Fic - Ripped out from the Sky
Title:Ripped out from the Sky
Author: Todd Fan
Rating: PG13
Word count:2,873
Summary: Crowley looks back on his Fall and Aziraphale listens.
Authors notes:This fic turned into something different than what I originally planned to write about half-way through me writing it. It’s also a lot darker than what I usually come up with. No footnotes, either, it almost feels wrong. The lyrics dispersed in the fic are from Fallen Angel by L'Ame Immortelle. The original music video of this song actually plays a different version of the song I used. I find that odd.
I found you broken on the ground
From your mouth a bitter sound
That became sweeter as I approached
You in your deepest agony
Aziraphale could always tell when Crowley was thinking about his past. His mood became much more maudlin, his laughter never holding any mirth. The demon rarely spoke about what he was thinking, and the angel never pressed the matter. He still watched him, though. Crowley was leaning back in his chair, having come around for another drinking session in the back of the bookshop. Aziraphale had taken it as an excellent opportunity to close the shop up early, pull out a bottle of fine wine, and settle down for the sort of conversation all old friends had. If all old friends had been together for six millennia, at any rate.
This time, however, it was different. Crowley was not talkative, swirling the wine in his glass, hardly drinking any at all. Aziraphale filled the silence with rambling stories, sometimes getting a nod of assent from his companion, or a smile that didn’t quite reach his serpentine eyes. Eventually, even Aziraphale was lulled into a silence, sipping his wine quietly, watching his companion with a mixture of pity and concern. They sat like that for what seemed hours, before the angel finally spoke again, seeing if he could get any response from the normally so loud and brash demon.
“Dear boy, is everything alright?” he asked. “You’ve not been quiet yourself all night.”
“Hmm?” Crowley asked, glancing up from wherever his memory had been taking him. “Sorry, I’m not in a chatty mood tonight. Probably ate something that didn’t agree with me, you know.”
Aziraphale leaned across the table, resting a hand on Crowley’s arm. The demon tensed a little at the comforting gesture. Aziraphale wasn’t surprised, Crowley never was very good at any sort of embrace that didn’t result in…erm rumpled bed sheets.
“Crowley?”
He’d only said the demon’s name, but that’s all he needed to do. It held all his concern and offered support all on it’s own. He was there, and if Crowley wanted to speak, Aziraphale would listen. He always was, and he always would be, he knew that much. As much as he wondered if spending time with his opposite was wise, he knew he would never leave him.
“I was just thinking,” said Crowley, breaking the angel’s train of thought. “Choices we make, things like that. What did that poet bloke say? Something about forks in the road, and the path you choose changes everything, and there’s always that other one, where things could have been different.”
“It was Frost, I believe,” put in Aziraphale helpfully.
“Yes, him,” said Crowley distractedly, running a hand through his dark hair. “So, I think I figured out where mine was. My fork in the road, I mean.”
“Oh?” asked Aziraphale, tilting his head to one side, listening patiently.
The demon nodded mournfully, draining the remnants of his wine, setting the glass back down onto the table and sitting back before continuing.
“I never should have gone to that meeting.”
I put you up and raised you well
And more than stories ever tell
I fell in love with you those days
And hoped that you would too
His name was not Anthony J. Crowley back then. It wasn’t even Crawly. He still went by his True Name, the one his Creator had bestowed upon him when He brought him into being. He didn’t know how much he’d keep it silent later in his existence, how he’d avoid it’s use at all costs, to protect himself, and his memories. No, all that was yet to happen.
The angel had heard the whispered rumours of dissent throughout Heaven for a while now. It was difficult to judge how long, time flowed so differently here than it did on the still new Earth. He’d paid them no heed at first, but shortly one of his angelic brethren had spoken directly to him. Everyone knew the Morningstar, he was the Creator’s first, after all, and he was well liked amongst the Heavenly Host. He’d listened patiently to the Morningstar’s words, his argument against this newest development which changed how they as ethereal beings existed. The angel didn’t agree completely, he was rather fond of the new creatures living on Earth. He saw a great potential in them, if they were given the chance. The Morningstar was wily, though, and eventually convinced the angel to join in a meeting, where questions would be answered and a decision would be made.
He watched the gathering of angels from a position in the peripheral of the group. Not really joining in, but being close enough to listen all the same. The Morningstar strode through them all, proud and palpable amongst the lesser angels. It was clear that this was his show, and he knew how to captivate his audience well. His fellow angels stood, listening to his every word, from their faces, you could tell that they would follow him anywhere he asked.
