Work Text:
In a familial dynamic, the youngest is often regarded as the most spoiled, or even the most cared for by outsiders. The other siblings are older, and the youngest will always need the most help, right? It should only make sense.
Although, this isn’t always the case. For an immortal being, the term “youngest” doesn’t really apply, being that neither demons or angels truly have a childhood. They’re only created for purposes beyond human comprehension.
But the treatment still exists, the concept of being the youngest exists as in the amount of experience has. As it goes, there is a certain age that is reached where a person is still considered independent, but relies somewhat on the help of someone above to enter the world. Younger, however, is an age where you are regarded as ‘independent.’ The responsibility of cooking and cleaning falls on your shoulders, but without the benefits of truly being older. And the youngest is seen as a baby, incapable of doing anything, because of what those who came before them had done at a quicker pace. But how must one excel past those before them, if not given the proper treatment?
Crowley had experienced this, to some capacity (as much as an immortal man could possibly). While he had been alive since the beginning of time, what separated him from most is the amount of time he’d been in hell specifically. Somewhat over 6,000 years, roughly. The problem is, 6000 sum years is shorter than ‘since the beginning of time.’
Naturally, heaven wouldn’t except a dirty fallen angel back, so the last resort was hell. Although, Hell was unwilling to give him opportunities to learn and work, which came back to him as insults from other demons. ‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ he thought.
Not only was the demon outcasted from work, but also the people behind the work. They saw him as an angel, cleaner than them, and cleaner meant better than they were. This would’ve come as a threat, if the overheads themselves didn’t regard Crowley as anything worthy. So, without any experience, he was subject to the ridicule of their melted and tortured faces.
Really, while Crowley said he couldn’t be nice, there were fragments of kindness in even the souls of the damned. In small conversations, or ‘friendships.’
sometimes he’d just join in on a large group. Maybe someone he knew in passing, would join, and he’d ask, just to get a nod or a non-descriptive guttural noise, which could mean yes.
Alas, it felt as if no one ever noticed.
Being ignored for years, decades, centuries… it truly did leave an impression. Being along felt much more comforting than being around people. Alone in an empty apartment… he didn’t need much, when his thoughts more than enough made up for his lack of things. Evenings spent getting drunk and sleeping off liquor while sobbing weren’t nearly uncommon. No one could wipe his own tears except uncomfortable sheets that were more of a punishment than a reward after a long day.
While he did have aziraphale, he really didn’t want to bother the angel with such nonsense as this. The angel already had so much to deal with, between heaven and whatnot. Why add to that? It’s better to sit alone and wallow in that then to probably be rejected, just like he had been by the all of Hell.
More often than not, the times when he did talk to other demons, it was only for ridicule or as a person to vent to.
He remembers Beelzebub, complaining to him about Gabriel and whatever the hell the arch-douchebag did now. He didn’t bother, even trying. The last time that he had tried opening up to Beelzebub, it only came with ridicule.
It was shortly after the French Revolution. Aziraphale had been called back to heaven for whatever reason, and with the country in chaos, he hadn’t found a cheap way to get drunk. Unable to think properly, let alone breathe, he had found himself in the demons chamber, Beelzebub sat on a throne of human suffering. Legs crossed over the arm of the chair, busy with whatever responsibilities came with being Duke of hell.
Crowley, stumbling and struggling to put two feet ahead of each other, found himself sat in front of the throne, head leaning back onto a human skull.
“I can’t fucking do it anymore,” he sobbed, “why do I have to live like this, just a fucking tool to everyone else?!”
Beelzebub shortly looked up, rolling their eyes and looking down at crowley’s sputtering form.
“what are you even doing here?”
”I didn’t know you who else to go to, so I thought… I don’t know, I guess I considered you close in a way…”
Beelzebub laughed. “Close?! Demons aren’t close, Crawly, at least not with your kind.”
”My kind? I’m a demon too, what are you talking about?”
“you’re a demon now, but you were an angel once. No demon will truly accept what they see as a dirty angel. And heaven will never accept a clean demon.”
what? No, that couldn’t be. Was this all a bad dream?
”Have you not seen it yet, with your own eyes crawly, hell doesn’t accept you. They never will. You’re like hells annoying younger sibling, does that make sense?”
