in being back where they started, other than Crowley. He was just lost.

After making sure the plants were situated back in his makeshift greenhouse, he realised there wasn’t really anything left to do. Almost instinctively, he reached for his car keys, to go see his Angel as he always would at the end of a long day.

For some reason, that was the tipping point.

It was a scream that was so guttural that the average human wouldn’t even hear it, it was pure and unconstrained pain. Straight from what was left of his soul. It was like that was the moment he realised that the Angel was actually gone. This wasn’t some bad dream, misguided practical joke or some sick game Hell was playing on him. Well, it probably was that one, or it was his ongoing punishment from Her. She had already ripped everything away from him once what was to stop Her from doing it again?

Falling to his knees in the middle of his cold, empty flat he realised that’s what it was.

This was Her.

She would never stop punishing him, She had never turned a blind eye to all their ‘fraternising’ for all those years, She had been keeping tabs, keeping a close eye on him always. All so she could strike when it would hurt the most, let him have a sense of stability and the hope, that stupid pointless hope, that maybe Aziraphale felt the same way he did and then at his most open, most vulnerable he had ever been she would strike him down.

Did he know?

Was Aziraphale in on this the whole time?

As soon as the thought popped into Crowley's head it was like the pain rippled through his bones again, his head hit the floor. It was cold. Of course, it was cold. He wished it would stop the thoughts circling his mind but obviously, it did not. He was drowning. Replaying every moment they had shared over 6000 years, was it al fake? Was Aziraphale always lying to him?

Satan, he was stupid, how could he have ever believed that an Angel, not just any angel but the best of all of them, could have seen him fondly, let alone love him? Maybe everyone downstairs was right, he was naive, gone native, and got too close.
Crowley lay curled up in a ball on his freezing stone floor, in his empty flat, in the city where he realised he had created a life around an Angel who couldn’t care less if he tried.
This was all some great ineffable plan to ruin him even more.

In a moment of madness that was sickeningly in character for the breakdown he was having, Crowley dragged himself to the window, hoping and uselessly praying to anyone who might listen that he would  see the stars. Anything that would remind him of Home, his Angel, his life before today. Pulling his body against the wall the first thing he noticed was the light pollution, of course, he knew that London was a city of a million tiny lights that would never turn off but the optimist within him was as ever hoping for the best that it would be dark enough to spot even one star.

But as he looked out, it struck him,

No stars and no nightingales. 

Chapter Text

This wasn’t a mistake, it couldn’t be a mistake. Aziraphale couldn’t have made a mistake, not with this. 

But a voice in his head, one that sounded suspiciously like a red-headed demon that only wore black and cared more than he would ever let on, was telling him this was all wrong. 

But the Metatron chose him surely this was the right decision. He knew, objectively, that some of what Heaven had been doing in recent, and not so recent, years had been wrong. This was the chance to change it, he could make it better the type of Heaven that wouldn’t have cast Crowley out all those years ago just for asking a few questions. 

He and Crowley had made Earth better over the years, at least he hoped that they had made Earth better, by helping people Elsebeth, Sargent Shadwell, Anathema and Newt and of course Adam and his friends. They had stopped armageddon for goodness sake. He knew they could make anything better if they were together. But could Aziraphale do it alone? That’s all he ruminated on as he rode that elevator back to Home, or what should be home. 

But no Crowley, he really truly thought that Crowley would come with him, of course, he would. The opportunity to be back in Heaven was something that he would never give up. Aziraphale wasn’t stupid, he saw how Crowley always looked for the stars despite living in a city full of light pollution, he saw how every time Crowley struggled to find the words he would look up to the sky like it held all the answers. He had been to Crowley flat on only a handful of occasions but he couldn’t shake how much it reminded him of the clinical and clean line of Heaven, it was light, and it was empty.

 It was just like Heaven. 

Surely Crowley missed it. And this was an opportunity, for both of them to not only stay together but make good, do what was needed on their terms and no one else’s, why could Crowley not see it that way? 

So he stood, without his demon, in the lift to heaven, trying to convince himself he had made the right choice. He could still fix things, help people on his own. 

But then the fear set in, by saying yes to helping Heaven, he had accidentally ruined the one thing he cared about most. He couldn’t get Crowley's glossy eyes and stuttered words out of his thoughts. He knew Crowley loved him, he had always known. But he had meant it when he said that Crowley went too fast, Crowley was always moving a million miles an hour with a million plans to plant tiny bits of evil that, usually, didn’t cause much more than a bit of annoyance for humans that were usually terrible anyway. Crowley was never still, always some part of him moving and Aziraphale could never quite keep up.

But he knew, deep down that Crowley loved him. He had just never brought it up. To him it was just a fact of life, the sun rose each morning and set again each night, the sky was blue, and Crowley loved Aziraphale. 

It wasn’t that Aziraphale didn’t feel the same, of course he did, he loved Crowley more than anything in existence. It was just something they had never needed to discuss, or at least Aziraphale didn’t think so. They had been together so long, clearly, they were partners by the very definition of the word, why did they need to have some long drawn-out conversation to talk about what they both already knew. 

They both already knew. 

Surely, Crowley knew right? 

It dawned on him all at once. Crowley didn’t know. His stutters were a confession not just stating the obvious. In the moment he thought the conversation was absolutely ridiculous why was Crowley telling him what they both already knew but it was playing out again in his mind as he stood out staring at Heaven. The Metatron had walked off somewhere telling Aziraphale that nothing had moved and he knew where to go. But he was stuck to the floor. 

Crowley didn’t know. 

He had crushed his hope, cut him off in what was for Crowley, a life-changing moment. The guilt was consuming him as he replayed every tiny moment of their last interaction again and again. The more he analysed it in his own mind the more he realised how scared Crowley actually was, even before he started talking, this was make or break for him. And Aziraphale made it break. 

He was so astronomically stupid. How did he not realise that Crowley didn’t know. 

He looked around at the expanse of space before him and realised something. It couldn’t possibly be heaven if there was no Crowley. 

He had made a mistake, maybe it wasn’t the right choice after all. 