“Can’t you see the problems?” he enquired of his Brethren. “First, He tells us that we are to only worship Him. He is above all, and our life of servitude and devotion is entirely for Him.”
The Morningstar shook his head, trying to empathise his point.
“And now He tells us we have to worship these new creatures of his,” he said, gesturing downwards with a sweep of his palm. “Serve these…monkeys, as if they were of equal importance to our Creator. He has gone back on His own judgement, which I always assumed He would not do. So I ask you, brothers and sisters, will you stand for this? To be cast aside from His love? His first creations dropped in favour of His new toys?”
There was a murmur amongst the gathered angels, frowns on faces. The angel who would one day be called Crowley half raised a hand.
“Err,” he started, sinking his head a bit as the group turned as one to look at him. “Umm…look, I don’t see what’s so bad about the humans. I mean, they just sit in the Garden and tend to the land. It’s not like they’re a threat, right?”
The Morningstar chuckled low, walking over to him, slapping a hand on his shoulder. The younger angel could sense the coiled up power in that gesture, and was wise enough not to brush him off.
“That is an easy assumption to make, my brother,” he said. “But remember, they may be small now, but they will grow. What will happen to us when He decides He no longer needs us? He has already shown His flippancy for our opinion, it would be no stretch of the imagination to see Him give up on us entirely. We are simply the first try at life for Him, after all. The humans, now they are His masterpiece. In His own image.”
“Yes, but…” started the angel.
“Do you wish to be cast aside?” asked the Morningstar, watching him with his perfect features. “To lose our Father’s love?”
“Well…no,” said the younger angel, rather lamely.
“This is for His own good,” cooed the Morningstar. “We will not hurt Him. Just…show Him the light again, bring Him out of the darkness into which He has wandered.”
The Morningstar raised his voice, addressing the rest of the collected angels.
“And we will once again take our rightful place by His side, and things will be as they should always have been,” he announced. “And He will be thankful for our loyalty, our devotion. Our world will be restored!”
The group of angels raised they arms, cheering their newly appointed leader. The younger angel watched quietly from the sidelines, suddenly wondering exactly what he’d got himself into.
You've been a fallen angel
Ripped out of the sky
But as your wings grew strong enough
You left me - behind to die
By the time Crowley had finished re-telling his story, the pile of empty bottles on the table-top had grown considerably. Aziraphale had to note most of the wine hadn’t so much as passed his lips. He was just waiting for the demon to start talking about dolphins again.
“I always did wonder what he told you all to make you switch sides,” murmured the angel quietly.
“That was my entire point,” responded Crowley. “I didn’t switch sides. I was just… in the wrong place at the wrong time. S’all.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale offered him a small smile. “I didn’t mean to imply you had.”
“Good, you better not have,” said Crowley sulkily, staring into his wine glass.
“You could have warned us, you know,” said Aziraphale gently. “Someone could have helped you. Or…”
“Or Lucifer could have found out firsthand and done all the things to me he does to those trapped in Hell now,” Crowley replied, shaking his head. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Literally, in my case.”
Aziraphale glanced down at the table top, trying to find some sort of comfort for his friend. Something to make it seem less bad. It was impossible, of course. Crowley had suffered an awful, terrible fate, and no words could ease the pain he was making himself relive.
“I’m sorry, Crowley,” he murmured softly.
“Wasn’t your fault,” said the demon, shrugging it off. “You weren’t to know. You lot were just doing your jobs.”
Silence descended on the pair for a moment, falling on them like ancient dust. Crowley was the first to break it, as always.
“Did you fight in the Rebellion, Aziraphale?”
The angel looked at him quizzically for a moment, before sighing, leaning forward in his seat, his hands clasped together in front of him on the table.
“Of course I did, “ he replied. “I was one of the Cherubim, then. It was our purpose, to fight. You know that.”
“Daddy’s little soldiers,” muttered Crowley, partly to himself.
“Why did you ask?” Aziraphale watched him, his brows knitted together.
Crowley stared at the table for a few more moments, before going back to swirling his wine thoughtfully. After what seemed like an age, he finally replied.
“…Because I didn’t.”
The more you've learned and grown
The less you cared for me
But I was too blinded by my feelings
To see the dawning agony
When he came to recall the War, often after heavy drinking when the memories forced their way to the surface, Crowley would always say the first thing that came to mind was how red the sky was. It had changed from a serene blue-white to the colour of venous blood in a matter of moments. The next thing he would remember was the smell. It was like burning eiderdown as angels were cut down in mid-flight, screaming in agony as they plummeted downwards. There would be no trial, no questions. Those who were seen to take sides with the Morningstar were to be punished immediately. Without mercy. The Archangels had made that much painfully clear.