He was angry now. For 6,000 years he had been laboring for hell day in and day out. Wasn’t he evil enough?
“Are you fucking kidding me?! How much do I have to do, how much do I have to listen and tag along for you to accept me?!”
”it will never be enough. You’ll never be enough.”
it felt like someone was twisting a knife in his heart. Deep down, he knew he’d never be enough, but fuck… he wished it wasn’t true.
And so, when he had decided to try and talk to another demon the day after, they had all looked at him and snickered. He heard mentions of “Beelzebub said.” Damn bastard, they told everyone. Just giving out his dirty laundry for free.
And so, after that, he had doubted. He never believed anything from anyone, even his angel, because they closest to him have betrayed him, so why should he trust aziraphale? It hurt to think about.
When days turned to weeks of rotting in his apartment, alone with his thoughts, aziraphale would worriedly call him, asking if he was ok.
Crowley would lie, and say that he was just sleeping. And the angel would accept it, each time with more skepticism in his voice. Maybe aziraphale was finally becoming annoyed, finally done with Crowley’s bullshit. Maybe he should just die…
His phone rang, much louder than was comfortable to his aching ears.
”Hello?” He answered, rolling over in the sheets to sit up.
“Oh Crowley! I’m so glad I caught you darling, how would you like to go out to eat with me? It’s been awfully long since we’ve seen each other, and I have so much to tell you!”
He smiled. The sweetness in the angels voice was so pleasing, calming. But he always worried that the angel, was just spoon feeding him that sickly sweet voice to mess with him. Maybe, he too, would just use him as well.
His excitement faltered. “Maybe later this evening I can come over angel? I have a meeting in hell letter, and I really can’t miss it…”
“Why that’s alright dear boy, I’ll be waiting here for you when you’re done!”
He swear, he could hear the angels excitement waning. Maybe it was just because aziraphale was upset he couldn’t use him till the evening.
It wasn’t like it was a lie either. He did have a meeting with hell, and also a meeting with a bottle of gin.
A thin pair of tight jeans sat on the dresser, creases against the knees. Aziraphale, if he was here, would insist on ironing. And usually, Crowley would do it himself. However, he had just been so exhausted, exhausted from years of unthanked, unspoken, and expected chores. He tugged the pants on, throwing on whatever shirt and jack hung on the hook in arms reach.
A bottle of vodka, small and dainty with the clear liquid sat on the dresser. He took the bottle, and threw it back, throat burning with a new found warmth that spread to his body. It worked in place of the angels, he supposed.
…
Arriving in the damp basement that happened to be hell, Crowley turned down a series of corridors to beelzebubs chamber. Sat at the throne, per usual, was the duke of hell Beelzebub, swarming with flies. Instead of an empty room, there sat a long conference table who’s shorter half faced Beelzebub.
“morning, Crawly.” Greeted Beelzebub, expression waning from a smirk into a frown. He wasn’t surprised.
“Now that the prince himself has graced us, I believe it’s best that we begin…”
He hated those meetings. He’d much rather be in the overworld, back in the bookshop im soho, under a thick blanket. While the demon didn’t get cold, after a long day in hell the one thing he yearned for was a sheep skin blanket and aziraphale’s couch. A perfect rainy evening with the angel himself would top it off… soft rain merging into a heavier rain, and hearing the angels soft murmurs about the traffic tomorrow, and his inquiries into what business will be like tomorrow-
“Crawly! Hell to crawly! Are you there!? You haven’t said a damned word yet, do you think anything about the plan?”
”Y-yeah, sure do” he stuttered, “I think it’s- uhm brilliant?”
Beelzebub smirked. “You think what is?”
He paused. “Your plan? Whatever you were talking about,” he waved with his hands in an effort to convince them that he knew.
“then, explain it back.”
“Shit, well- it starts with uhm… y’know-“
Beelzebub cut him off. “Might as well leave now. Do you take all of us for being stupid? We don’t need you here, so just scram.”