But there was a job to do. There were things to fix and if anyone could clean up this mess, well he wasn’t so sure he was the one who could do it anymore but what choice did he have? Fix whatever mess was going on up here and then go back to the home they had created together and fix things there.

So he had a plan, well he had the foundations of a plan with no real outline and no steps. All he knew was that he had to make things right. 

Looking around again at the light and cold space of Heaven, that he hadn’t seen in so long, longer than those there had thought as well, he noticed absently that the Metatron was right nothing had changed. It was exactly as he left it. And he did know where to go. He walked around in search of something that would feel like home, but it was empty in a way he couldn’t place. 

Aziraphale approached the office of the Metatron, and suddenly in a way he hadn’t been before he was nervous the confidence he had walked back into the bookshop with was suddenly gone. He hovered outside for another second before plucking up the courage to enter and ask what comes next.  The Metatron was just sat staring at him as he walked in, as if he knew that Aziraphale was stood building up the courage to enter, with a slight look of disappointment on his face. 

The Metatron spoke but Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure he could have repeated a single word he said with any certainty, all he could place was that big changes were coming, someone was coming back and Aziraphale had been brought back to mastermind the plan. 

And in a moment, Aziraphale understood something for the first time. Something he was worried Crowley had understood hours ago. This wasn’t about making Heaven better, about making Earth better, this was burning it all down. 

Aziraphale had already burnt his everything down once today, and now he was being asked to do it all over again. 

Maybe he wasn’t quite as clever as he always thought. Aziraphale had always known that Crowley was the smartest of the two, always looking over your shoulder and having to know what everyone else around you was going to do next came with the job description in Hell he assumed, but he never thought of himself as stupid. Yes, he somehow found himself in situations where he needed to be saved more than a few times but if he was being honest with himself that was usually for Crowley's benefit, as he had told Maggie and Nina not that long ago Crowley loved to save him, but he always had a backup plan and a way out.

That’s what he would have to do next, the Metatron had led him to what was once Gabriel's office and told him it was his now. Aziraphale had never felt more out of place. It wasn’t him, he should have just listened to Crowley. And if that wasn’t the story of his life. 

Sitting in an office that was now his, which he realised he didn’t even want, he started to form a plan. He had to stop it, hecouldn’t let them burn everything down he needed the world to survive, he had done it once he could do it again. The problem he realised, is that he had Crowley to help last time. He wasn’t doing it alone, yes they faced armageddon, they stood facing Satan and saved the world but they did it together. This time, however, Aziraphale was going to have to do it alone there was no way he could roll back down to earth and ask for help. He had a point to prove, to himself, to the Metatron, to all of Heaven but most importantly a point to prove to Crowley. 

 Then there was the secondary point of needing to save the world, he needed to apologise to Crowley, he needed to tell Crowley that he was wrong, he shouldn’t have gone to Heaven, he should have listened and most importantly he needed to tell Crowley he loved him. 

Chapter Text

Crowley opened his eyes, and the first thing he remembered was that he was alone. Aziraphale was gone, taking in his surroundings he remembered the events of the day before. 
After staring out at the too-bright lights of London realising that there were no stars for him to pray to he cried. It felt like all he had done that day was cry, it was unlike him but these were trying times he rationalised within himself. He realised he had fallen asleep on the floor, something else unlike him he loved his comfortable too big bed, and looking up he noticed he was directly below his safe. 
His empty safe. He was still fixated on it, if he closed his eyes all he could see was that ring of lightened metal. The Holy Water.  The thoughts of it consumed his mind, if he still had it last night would have had a very different ending. 
The thought paralysed Crowley. He had never thought about using it in that way. Despite what Aziraphale had thought back in 1862, he wasn’t actually lying. The Holy Water was never a suicide pill, Crowley had never wanted it to be used on himself it was genuinely just insurance. He had always meant to use it when things were going wrong and that is exactly what he did. 
 So why are his thoughts changing now? If he was honest with himself he knew exactly why his thought process had changed but he couldn’t confront it right now. 
So he just stared back at the safe, unrelenting it stared back at him. 

A nap. That’s what would fix this. If he just fell asleep for a long time until all this has passed. Ideally for a few hundred years then he wouldn’t have to face Maggie and Nina again and tell them he was gone, the humiliation of rejection too much to bare. So he dragged himself to the bedroom. It looked exactly the same as he left it. The film of dust told him that no one had opened this door since the last time he closed it. 
Shedding the skin-tight clothes without truly thinking about it Crowley manifested some loose-fitting pyjamas and if they were plaid then that wasn’t anyone's business but his. He crawled into the bed that was far too big for one being and the black silk sheets were the first comforting thing he had felt since the Angel walked out from the bookshop. His head hitting the pillow seemed to bring nothing but a fresh wave of tears, the events of the last 24 hours caught up with him all over again. Aziraphale was really gone. He had chosen Heaven over him, and as soon as it was framed in his mind that way it became obvious. Of course he did, there wasn’t a competition. 
So here he was. Alone all over again, he could think of nothing to do but close his eyes and hope that he dreamt of anything other than blonde hair, blue eyes and a smile he would give anything to see directed towards him one more time. 

~

Running a bookshop had not really been in Muriel’s plan when they arrived on Earth to do surveillance on an Angel gone rouge and his Demon. They had become quite fond of  Crowley by the end of things. He was nice, didn’t ignore them and generally treated them a lot better than anyone in Heaven ever had. Muriel was hoping that the demon would come by the bookshop soon, they weren’t really sure what they were doing and surely after spending so much time there over the years Crowley would know what to do and would definitely be willing to give a few pointers. 