The angel who would be Crowley was experiencing fear for the first time in his existence. He tried to keep his head low, not taking up arms in this…slaughter. He kept telling himself that maybe they would not come for him. After all, he was not part of the rebel group, not really. If he just kept quiet…perhaps they’d let him be.
He always was very good at kidding himself.
“Oh,” he glanced up at the towering mass of Archangel which had suddenly cast a shadow over him. “…Um. Hi?”
The Archangel Michael looked confused for a moment, almost as if he were expecting a different response. It only lasted a moment, though, and his flaming sword was in an offensive position again.
“Stay where you are, rebel,” he said his voice gravelly, already sounding like a war veteran despite how young everything, including himself, still was.
“Oh, me?” the angel decided trying to talk his way out of this instead. “I’m no rebel. No, you have me confused with someone else. Perhaps someone who looks like me? I’m told I have a very common eye colour.”
“Silence!” Michael’s voice boomed, causing the other angel to finch. “Enough games, we all know who was involved in this… uprising. You are one of them, face your punishment as you must have known you would have to.”
“Please,” said the angel, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “I did not raise a sword against you.”
The Archangel Michael watching him impassively.
“Nor did you raise a sword against them,” he said simply. “Therefore your loyalty is questionable. If you are not with us, then you are against us.”
“But that’s…”, the angel tried to find words to describe it. Unfair? Wrong? Cruel?
“That’s terrible logic!” he decided on. “I thought we were supposed to be peaceful beings. He said we were to love one another like brothers. This….”
He looked out at the carnage that littered the place he knew of as home, a sadness crossing his features, temporarily replacing the fear.
“…This is not brotherly. Not at all.”
“Neither is standing by and doing nothing,” said Michael, unmoved. “Do not stall me any longer.”
The angel took a shifty glance to one side, taking a step back.
“Do not try to run,” said Michael. “Come now, even you can’t be that foolish.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” murmured the angel quietly, his wings drooping a little in defeat. “…Does it hurt?”
Michael looked at his flaming sword in contemplation.
“I would not know,” he said. “Do let me know, will you?”
The angel gave a small, humourless laugh.
“Yeah. I’ll do that.”
And then he Fell.
I love you more than I can say
And we will never part
You told me nearly every day
But still you broke my heart
Aziraphale had not touched a drop of his wine, his face fixated on Crowley as the demon spoke. Once it was clear there was no more, he allowed himself to blink.
“…And did it?”
“Did it what?” asked Crowley, tilting his head.
“Hurt,” whispered Aziraphale. “Did Falling hurt?”
“Pray you’ll never have to find out the answer to that question, Aziraphale,” replied the demon, watching him steadily.
“Oh…right,” the angel cleared his throat, looking a little abashed. “Sorry.”
Crowley shrugged by way of brushing it off, before draining his wine glass, standing.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go home and watch re-runs of the Golden Girls until I pass out and have terrible nightmares.”
“Wait…” Aziraphale dithered for a moment. “You don’t have to go. We could talk some more, if it will help.”
Crowley gave a dry chuckle, sliding on his coat.
“Nothing helps, angel,” he said. “That’s the whole point. If I found something to ease that pain, I wouldn’t be one of the damned now, would I?”
“I…suppose not, no,” said Aziraphale quietly, his eyes downcast.
“Don’t worry about me,” Crowley’s expression had once more been replaced by his arrogant smirk as he put on his sunglasses. “I’ve been dealing with it for six thousand years, I’m not going to have a breakdown in the middle of the night.”
Aziraphale was about to ask Crowley to clarify on what that method of expression actually meant, before instead choosing to stand with the demon, offering him a smile.
“You know, you’re always welcome here if you want to talk, my dear,” he said.
Crowley’s smirk grew bigger.
“I’ll always come here, angel,” he said. “You give me free booze.”
Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, before smiling a little to himself. He’d long learned to hear the things the demon wasn’t saying. The things he’d likely never say in an effort to keep his reputation afloat. The things, instead, he hid inside other words, just waiting for someone who knew him well enough to pry out.
“I suppose I’ll see you later, then,” said the angel. “St. James tomorrow morning? There’s a drake with a gammy leg I’ve been a little worried about. Perhaps we should give it a look?”
Crowley rolled his eyes behind his shades, sauntering off towards the door.
“Yeah, St. James in the morning, I’m making no duck promises, however,” he said. “Ciao, angel.”