He didn’t have it in him to argue anymore, he just got up and left. This had happened before, and he wasn’t surprised. Beelzebub knew that a long, detailed, uninteresting plan would bore Crowley, so made it for an excuse to force him to leave. Beelzebub, they truly hated Crowley. As they had told Crowley years earlier, around the French Revolution, he truly was just an annoying sibling. Always trying to fit in, but always failing…
He was on the verge of tears, profusely wiping his eyes with his sleeves. No, he couldn’t cry now. That’s weak. Maybe- just maybe if he didn’t cry, he could prove that he wasn’t weak. He could finally prove to someone, anyone who was listening.
How stupid, to cry over someone being mean. They’re demons, it’s in their nature. Crowley would like to believe it’s in his nature as well, but- is he even a real demon? Aziraphale had always called him nice, and he was an angel-
He didn’t care. All he wanted was a bottle of straight vodka, or whiskey. Nothing sweet or fruity, that’s for people who have actually done something.
Crowley found himself wandering around his flat, watching moments tick by and taking swigs from the bottle of alcohol, waiting till he could head to the bookshop. He loved aziraphale dearly, and doting on him meant he would never have to confess how truly miserable he was, or be doted on.
Finally, as the clock struck five, he nearly jumped from the couch and headed downstairs to the Bentley. Some days he felt like driving, other days he didn’t. And today was not one of those days. Maybe it would be suspicious to lay down in the back seat while his car drove for him, so he casually kept his hands on the wheel as if a child pretending to drive.
The buzz of the nearly finished off vodka made his head spin, and for whatever reason, this time it didn’t feel so good. He noted it dully, and would have to remember to take something for it later. He wondered as to why he even craved the stuff, but as times got worse and his feelings more tangled, his oblivious want turned need grew far beyond his control.
By the time he made it there, it was about fifteen after, the the soft yellow lights had illuminated through the curtains. His head spun, and with a grand amount of effort, he opened the door, and headed for the next.
Aziraphale was sat reading, when he heard the noise from outside. Must be no other than Crowley. But something was… off.
Setting down the tea cup onto its matching other half, he pulled his glasses onto his head and watched as the demon stumbled to and fro. My was he drunk.
This wasn’t a rare occurrence. Usually, he’d show up drunk, maybe drink a little more with aziraphale, and pass out asleep next to him. But this time, his being drunk was definitely to cover up something. The way his eyes hung, he noticed, maybe him just… appear sad, and the way his usual expression or high strung eyebrows and tight lipped smile seemed to slip downwards. With a little more gusto, he grabbed the door and pulled it open.
“why Crowley! Do come in, dearest, I was just about to make tea! I’d love to hear all about your day, I haven’t done very much so-“
Crowley cut him off. “No tea, just wine.”
Aziraphale eyed him. “Why, I do have a new flavor we could try- it’s Ceylon cinnamon!” He tried to guide his attention away from the alcohol on the shelf above he fridge.
“Angel, I just had a long day- I could go for something cold right now-“
“Perfect! I have some lemonade-“
“I meant alcoholic. I want to drink.”
”Yes, I understand, but-“
“You hear what I’m fuck all saying? Give me the damn wine!” He shouted, with a lot more emphasis. Aziraphale stared and, silently, he went to go grab the wine and glasses from the top shelf. He knew he shouldn’t give in to Crowley at such a state, but in this same state, he was afraid of Crowley’s anger. He knew the demon would never hurt him, but it still was a fright.
Crowley noticed the slight shaking of the angel. He’d fucked up. Caught up in his moment of self-destruction, he’d barely even given a thought to aziraphale. What a narcissist. Why would aziraphale even stay after tonight.
Aziraphale came back, with Crowley now sat on the sofa adjacent to where aziraphale sat. He didn’t feel like he was good enough to be near the angel right now.
“I’ve brought you a drink, my dear. Maybe this will calm your nerves,” aziraphale spoke kindly, handing him the glass.
“I’ve just ordered some food from the cafe across the street, should come soon. Maggie- what a dear, she offered to bring it over! I must be giving her a large tip for that…”
Crowley had already downed the glass, pouring another, but deciding to let it sit. Thoughts swarmed his head. The meeting today- his lash out at aziraphale, and how he’d been treated ever since the fall. It all felt too much, being welcomed into the angels loving arms without even deserving to look at him. All of a sudden, the angels voice was too loud, the lights too bright, and with all but one creak of the loose floorboards, the thoughts drowned out from his eyes.