The one thing that Muriel did know is that they were not to sell any of the books, under any circumstances. Which made perfect sense. Aziraphale, as they understood, had spent hundreds of years collecting the artefacts and they were safe here. So even as people passed by the windows and seemed to absentmindedly realise there was a new presence in the shop they still didn’t come in and try to buy any books. 
So Muriel read. They tried to understand the stories that were sometimes a little lost on them, but they were still fairly new to living on Earth and everything it could offer. They were getting through the back rooms of the bookshop at immense pace hoping they could learn why Aziraphale and Crowley looked so upset as they talked, why Crowley had waited with his car until he was sure that Aziraphale wasn’t coming back and why they hadn’t seen him since. All their surveillance, both from the files and what they had seen with their own eyes showed that Crowley never stayed away from the bookshop that long, and that wherever Aziraphale was Crowley wouldn’t be too far behind. 
But Crowley hadn’t been back. It had been weeks. Despite everything, Muriel was worried. They had been to see Maggie and Nina across the road who had always been kind to them and took them under their wings when Muriel first took charge of the bookshop. But they didn’t know anything either, and they were also worried, it seemed that Crowley had been a frequent customer at Nina's coffee shop and the rest of the usuals had all noticed his lack of presence. What the residents of Soho also realised is that Crowley was so viciously private, and also so frequently in the presence of Aziraphale, that they didn’t actually know where he lived. Not one person could say they remember him mentioning a home, or anything other than the bookshop. So Muriel was stuck, knowing they would have to do something to check that Crowley was okay, but also knowing they had nothing to go on to find him and it wasn’t exactly like they could pop back upstairs for information. When they took over the bookshop the Metatron gave strict instructions that Aziraphale should not be contacted about anything to do with the bookshop and definitely nothing to do with Crowley. Muriel wasn’t entirely sure why this wasn’t allowed, surely since Aziraphale and Crowley were very clearly so involved in each other's lives on Earth, the Angel would want to know what was going on. But who was Muriel to question the Metatron, the voice of God?
So, despite it going against every single one of their instincts, Muriel didn’t contact Aziraphale to ask where they could find Crowley. What they didn’t promise though, was a lack of snooping. With a new plan in place, Muriel started searching every corner, every nook and cranny of the bookshop. There had to be something somewhere that could even give them a hint as to where they could find Crowley just to see if he was okay. Even a phone number would be welcome at this point, even if Crowley didn’t answer straight away it would be something they could try. 
They searched for days and found nothing. Apparently, Aziraphale kept everything he had ever loved in this bookshop other than a single shed of information on where Crowley might be. Muriel pondered why, was it just that they had known each other so long that there was never any need to write down such a trivial thing as an address or a phone number. Or was it some other, scarier reason? Was Aziraphale worried about the information falling into the wrong hands and putting Crowley in danger, Muriel could see that point clearly. Objectively this would be the exact situation that Aziraphale was so worried about, an Angel searching the bookshop while he was gone looking for a way to track down a demon. The irony of the situation struck them. 
 But maybe it was another reason. Was there some wider plan in play, that they were not privy to understand? Was this some master scheme from Aziraphale the whole time to hurt Crowley? As soon as the thought entered their mind it fell away again, surely not. They hadn’t been on earth long but they had become an expert on human relationships, especially romantic ones, and so much of their behaviour Muriel had seen reflected in Aziraphale and Crowley. It was clear to just about anyone how in love they were. Aziraphale would never do that to Crowley, Muriel was certain of it. 

But that certainty didn’t help the current situation. Aziraphale had hurt Crowley, albeit unintentionally, and Muriel couldn’t contact Crowley and there was no one who could help them. They were no further along and all out of ideas. 

Speaking aloud in a sort of prayer, Muriel asked the universe, asked God, and asked anyone who would listen for something, anything that could lead them to where Crowley was hiding himself away. And suddenly, something Muriel had not noticed before, a brown envelope. It was mostly hidden under the old rotary phone on Aziraphale's desk near the window. Inside was a picture of Crowley and Aziraphale, but they looked different, it was black and white and they were on a stage staring out at the audience with unplaceable emotions on their faces. On the back was an address scrawled in questionable but legible handwriting ‘to shades of grey’ and an address. An Address. Muriel knew it wasn't the location of the bookshop and was so sure there was only one other option. It was Crowley's address. 
Without a second thought as to if the address was current, or if Crowley would even want to see them Muriel set off across London. They hadn’t known the city long but somehow, like there was a force from above guiding them, they knew exactly where to go. 

It was just a townhouse, so innocuous. Everything they had been taught about Demons and Hell seemingly did not apply to Crowley. If everything was all lies or if Crowley was just different was not a thought experiment that would be helpful at this moment so Muriel buried it down to be dealt with later. All of a sudden they were struck with worry, what if this wasn’t what Crowley wanted, what if he wasn’t even here? Almost paralysed with fear Muriel looked up and noticed the curtains closed, at every window, not a single space for light to enter the flat. Even what Muriel assumed was the greenhouse for Crowley's beloved plants. And Muriel thought to themselves, even if he wants to be left alone, he needs someone. Crowley needed someone and Muriel was the closest he would get to Aziraphale right now. 
Plucking up the courage, Muriel knocked on the door as loud as they could. For the first time, they were certain that Crowley was inside, being an angel they could still sense when there was another power nearby and they could sense Crowley but it felt different this time. Muriel noticed that not only could they sense Crowley in a general way, but they could also sense a looming pain in the apartment that was so strong it nearly knocked them off their feet. Crowley was in there, and he was hurting. Muriel was more determined than ever to get in and talk to Crowley. Slamming their hands against the door again once again praying that Crowley would answer Muriel was starting to wonder if Crowley could hear them at all. Suddenly the door gave way under their fists and swung open so violently that Muriel stumbled into the doorway from the sheer force they were shining their arms with. 
But there was no one there. The flat was dark and it was empty. The door had opened on its own. Once again there seemed to be some power at play that kept leading Muriel to Crowley. They felt bad for looking around at the space that was clearly so sacred and private for Crowley but the bigger more prominent feeling was worry and dread. 
Instinctively, they walked towards a closed door. With significantly less force than the last time, Muriel knocked on the door. But just the same as last time, no answer. Muriel knew that Crowley was in there they could sense him, the dread becoming even more overwhelming the closer they got to the door. But there was nothing but silence from behind the door, which served nothing but to make Muriel more worried. It felt like an intrusion to open the door, Muriel didn’t know the layout of Crowley's home but could assume that this was his bedroom and knew that Crowley would likely not thank them for the intrusion. 
But then, a noise, more than a noise. It was a wail, the sound dripping with nothing but horror and pain. In that moment Muriel knew that even if Crowley was angry with them for the intrusion whatever he was going through alone in there was far worse than any words the demon could spit at them. With shaking hands, Muriel opened the door trying to remain calm and controlled as they did. The first thing that they could see, was the bed. It took up a large percentage of the space in the room and Muriel noticed the dark silk bedding that was wrapped around Crowley. He looked unlike himself, seeming so small in the bed curled in on himself without his usual swagger, tight jeans and sunglasses, and that only worried Muriel more. 
It was clear now, that Crowley was having a nightmare and Muriel didn’t know what to do. Should they wake him up and try to make him talk about what he was experiencing or was that the wrong thing to do, Muriel continuously found themself doing the wrong and hoped this whole endeavour wasn’t just another added to the list. But as another scream tore through Crowleys unconscious Muriel realised they had no choice. Summing some angelic power, that if they thought about it too hard they didn’t realise they were still tuned into, they woke him up. 
Crowley woke up with another scram that almost brought Muriel to tears, his eyes darted around the room like he was waiting for something to hit him. But as his eyes landed on Muriel they softened slightly before they were struck with some intimate internal struggle again ‘What, in Satan's name are you doing here? Wait how did you get here?” Crowley rambled in a voice Muriel suspected was meant to sound intimidating but instead came across as scared. 
‘I was worried, Maggie and Nina are too. I needed to know if you were okay’ Muriel fumbled the words, for some reason scared to admit this fact. 
Crowley’s head bowed, almost as if it was dragged down with the weight of understanding that he had been seen. He had been understood not just by another angel but by humans as well. 