And with a small wave, the demon was gone. Aziraphale stood in the quiet of the back room for a few moments, before letting out a sigh, going about tidying up the empty wine bottles for recycling. He doubted Crowley would open up about that part of his past again, but knowing he had, however briefly, gave Aziraphale hope. Hope that maybe one day, if they regretted it enough, the Fallen could return home again.
But then, would his friend really be the person he knew today? For all Crowley’s flaws, Aziraphale had to admit… he wouldn’t change a thing. He smiled a little to himself as he put away his wine glasses, pushing the demon’s chair back under the table. Maybe that was the point. Maybe Crowley had already found home.
You've been a fallen angel
Ripped out of the sky
But as your wings grew strong enough
You left me - behind to die
X-Posted at lower_tadfield
Author: Todd Fan
Rating: PG13
Word count:2,873
Summary: Crowley looks back on his Fall and Aziraphale listens.
Authors notes:This fic turned into something different than what I originally planned to write about half-way through me writing it. It’s also a lot darker than what I usually come up with. No footnotes, either, it almost feels wrong. The lyrics dispersed in the fic are from Fallen Angel by L'Ame Immortelle. The original music video of this song actually plays a different version of the song I used. I find that odd.
I found you broken on the ground
From your mouth a bitter sound
That became sweeter as I approached
You in your deepest agony
Aziraphale could always tell when Crowley was thinking about his past. His mood became much more maudlin, his laughter never holding any mirth. The demon rarely spoke about what he was thinking, and the angel never pressed the matter. He still watched him, though. Crowley was leaning back in his chair, having come around for another drinking session in the back of the bookshop. Aziraphale had taken it as an excellent opportunity to close the shop up early, pull out a bottle of fine wine, and settle down for the sort of conversation all old friends had. If all old friends had been together for six millennia, at any rate.
This time, however, it was different. Crowley was not talkative, swirling the wine in his glass, hardly drinking any at all. Aziraphale filled the silence with rambling stories, sometimes getting a nod of assent from his companion, or a smile that didn’t quite reach his serpentine eyes. Eventually, even Aziraphale was lulled into a silence, sipping his wine quietly, watching his companion with a mixture of pity and concern. They sat like that for what seemed hours, before the angel finally spoke again, seeing if he could get any response from the normally so loud and brash demon.
“Dear boy, is everything alright?” he asked. “You’ve not been quiet yourself all night.”
“Hmm?” Crowley asked, glancing up from wherever his memory had been taking him. “Sorry, I’m not in a chatty mood tonight. Probably ate something that didn’t agree with me, you know.”
Aziraphale leaned across the table, resting a hand on Crowley’s arm. The demon tensed a little at the comforting gesture. Aziraphale wasn’t surprised, Crowley never was very good at any sort of embrace that didn’t result in…erm rumpled bed sheets.
“Crowley?”
He’d only said the demon’s name, but that’s all he needed to do. It held all his concern and offered support all on it’s own. He was there, and if Crowley wanted to speak, Aziraphale would listen. He always was, and he always would be, he knew that much. As much as he wondered if spending time with his opposite was wise, he knew he would never leave him.
“I was just thinking,” said Crowley, breaking the angel’s train of thought. “Choices we make, things like that. What did that poet bloke say? Something about forks in the road, and the path you choose changes everything, and there’s always that other one, where things could have been different.”
“It was Frost, I believe,” put in Aziraphale helpfully.
“Yes, him,” said Crowley distractedly, running a hand through his dark hair. “So, I think I figured out where mine was. My fork in the road, I mean.”
“Oh?” asked Aziraphale, tilting his head to one side, listening patiently.
The demon nodded mournfully, draining the remnants of his wine, setting the glass back down onto the table and sitting back before continuing.
“I never should have gone to that meeting.”
I put you up and raised you well
And more than stories ever tell
I fell in love with you those days
And hoped that you would too
His name was not Anthony J. Crowley back then. It wasn’t even Crawly. He still went by his True Name, the one his Creator had bestowed upon him when He brought him into being. He didn’t know how much he’d keep it silent later in his existence, how he’d avoid it’s use at all costs, to protect himself, and his memories. No, all that was yet to happen.
The angel had heard the whispered rumours of dissent throughout Heaven for a while now. It was difficult to judge how long, time flowed so differently here than it did on the still new Earth. He’d paid them no heed at first, but shortly one of his angelic brethren had spoken directly to him. Everyone knew the Morningstar, he was the Creator’s first, after all, and he was well liked amongst the Heavenly Host. He’d listened patiently to the Morningstar’s words, his argument against this newest development which changed how they as ethereal beings existed. The angel didn’t agree completely, he was rather fond of the new creatures living on Earth. He saw a great potential in them, if they were given the chance. The Morningstar was wily, though, and eventually convinced the angel to join in a meeting, where questions would be answered and a decision would be made.
