Chapter Text
When Crowley had been cast out of Heaven thousands of years ago they had ripped the very light out of his chest and crushed it with their hands before kicking him down the elevator shaft and into a lake of fire where he burned for a hundred years. When they had removed his light he had felt a deep unending void within his chest as if his very existence ceased to be, but then he had reunited with Aziraphale on the Wall and this angel who looked upon him with adoration up in Heaven once more looked at him in that same way. From that day onward he felt as if Aziraphale had filled that void in his chest, he felt whole again when they were near each other, even if he had to watch himself and restrain himself from crossing lines and boundaries that may frighten the angel away, he still felt whole again.
But then Aziraphale had come to him with news that Heaven wanted him back, not only that but a higher position, and even as Crowley kissed him in a last ditch effort of desperation he felt that light die within himself, there were no nightingales singing and there was no light, it had all gone quiet and dark once more.
That first evening he had sat in his car and screamed, pounded his fists against the steering wheel until his knuckles blistered and bled. After that he had driven himself to the nearest pub, taken up a seat at a table in a darkened corner where he drank until he could no longer feel anything at all. Not the tears on his cheeks or the searing pain in his chest where a heart was meant to be. If he were human he would be dead, but he had no luck in that department. Afterwards he had gone back outside and into his car where he promptly passed out behind the steering wheel, when he woke up a day later there were countless parking tickets tucked under the windshield wiper.
On the second day he drove aimlessly, lips tingling still from where he’d kissed the one and only being he had ever opened himself up to. He made a point of avoiding Soho completely, he avoided every spot they had frequented together for fear of how he may react. He drove until he reached a lovely cliffside where he parked and stared out into the sky wondering if Aziraphale was as miserable as he was. It sounded petty and miserable to say it, but he hoped deep down that he was miserable right now up there in Heaven.
Everything the angel had said to him the other day had hurt him deeply.
‘You’re the bad guys.’
He had been so stupid to think that Aziraphale saw him different than the rest of them, that when he looked at him he just saw him. Now he knew that when Aziraphale looked at him he saw a demon, he saw an empty husk that used to contain the contents of the angel he’d fallen in love with thousands of years ago. It sickened and hurt him to know that’s what his friend had been waiting for this all time, for Heaven to offer forgiveness, and then things would be okay.
If he were still an angel then and only then could Aziraphale love him back.
Still he had kissed him back, even if just for a confused second he has pressed his lips to his and grabbed him pulling him closer, keeping him there just a moment longer.
The sickest part of it all was that when he saw Aziraphale crying there in the bookshop he had wanted to hold him, he’d wanted to wipe the tears from his face and tell him he loved him, that if he asked him to do so then he would stay and wait for him like a pathetic dog.
He hated himself for it and he hated Aziraphale for having such power over him without ever really trying. Crowley hated knowing that if his angel appeared in the car next to him and asked for forgiveness that he would give it to him without hesitation, that he would want a second more gentler kiss and to whisper against his lips how very deeply he loved him and just pray to a God who abandoned him that Aziraphale could ever love him back.
Crowley let out a shaky sigh as he reached into the backseat retrieving a bottle of wine that hadn’t been there before, but was there now. He took a long pull from the bottle, he wasn’t in the mood to be sober, or awake, or even alive. He couldn’t die, there was no holy water left and if he took a flying leap off this lovely cliffside he would only end up down in Hell where they would gleefully rip his flesh from his bones and revel in his screams for eternity.
He settled on drinking until he passed out as he had the night before and as he would do for many nights to come until the grief and pain of loss worked through his system, because at least in his dreams he could remember when he thought somebody loved him.