The words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to tell Muriel to just get out, it was none of their business what Crowley did, they had no right to come in and ask stupid questions and bring up Maggie and Nina, those stupid humans that had seen through him and made him confront the truth. He wanted to scream and shout and release his demonic powers to keep them all away. The further away they went the less hurt it would cause, they couldn’t see this. 
 No one other than Crowley had ever entered this room. Yet here stood an angel, not His Angel either. But one that had been sent to keep an eye on them and was clearly taking their job far too seriously. 
So instead of speaking, Crowley just stared in silence, not quite at Muriel, not quite away. Just staring. Hoping that the silence would drive them away, they had proof of life what more could they possibly want? 
But Muriel and their stupid eyes full of fear, shaking hands and palpable worry reminded him too much of Aziraphale, was this just more of his punishment? Something about them made him care, he wanted to protect the Angel and just couldn’t bring himself to react in the way he was conditioned. 
Instead, he stared at his bed like it would give him the answers. And Muriel stood in the doorway like they could find the right questions to ask just by looking at Crowley. 

Chapter Text

Something wasn’t right. Aziraphale could feel that much. But he couldn’t place it, there was just a feeling of doom that consumed him. 
By now he knew that he had made the wrong decision coming to Heaven, he knew something was wrong here but the foreboding he felt deep in his soul was something different entirely. 

He wondered about Crowley. He was always thinking about Crowley, he had been thinking about Crowley nearly constantly for about 6000 years if Aziraphale was honest with himself. Thinking about Crowley was both torture and comfort all wrapped up in one, like holding a bunch of roses beautiful and fragrant but with thorns that cut deep. But it was all he could do. Every single time he thought of Crowley at the moment though, all he could see was the tears in Crowley’s eyes and the pain he had caused. How did he get it all so wrong? 

 But the feeling that something was wrong, it was different and it was getting stronger. Something, somewhere was deeply possibly irrevocably wrong but he couldn’t quite work out where. 

And then he heard a voice. One he recalled from him and Crowley’s final few weeks together. An angel, one he saw Crowley become weirdly protective of. Muriel’s voice. Calling out to him, well maybe not him specifically but clearly looking for some kind of answers. Aziraphale tried to tune into what the voice was saying, it felt like he was doing something wrong but at this point everything he did felt like the wrong thing to do. Surely if Muriel wanted to speak with him they would just get in contact, it was easy enough they were in his bookshop and he knew just how easy it was to contact Heaven and to be contacted by them from the place. This fact made him feel even worse about listening in to what he assumed were Muriel’s prayers and silent conversations with Her but the feeling that something was so deeply wrong overrode his shame and he listened. 

That was a mistake in itself. What he heard made him feel even worse than he had before. Muriel sounded near frantic begging for anyone who might be listening, he couldn’t think too much about those words instead of Muriel asking God specifically without spiralling, for anything that would help them find Crowley. 

Aziraphale felt sick. He knew that Crowley had become quite fond of Muriel and for them to be so worried and evidently not able to get in contact with him worried Aziraphale even more. But there was nothing he could do. Aziraphale was already under heavy surveillance from The Metatron and he had been given strict instructions that he was needed here in Heaven and he couldn’t go back to Earth right now. He knew he had to help but he had no idea how, he couldn’t even look in on the bookshop without being noticed. 
He needed to find a way to lead Muriel to Crowley, Aziraphale couldn’t go down there and apologise but maybe Muriel would be able to be the friend that Crowley needs. He remembered, the polaroid Crowley had written on back during the war after their magic act and shared bottles of wine. The new address, a townhouse just outside of Mayfair that was home to a demon and a small promise that he was there to stay. It was hidden, under the phone a silent promise to himself and to Crowley that he would call for help when he needed it. He focused as much angelic energy as he possibly could on the envelope in hopes that Muriel would find it. Aziraphale didn’t even know how he could possibly know that Muriel had found the envelope or if they would understand what it meant. But he could hope, he could use all his power and all his hope that Muriel would find their way to him. 

Crowley needed someone, Aziraphale wished he could be who Crowley needed but he wasn’t. Not right now anyway, maybe one day he can be again. 
Aziraphale could sense that Muriel had found the envelope, he still didn’t know how this was working, with everything he knew about Angelic connections it shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be able to sense so closely what Muriel was doing down there. There’s so much that shouldn’t be happening, the only thing he could think is that maybe, just maybe, someone is looking out for them. Now he knew that Muriel had found it, he realised that they probably didn’t even know how to find the address and being so new to earth he wasn’t sure that Muriel would even know where to start to find the way. All he could do was think. Focus more than anything else on the path from his bookshop to Crowley’s house. Hoping and praying that Muriel would know what to do. 