Big, watery tears, as his lip quivered and he bit his palm, pushing his glasses up farther to try and distract aziraphale from the mess he was slowly falling apart and into.
Of course, aziraphale wasn’t dumb. He set down his own glass and reached out his own hand to grab the palm Crowley was biting at.
“My dear boy, is everything alright?”
With that sweet nickname, the ship went down with him still on. He began to sob, with each sob breaking as he tried to cover his mouth to stop.
Aziraphale, suspecting this might happen, stepped over crowleys legs and onto the left side of him, to where he sat and set a comforting hand on the demons spine.
“Oh darling, please talk to me… I care so deeply, I just want to help.”
His arm was perched on the arm of the couch, face shoved into his hand as he only sobbed harder. He didn’t deserve it- he didn’t-
“Stop pretending to care!” Crowley screamed in aziraphale’s general direction. He couldn’t see very well, with the tears in his eyes. He grabbed a pillow off the couch, hands burning the fabric with how hard he gripped it.
“Do you want to know? Fine. I’ll tell you. I’ve been so damn lonely, damnit. I drink myself to sleep so I can at least feel something, because for fucks sake, I feel like nothing. All those damn angels, and all those damned demons, they look at me like I’m not even there. And maybe that’s for the better. Maybe it would all be better if I just disappeared, because that seems to be the way that everyone fucking wants it!”
He breathed heavily, and without a second thought, he threw the pillow into the ground and let out an agonized scream, followed by a series of harsh sobs.
The angel had pulled him in, and merely out of habit, Crowley buried his own face into the angels side, only now realizing how cold he was, and how oh so warm the angel was.
“I’m sorry, i‘m so sorry aziraphale, for everything…” he sobbed, and the angel only held him tighter, arms joining to cradle the pieces of a now broken Crowley.
“Oh dear… it’s alright, truly. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Angel… they all hate me, why can’t I just finally fit in… i just want to be heard…” Crowley barely managed to stutter out.
The last part came out weakly, and aziraphale couldn’t help but tear up himself. He knew what the demon was referring to, but he thought it might be better to clarify.
“Who hates you darling?”
He looked up from his slumped position on the couch.
“The angels, the demons- everyone. I’m nobody, I’m a broken angel and a shitty demon!”
Aziraphale took the glasses off of his face, setting them on the side table. Using his thumbs, he wiped the tears from his puffing eyes, and held him against his chest.
”Angel… Beelzebub- they told me once, that I was just like hells annoying younger sibling. Do you- do you think that’s true?”
“No. Without a shadow of a doubt. Hell isn’t a place you want to fit in, and neither is heaven. You’re too nice for them to comprehend.” He added the last part with a smile.
“I’m not nice,” he whispered, but now smiling a bit fondly.
“Here,” the angel added, producing a cup of tea from his fingertips, “if you drink some, maybe you’ll feel better.”
“I don’t know if I feel like drinking anything. Had most of a bottle of vodka earlier.”
”You know that’s not good for you, yes?”
“Well I know that, Sherlock. I do it on purpose. It numbs that weird pain.”
“What pain, exactly?”
“Like, you know, in my heart?”
“Do you mean being sad? That’s is very much so normal, my dear.”
He huffed. Being sad wasn’t something he had a right to do. He was a demon, he brought people sadness and suffering.
Aziraphale chimed in again. “You can always talk to me.”
Crowley smiled. A genuine smile. For all the pain he had been through, life had given him aziraphale, the beautiful creature that made his heart beat and run through his veins, and the beautiful angel that made his eyes blink and his body run.
“Aziraphale… I just want to feel…”
”Better?”
“…yes.”
“I can help you with that. I’m here. Anything you need… there’s nothing wrong with not fitting in, dearest.” He wrapped a tartan blanket around Crowley’s slim body, and over his lap. “We’ve never quite fit in, the two of us, maybe that’s why they put us together at Eden- but my point is, you may feel like you fit it, but you’re not alone, yes?”
“I guess I understand.” He looked up guiltily “Aziraphale, will you stay with me tonight?”
He hugged the Crowley towards him. “Always and forever, my love.”