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Crowley had expected it to hurt worse to return to the bookshop, after everything.
That bookshop, that still smelled exactly the way it always had, old paper, linen, leather, maybe a tad more dust than there used to be. It was as if nothing had changed, except for Aziraphale’s scent that was missing, once inextricably woven into the warm, familiar smell of the shop.
Now, it felt cold and empty. Lifeless.
Everything did, since Aziraphale had left. Everything seemed to be the same, the world continuing to spin as if nothing had ever happened. As if nothing had changed.
Except for that absence that had changed everything.
So yeah, Crowley had expected it to hurt more to see this place again, to step through the door of what had used to feel like home - only that he hadn’t truly realized that until he’d lost it.
But, to be fair, it was hard to rival that dizzying rush of adrenaline that had followed the sound of Aziraphale’s voice calling his name in that back alley. Or the wave of burning pain following shortly after, looking into those familiar blue eyes.
He’d been thankful for the anger that had welled up next, the resentment, the spite. Anything at least slightly repressing that gnawing pain in his chest, allowing him to breathe. Allowing him to keep at least some of his pride.
He could see Aziraphale's gaze wander over him, as the angel now stopped a few feet away, ever so slightly fidgeting with his hands. Crowley was all too aware of his appearance, now probably even more noticeable than in the dim light of the back alley. He tried not to pay too much attention to the expression in the angel’s eyes. He didn't want to know.
It would just need a snap of his fingers to return to his usual clean, fancy self, or at least what had used to be his self some years ago, that now felt like ages away. But he still had some pride left, so he didn't. Not that standing in front of Aziraphale like this had anything to do with dignity. But at least it was better, than letting the angel think he cared that he was seeing him like this.
And maybe the worst part of it was.. Crowley wasn't even sure he actually did care anymore.
“I’ve come to help you.”, Aziraphale begun now, his voice full of that noble reassurance that normally made Crowley softly roll his eyes or smile in mild amusement. Now, it made him clench his fists.
“Have you?” The words were sharp, dripping with contempt.
He could see a brief flash of hurt flickering up in Aziraphale’s eyes, that wall of righteousness crumbling.
There was a short silence.
“Do you want an apology from me?”
He wasn’t sure if it was the words, the tone of his voice, or the look in his eyes, as he said it, but the fresh pain flooding Crowley’s chest almost took his breath away.
God, he wished it would just go away.
He wouldn’t have trusted his voice, even if he wanted to say something. Even if there was anything to say.
“I was trying to do the right thing.”
And I am not the right thing.
The words burned in the back of his throat, feeling like acid on his tongue, painful and bitter, but he didn’t say them out loud. Needless to point something out that was already blatantly obvious. How could a demon ever be the right thing, when its very existence stemmed from a mistake.
Another short silence, then a slightly desperate sigh.
“Listen, this is frightfully important. I’m afraid, we’re quite literally running out of time. You remember Jesus, right? Well, not the old one, there kinda is a new– ..although I’m not quite sure new is the right word.. My point is, he is supposed to bring about Armageddon, and I was trying to stop that, but now he’s gone, and no one in Heaven knows where he is, and we need to find him before-”
“You.”
“Pardon?” Under different circumstances, the baffled look on Aziraphale’s face would’ve almost been funny.
“You need to find him. I suggest you don’t lose any time then.”
He made a move to push himself away from the pillar he was leaning against, to turn away.
“Crowley, this is bigger than you and me!”
A soft huff left Crowley’s lips, but it wasn’t amused, not really.
“'Course it is. It always is. ..Nothing lasts forever, right?”
There was something flashing up in Aziraphale’s eyes. Pain, mixed with something, Crowley couldn’t quite place.
For a few moments, there was nothing to hear but the soft ticking of the clock filling the room.
“It doesn’t matter.” He turned away. “Don’t forget to lock the door when you leave.”
“Crowley!”
There was desperation lying in Aziraphale’s voice now, and something in it made him stop again, even though he cursed himself for it. He should just leave. There was no use in drawing this out any longer than it needed to be.
But still, here he was. Still the one waiting, even after 6000 years.
And look where it had gotten him.
He heard Aziraphale taking a step behind him, then stopping again.
“I..” His voice sounded barely stifled now and Crowley was glad that he couldn’t see his face. He wasn’t sure, he’d be able to bear the look on it.
“I'm so sorry.”
Crowley felt his lips twitching, helpless against the burning tears welling up in his eyes, once again thankful for his sunglasses. Then, anger rose inside him again, pushing back that jabbing pain in his chest, and he gratefully, desperately latched onto it.
“Oh, are you?” He turned back around, facing Aziraphale, relieved that his voice sounded mostly steady. “What for? You forgave me, after all. Nothing to be sorry for there, is there?”
The raw pain in Aziraphale’s eyes found a dull echo in his own chest.
“I never meant to hurt you.” The words weren’t more than a whisper, raw with pain and guilt.
A short, toneless laugh escaped him, and Crowley was distantly thankful that it hadn’t been a sob.
“Well, that's too bad then.” His voice broke on the last word.
He turned away. There was nothing more to say, was there?
“Wait!” He heard Aziraphale’s voice behind him, but this time, he didn’t stop. “You can't leave, I need-”
There was a hand closing around his left wrist, the touch burning like fire on his skin, sending little lightning bolts through his veins. He spun around, ripping his arm out of the angel’s grip.
“You need what?!”, he hissed, louder now. “The help of a demon to save the world? Enlighten me, oh Supreme Archangel, how could I be of assistance? You should remember, I'm nothing but one of the fallen, a sinner, unforgivable. You're sure, you want to stain your holiness with something this beneath you?”
There were tears in Aziraphale's eyes now, and Crowley hadn't thought it possible to hate himself even more.
“Crowley..” Aziraphale's voice was shaking, thick with pain. “You're so much more than that. I don’t care that you're a demon, you're-”
“LIAR!”
Aziraphale flinched violently, falling silent.
As quickly as the anger had come, as quickly it vanished again, leaving behind nothing but tiredness and an almost suffocating pain, filling his chest, constricting his throat.
“Don't- lie to me..” His voice was quiet now, thick with tears. Broken.
He felt something hot trickling down his cheek.
“Please.. Don't. I can't believe you a second time. I can’t bear it.”
He was vaguely aware that he was trembling, just like he was distantly thankful for his blurred vision, preventing him from seeing Aziraphale's face.
“Crow..” He trailed off, too many things in his voice to tell them apart.
The next thing Crowley knew, there were arms closing around him, pulling him into a hug, and a part of him wanted to shake them off, and run, just get away from here. But another part was weak. The part that had longed for Aziraphale’s touch, his closeness, his warmth, for so long, so much that it’d almost killed him, and he was so tired.
His body collapsed under him, all violent sobs and desperately clinging hands. Collapsed under the weight of the past three years, of the loss, the loneliness, the self-hatred and hurt. Collapsed into the familiar arms of the only home he’d ever known in this universe. The only home, he’d ever wanted, ever needed – knowing fair well that he couldn’t keep it.