All he could do was pace the floor of his new, and empty, office twisting the ring on his finger unable to think about anything but Muriel and Crowley and the regret he felt for leaving it all behind. Still thinking about the path from the bookshop to the house a new worry entered Aziraphale’s mind. What if Crowley didn’t let them in, or what if it was something worse, what if Crowley still had the holy water? But surely he wouldn’t. For right or for wrong he had handed Crowley that Holy Water knowing it could destroy him but with an innate trust in Crowley that it wouldn’t. He had hoped and prayed and ruminated that decision a million little times since the day but it had never felt as heavy as it did now. And there was nothing to do but hope and pray that Crowley was alive. 

Time passed around him. He didn’t know how long he paced in circles in the office that even still didn’t feel like his. And suddenly there was a hammering on the door. He never understood why the door was there, very few of the other offices in Heaven had a door maybe Gabriel had wanted privacy or maybe just a flair for the dramatic with slamming doors and hiding out. He was staring at the door and the knocking didn’t stop and seemed to only get more intense but Aziraphale struggled to bring himself to care when something was clearly so wrong down on Earth with the one being he truly and deeply cared about. Until a voice pulled him from his spiral. 
It was Muriel.
‘Aziraphale? I’m really sorry. I know you didn’t want to be bothered while you get things in order but… erm, I think I need your help’ the angel stuttered out in a small voice that conveyed nothing but panic. 
Aziraphale swung open the door and ushered Muriel into the room scanning his eyes over them to make sure they were okay. Realising that the Angel's corporation was okay at least Aziraphale started to worry even more, he thinks that he knows what this is about already. 
‘My dear, of course, come in what can I help you with?’
Muriel started at him, clearly trying to find the words to say next and seemingly failing to know the answer to that particular question. 
‘It's Crowley, I went and saw him a while okay and he said he was fine, he promised, but now I can’t find him again. The plants are still in his flat, everything is still there nothing's moved. But his Bentley is gone and so is he.’

Chapter Text

Crowley didn’t know how to deal with the looks of worry from Muriel. He didn’t know how much more of them turning up at his apartment with a warm drink and a pastry in hopes of making him talk about his feelings. But what was worse is that when he didn’t, which was every single time, they were also happy to just sit in silence and be with him. 

Crowley hated it. But at the same time he didn’t. He hated that Muriel could see that he was struggling, he hated that they saw how much Aziraphale leaving had ruined him. He hated that anyone could see that he was anything other than the cold exterior he had always shown to everyone other than Aziraphale. Who had left him.
But what he hated more, was that he could tell they cared. He wished they didn’t because the only thing Crowley could think about was the promise of a church, the promise of the vat of Holy Water he knew they kept there. He hated that he knew, in his heart that Muriel would be sad when they find out what he had done. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to completely hate it, there was a significant part of him that relished in the silent companionship they shared, the quiet moments where they sat side by side not saying a word. He couldn’t hate the way that even when Crowley ignored their presence or spouted some vitriol and spiteful words they didn’t leave, Muriel had stayed. Muriel had seen the parts he hated most and still they came back every day with no expectations, no demands and not wanting something from him. They came back just so he wasn’t alone. He hated it, but he loved it. And that was what scared him the most. 

He tried to talk to Muriel, not always of Aziraphale but of anything. He liked it best when Muriel asked small questions about Earth, things that he knew he could answer and things that he could practically help them with. He was useless to everything else in the world now and even the small acts of mischief he used to enjoy seemed pointless when there wasn’t Aziraphale next to him to gently roll his eyes while he suppressed a laugh. But he could help explain the world to Muriel, because despite it all he still loved this place, he knew how it worked. Every single little loophole, every shortcut and every time it wasn’t worth taking a shortcut and seeking out the long way round appreciate the beauty of the world. Of course he knew how it worked, yes he had been here since the beginning of it al but more importantly he and Aziraphale had built it. Not singlehandedly the humans had done a lot on their own but there was practically nothing here today or in the thousands of years of history that they hadn’t had a hand it on some level.

Which is why staying was so hard, he couldn’t leave his flat for the fear that stepping outside the walls that held him would bring nothing but turmoil as he looked out on everything they had built together, and everything Aziraphale had left behind. 

So Crowley did what he did best. He ran. He couldn’t bare being seen like this anymore, not by Muriel not by anyone so he did the only thing he could think to do. He got in his car and drove away. 

He felt guilty for leaving Muriel behind, but by now he had taught them enough about how to not only survive but flourish on Earth. Crowley knew rationally that Muriel would miss him, he wasn’t completely oblivious to the world around him, but he also knew that they would be fine without him. Muriel still saw Maggie and Nina and the others in Soho, he knew there would be people around for Muriel but after a while they would forget this episode where they sat next to a sad demon every day for weeks who could barely string a sentence together. Since there was only Muriel to stay for and he knew that in a while they would move on and carry on learning the earth on their own terms, and how beautiful that would be, Crowley knew all he could do was leave London. 

Leave London first, and then make a decision on where he should leave next. 

So Crowley drove, uncharacteristically though he did it in silence. He knew what the Bentley was like, if he tried to listen to some music it would undoubtedly turn into something that would tear his heart into a million more tiny shards  and he doesn’t know if he heart can take any more breaking. So he drove quiet, quiet but quick quicker than the Bentley should ever be able to go but those kinds of things didn’t matter, miraculously there was never a car in front of him it was just clear road ahead, and a Bentley travelling a few hundred miles an hour.

Crowley didn’t even really know where he was going, for what might be the first time in his entire existence Crowley didn’t have a plan. He had always had a plan before now, but right now he was just driving. No destination in mind just knowing that he had to get out of London and go somewhere less familiar, less like home. Somewhere where he had never stood in a bookshop admitting his love and been left behind anyway. He needed a place where he didn’t see an Angel in everything before he left for good. 

As soon as the thought entered his mind the car stopped. His foot was essentially on the floor of the car he was pushing the accelerator so hard and yet he was stationary. The Bentley would not move. 

“Oh come on! You knew what this was about when we set off and don’t pretend you didn’t” Crowley spit out, lifting his foot and pushing down again as hard as he could. The car did not move. 

“Stop it! You are my car and you will drive when I want to!” Crowley was shouting now and yet the car did not move. 

Frustration was crawling through Crowleys veins, it was simmering under his skin he just needed to get away. He swung open the door quickly and violently, dragged himself out he car slamming the door as hard as he could.

“Fine! If you want to just sit there I’ll walk. You can just stay there forever because no one is coming back to find you, you know!” Crowley screamed into the air. He didn’t know who he was talking to anymore, himself or the car.

No one is coming back to find you.

It replayed his mind a hundred times before he could even bring his legs to move, there really was no one coming this time. But there was nowhere left to go the only home he had ever known was gone. 

So he started to walk, Crowley didn’t even know what direction he was going just walking straight ahead, before he knew it the Bentley was right beside him again. Somehow he knew that the Bentley was trying to look after him, the car didn’t want this to happen but knew that it could at least keep Crowley slightly safer for now. Crowley got back in, foot straight to the floor and drove as fast as he could, still without a destination in mind but knowing that there was no home for him anywhere on earth anymore and really there was only one way to truly find some peace now.

He needed to find a church. The thought of that should scare him. He is a demon after all. There was no reason whatsoever for Crowley to want to go to a church, under normal circumstances anyway, but he knew he needed to go.

It would be better for Muriel if they could forget he ever existed at all, it would be better for Crowley if he could stop feeling like half his heart had been ripped out his chest and sent away never to be seen again. So the decision was made.

The Bentleys engine stuttered, the car knew as well as Crowley that this was most likely their final time together and it broke the final parts of Crowleys heart. He loved his car, that wasn’t a secret, but most people didn’t understand just how deep their relationship was, the car was an extension of him in a weird way. It had seen so much of his life in the short time they had been together. The Bentley had seen Aziraphale and Crowley fight and make up a million times, it had seen the passing of a bottle of Holy Water with a promise made that it would never destroy Crowley, it had seen them drive through London dodging bombs and maybe for the first time truly understanding each other. 

The car didn’t really know why this time would be different, obviously Aziraphale would be back soon with a look of regret and an apology on his lips (preparing for a small, silly but meaningful dance) but Crowley knew better. This time was final, it was too fractured and broken to be repaired this time. 

He didn’t blame Aziraphale for choosing heaven, not anymore. He would never have made that decision but he understands why Aziraphale did now, he understands that there was no competition between a demon on earth and Heaven the home he had always had. So it was over. 

Crowley kept driving, he knew exactly where he was going now and he knew exactly what he was going to do. Promises be damned he wasn’t the first one to break them anyway, this time the Holy Water would be a suicide pill, and there would be no one to stop him now. 

Chapter Text

Crowley was in danger. Huge spectacular danger. Aziraphale could feel it in his chest, is his soul, in the very essence of who he was. 

He needed to get to Crowley now. 

Muriel was still stood staring at him in his, well it was never really his, office, there was stress and worry etched in their face. They’d not long told him that Crowley was missing and they were worried that they couldn’t find him before the pain struck Aziraphale. He knew that Muriel was right to be worried and he knew they had to be quick. 
Azirapahle tried to think about what could have happened to put Crowley in so much danger. The metatron had spent weeks organising the second coming but Aziraphale knew it wasn’t that. He had quietly and secretly creating small problems and bumps in the road to give himself more time to work out what to do so that event was still a long way off. 
Unless Hell had found Crowley, but what would they want? Surely all that was taken care of when Beelzebub went off, Crowley had well and truly cut ties. It wasn’t them that would have come for him, not now anyway.

It hit him slowly and all at once. Holy Water. Crowley was going to use it. The biggest fear he had always held close to his chest was that one day Crowley would destroy himself and that there would be nothing Aziraphale would be able to do to save him. 

‘Muriel. Do you know if Crowley has access to any Holy Water in his home?’ Aziraphale asked, slowly and softly, too scared to speak too loud in hopes that this wouldn’t be real and that by saying it, he would make it so. 
Muriel looked confused, and they looked scared, but they didn’t know what to say. 
They shook their head, a small movement that, if no one was looking for it, no one would ever know it had happened. ‘I don’t know, I couldn’t sense any when I was there. But I don’t know’ 
 It was both a relief and a worry. It wasn’t too late, there was still time to save Crowley if there wasn’t Holy Water at the flat then he would need to find some, which gave them time to find him and stop him from doing something he couldn’t undo. 
‘Okay, that’s good… Okay. We need to find him quickly because I think he’s going to do something terrible,’ Aziraphale whispered to him, and Muriel was still standing in a tense silence, not really knowing what to do next. 

Muriel thought for a moment, and then, almost like divine intervention a though popped into their mind. A memory they thought they had forgotten. 

‘Well lets find him, surely the Metatron told you about The Map?’ Muriel spoke with a newfound optimism in their voice, meanwhile Aziraphale was staring like they had been speaking in a language that he didn’t understand. ‘Clearly not,’ they mumbled.

They walked out of the office, Aziraphale following like a puppy on a lead with a quiet hope that whatever Muriel had just remembered would lead him back to Crowley, and that they would be able to do it just in time to save him. They walked through the sweeping empty corridors of Heaven, and Muriel led Aziraphale to a room that he had to admit he had never even noticed was there before, probably by design. 
The room looked empty, and Aziraphale was even more confused than he was before, until Muriel pulled something from the wall. It was a map, which he realised should have been obvious to him because that is literally what Muriel had asked him about, but then he noticed the little dots. All black, but differing sizes. His eyes locked in on one dot in particular, which was moving far quicker than any of the others and looked as if it was going towards Scotland. Somehow, without any confirmation, he knew it was Crowley. 
‘The Map shows where all the demons on earth are all the time. The Metatron thinks that it's a secret that only he knows about, but I found it one day while I was looking for something else. I forgot it had even existed until now.’ Muriel explained quickly, and they still talked in small soft tones, worried that speaking too loudly would make the whole thing worse. They looked at each other, a moment of silent acknowledgement of the hope that they were going to find him and that it would all be okay in the end. 
‘Right, we need to go to Scotland then, ’ Aziraphale said like it was the simplest thing in the world, and it was. They would go to Scotland and save Crowley. 
Aziraphale didn’t even have time to see the Metatron and come up with some excuse as to why he had to go back to earth immediately he just knew he had to go. So they did, Aziraphale and Muriel had a mission, there was a demon to save and there wasn’t much time left.

He knew that there was an exit back to earth in Edinburgh as there was in most capital cities, but he didn’t know if it would be close enough to Crowley, he just had to hope and pray that he would be able to pull off saving his demon. 

His demon, Aziraphale, ruminated on the thought that the demon had been his for as long as he could remember, but he’d never said it. He thought he had always shown it enough that Crowley understood, but maybe he hadn’t; maybe Crowley had needed to hear it more. Well, not even more, Aziraphale realised,  just once. If he had just told Crowley once that he loved him, that he valued him more than anything, that they belonged together no matter what respective sides had said or done, they wouldn’t be in this mess now. 

Aziraphale had to drag himself out of his own spiral, he would have time to spiral when Crowley was safe and that decidedly was not right now. 

He and Muriel stepped out onto the Edinburgh streets, it felt slightly odd being back on earth, almost like a coming home but there was something still missing. Muriel pulled the map from the small bag across their body and azirpahale mentally thanked anyone listening that they had the foresight to even bring it. 
‘I don’t think he’s far, look, ’ Muriel said softly, showing Crowley on the map with the flashing red dot of the demon he was searching for, and he wasn’t far. He was so close that Aziraphale felt paralysed; he knew exactly where his Demon was. 
‘Oh Crowley, you silly sentimental boy.’ Aziraphale whispered so quietly that Muriel could barely make out the words
 ‘I know exactly where he is, and I definitely don’t need the map to get us there’ 
The old church, in the old graveyard. The one where Crowley had been ripped away from him once before, in different circumstances but that wasn’t the point right now. 
Aziraphale was all but running through the streets to get to him, Muriel keeping up with slightly more effort, he must have looked as crazed as he felt but he knew he didn’t have long before Crowley had done something none of them could take back. 

The first thing that Aziraphale saw was the Bentley. It was parked carefully at the side of the road, and somehow the car looked worried. He had no idea how that was even possible, being an inanimate object after all, but that would be unfair to the car; it was definitely not inanimate and had very clear opinions when it needed to. And somehow the car seemed to perk up as Aziraphale got closer, maybe it knew that there was still time to save Crowley. If he had the time, Aziraphale would have stopped, given the car a small pat on the bonnet and told it he was home for good this time. But he didn’t, so without stopping, Aziraphale rushed past the car and through the gates of the cemetery, hoping more than anything that Crowley was still alive. 

Chapter Text

This was it. 
He didn’t even remember getting to the Church. There were moments of memory, jumping out of the car, screaming that he would walk if there was no other way. He didn’t even know that the directions to this church specifically were still in his mind; he thought that the memory of here was stuffed down so deep that he wouldn’t have been able to make it back here when he was fully conscious of his actions, let alone the state he was in now.

But here he was, back in front of the church in a graveyard that had been so important to him, to them, back so many years ago. The last time he was here, there was someone to save, and there was a reason for the destruction. Sure, he was doing it for her to keep her alive and give her a chance at a life that was worth living. 
 He would never admit it, but he saw himself and the Angel in the relationship between the girls, and it was almost as if saving Elsebeth, he could save himself and Aziraphale. He had always been so naive when it came to the Angel. 
So now he sat outside, knowing that this time there was no one going to be rushing to his side with quiet words that he was reckless and too fast, but despite it all, there was a soft companionship, there was care, and there was history between them. But this time he was all alone, and he rationalised that he deserved to be. Despite it all, despite everything he tried to be, he was still at his core evil. He was still a demon. He had spent centuries trying to run from the label, don’t get him wrong he loved a bit of mischief, he loved inconveniencing the people who deserved it, he loved making sure that the humans who came up with evil and suffering that he could never have, experienced it themselves but he had never been able to run fast enough. At a certain point, he forgot why he was even running. Was it because he wanted to be different and wanted to run away from what he truly was, or was he running towards what Aziraphale wanted him to be? Clearly, he could never find that person because here he was again, all alone. 
He sat outside staring. His knees pulled up to his chest; somehow, he had always been able to wrap himself like a pretzel, and now was absolutely no different. Sitting in silent contemplation for the final time, he went over their existence all over again. Everything they had experienced together, the whole of human history through the lens of Crowley and Aziraphale. He hoped that overall their impact had been neutral; even now, he couldn’t dare to hope for anything good. He didn’t deserve to hope that he might have been something worthwhile to Earth. He loved it here; he had enjoyed the centuries they were together, Crowley always a few steps behind, following Aziraphale anywhere he wanted to go, taking anything he was willing to give like a dog chasing a bone. And he would do it all over again, for another hundred centuries if that was what Aziraphale wanted. 
But that was the problem. Cowley wasn’t what Aziraphale wanted. Crowley wasn’t what anyone wanted. A reject from heaven and hell. Alone in the universe when the one being he thought would always be beside him wasn’t anymore. 
That was what Crowley deserved; he had never been able to outrun the evil that was deep at his core, he didn’t deserve the love, affection or time of an Angel, let alone the best angel of all of them. He didn’t deserve the happy ending where they spent the rest of their time orbiting each other in close quarters. Maybe it was the bookshop, maybe it was anywhere else in the universe, wherever Aziraphale wanted to be, because that was the only place Crowley would always want to be. 
Well, maybe not anywhere. It broke Crowley from his trance; he was making Aziraphale into some villain just for going back to his true home. He knew that Aziraphale would always chose heaven, he had rationalised that decision in his mind a hundred different ways and a hundred different times and he had always come to the same conclusion, the truth that he didn’t deserve Aziraphale and to even for a second think that Aziraphale would have chosen to stay with him was a crime enough to punish himself like this. 

He couldn’t live in a world that didn’t have Aziraphale; that was one reason he was sitting outside the church, sure. But in another sense, he knew that this was a punishment to himself. He was punishing himself for going so soft that he believed in a life where Aziraphale had loved him as well; he was punishing himself for believing he deserved something good, something sacred, something as special and precious as Aziraphale. 
So yes, this was peace, this was ending the noise of his mind and an ending to the pain of a world without Aziraphale. But it was also a punishment for believing that was something he could have. 
With that acceptance, he uncurled from his position on the slightly damp grass across from the church and stood on slightly shaking legs. He wasn’t scared of this anymore; he knew it was what he wanted, no, that’s not true, it's what he deserved. But the knowledge of the finality made him slightly uncomfortable. The eternal optimist within him still stupidly hoped that Aziraphale would change his mind, but the rational part of his mind reminded him that it was impossible. So his legs carried him to the door of the church.

He stood and stared at the door, as if it was going to give him the answer. Like it might tell him he was making the right decision, or the wrong one. He knew this was going to hurt. Even touching the door would be agony, but he deserved the pain. Even accidentally, he had caused so much pain in his existence, and maybe he was just like one of those people he had always said deserved to suffer the same pain they had caused others. He knew his feet would burn as he walked down the aisle of the church; he knew that the pain would remind him of Aziraphale, would remind him of 1941. It would remind him of the evil of humans that he could never, would never want to, replicate. It would remind him of trust, of sharing a bottle of wine in the quiet of the bookshop. It would remind him of feeling something he couldn’t name for an angel. 
It would remind him of hope. 
There was a burning behind his eyes, like the tears that threatened to fall were holy water themselves; if he let these tears fall, then that would be his own form of destruction. 
It wasn’t until the bright burning pain shot through his arm that Crowley realised that he had reached out to touch the door. If Crowley could hear anything over his own thoughts, he might have heard the faint sound of two sets of footsteps moving as quickly as they could; he might have sensed an angelic presence one he would recognise blind approaching if he could focus on anything other than his thoughts and the blinding pain radiating through his arm. But he couldn’t, he didn’t realise that Aziraphale and Muriel were approaching him, that they were getting closer to the church. 
The pain didn’t stop him; if anything, it encouraged him further. He deserved the pain, and this wasn’t enough to count for what he had done. Maybe by the time he had made it to the vat he knew would be waiting for him, he would have made up for some of the suffering he had caused; he would have had to walk forever to make up for it all, Crowley thought absently. 
Moving his arm to push open the door sent the pain spreading through his shoulder and down to his ribs. The movement almost made him scream, reminding himself that he deserved the pain, and that after the pain, there would be peace. 
As the door swung open, Crowley saw what he had been waiting for, and the thing a tiny part of him had hoped wouldn’t be there. The vat of holy water. Crowley realised in that moment it was the closest to human he had ever been, standing in the doorway of a church in Edinburgh, he was coming for his salvation. 
Stepping into the Church, the pain shot through the rest of his body. He felt like he was walking through fire, or falling all over again. It wasn’t a long aisle, shorter than the church in London anyway, but Crowley hadn’t stepped on consecrated ground in almost 100 years, and despite the fact he had lived for centuries, he had got used to being without the specific pain, and to be back with it was disorientating. With every step closer to the vat, closer to peace and closer to the end, he ruminated on everything that had brought him here. 
He wondered absently if he had never made conversation that day on the wall, would this day have come sooner, or would it have never come at all? 
 Was Aziraphale the one keeping him alive all these years, or was it just a long game to ensure the complete destruction of him at the perfect moment when She had decided that he had been punished enough? Aziraphale had always said Her plan was ineffable; it was something they were not equipped to know or understand, it was something they didn’t need to understand. The more he thought on it, the more it occurred to him that maybe it was only he who didn’t understand, maybe it was that Aziraphale had been privy to the plan all along, and this was always going to happen this way. 
His feet burned, and yet they carried him down the aisle between the pews and suddenly, without even really comprehending that he had moved, he stood within reach of the vat. This was it; there was no one stopping him this time. Aziraphale wasn’t coming back, and Muriel would have no idea where to find him if they cared enough to look. 
He let himself feel sad for Muriel for a moment. He knew that they cared for him and were still finding their feet on earth, still learning what it was like, and they were still so excited for the new experiences and everything they still had to learn. There was a moment in which Crowley thought that maybe he should stick around a little longer to make sure that Muriel was completely settled in, but he had trust in them. They were strong enough to find their own way, and even stronger than that, he had faith in the residents of Soho; they would care for Muriel now that he couldn’t. 

It was time, he knew it was time. Yet still there was something stopping him from pouring the water all over himself. Instead, he ran his hand over the stone of the vat; it burnt and hurt in a way that was different to the pain of opening the door and walking around the church; this pain felt like it radiated through his body straight to his core, to his very being. This was pain he had never experienced before, and never would again; the thought forced out a grunt that could have been described as an attempt at a chuckle despite himself. There was something ridiculous about his ability to fail to take even this situation seriously, the destruction of himself and yet still he had the time to make some snide remark about himself. 

The same as before, if Crowley could comprehend anything outside of himself at that moment, he would have heard two more beings entering his space, he would have realised that the Angel he loved was standing right behind him, and the one he wanted to protect was standing frozen at the door. He would have sensed the panic rising in Aziraphale's chest. Crowley might even have heard the pleas coming from both Aziraphale and Muriel, both trying to coax him back and out of the church. But he didn’t; there was nothing getting through to him, he was so lost in himself that there was nothing that could break his trance. 
The only thoughts running through Crowley's mind at that moment were that this was what he deserved now, but in a kinder way than before. He deserved the pain that much was obvious, but now, with the peace in front of him, he hoped that he deserved that too. He deserved, for the first time ever, to stop looking over his shoulder, to stop waiting for the next blow, to stop running. This was finally it. He took one final deep breath, not that it mattered; it just felt good to fill his lungs one final time and think of Aziraphale. 
 As he finally lifts his hand to the open bowl of the vat, he thinks of nothing but Aziraphale; he thinks of nothing but the love he felt for the Angel. If he closed his eyes, it was still as if he could feel Aziraphale standing next to him, to smell the mixed-up scent of vanilla and old books that always seemed to cling to him. He let himself smile and whisper a small, quiet ‘ I was always yours.’ 

‘Crowley! Stop, please!’ Aziraphale screamed. 

The vat tipped, and the water splashed. 

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