He watched the gathering of angels from a position in the peripheral of the group. Not really joining in, but being close enough to listen all the same. The Morningstar strode through them all, proud and palpable amongst the lesser angels. It was clear that this was his show, and he knew how to captivate his audience well. His fellow angels stood, listening to his every word, from their faces, you could tell that they would follow him anywhere he asked.
“Can’t you see the problems?” he enquired of his Brethren. “First, He tells us that we are to only worship Him. He is above all, and our life of servitude and devotion is entirely for Him.”
The Morningstar shook his head, trying to empathise his point.
“And now He tells us we have to worship these new creatures of his,” he said, gesturing downwards with a sweep of his palm. “Serve these…monkeys, as if they were of equal importance to our Creator. He has gone back on His own judgement, which I always assumed He would not do. So I ask you, brothers and sisters, will you stand for this? To be cast aside from His love? His first creations dropped in favour of His new toys?”
There was a murmur amongst the gathered angels, frowns on faces. The angel who would one day be called Crowley half raised a hand.
“Err,” he started, sinking his head a bit as the group turned as one to look at him. “Umm…look, I don’t see what’s so bad about the humans. I mean, they just sit in the Garden and tend to the land. It’s not like they’re a threat, right?”
The Morningstar chuckled low, walking over to him, slapping a hand on his shoulder. The younger angel could sense the coiled up power in that gesture, and was wise enough not to brush him off.
“That is an easy assumption to make, my brother,” he said. “But remember, they may be small now, but they will grow. What will happen to us when He decides He no longer needs us? He has already shown His flippancy for our opinion, it would be no stretch of the imagination to see Him give up on us entirely. We are simply the first try at life for Him, after all. The humans, now they are His masterpiece. In His own image.”
“Yes, but…” started the angel.
“Do you wish to be cast aside?” asked the Morningstar, watching him with his perfect features. “To lose our Father’s love?”
“Well…no,” said the younger angel, rather lamely.
“This is for His own good,” cooed the Morningstar. “We will not hurt Him. Just…show Him the light again, bring Him out of the darkness into which He has wandered.”
The Morningstar raised his voice, addressing the rest of the collected angels.
“And we will once again take our rightful place by His side, and things will be as they should always have been,” he announced. “And He will be thankful for our loyalty, our devotion. Our world will be restored!”
The group of angels raised they arms, cheering their newly appointed leader. The younger angel watched quietly from the sidelines, suddenly wondering exactly what he’d got himself into.
You've been a fallen angel
Ripped out of the sky
But as your wings grew strong enough
You left me - behind to die
By the time Crowley had finished re-telling his story, the pile of empty bottles on the table-top had grown considerably. Aziraphale had to note most of the wine hadn’t so much as passed his lips. He was just waiting for the demon to start talking about dolphins again.
“I always did wonder what he told you all to make you switch sides,” murmured the angel quietly.
“That was my entire point,” responded Crowley. “I didn’t switch sides. I was just… in the wrong place at the wrong time. S’all.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale offered him a small smile. “I didn’t mean to imply you had.”
“Good, you better not have,” said Crowley sulkily, staring into his wine glass.
“You could have warned us, you know,” said Aziraphale gently. “Someone could have helped you. Or…”
“Or Lucifer could have found out firsthand and done all the things to me he does to those trapped in Hell now,” Crowley replied, shaking his head. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Literally, in my case.”
Aziraphale glanced down at the table top, trying to find some sort of comfort for his friend. Something to make it seem less bad. It was impossible, of course. Crowley had suffered an awful, terrible fate, and no words could ease the pain he was making himself relive.
“I’m sorry, Crowley,” he murmured softly.
“Wasn’t your fault,” said the demon, shrugging it off. “You weren’t to know. You lot were just doing your jobs.”
Silence descended on the pair for a moment, falling on them like ancient dust. Crowley was the first to break it, as always.
“Did you fight in the Rebellion, Aziraphale?”
The angel looked at him quizzically for a moment, before sighing, leaning forward in his seat, his hands clasped together in front of him on the table.
“Of course I did, “ he replied. “I was one of the Cherubim, then. It was our purpose, to fight. You know that.”
“Daddy’s little soldiers,” muttered Crowley, partly to himself.
“Why did you ask?” Aziraphale watched him, his brows knitted together.
Crowley stared at the table for a few more moments, before going back to swirling his wine thoughtfully. After what seemed like an age, he finally replied.
“…Because I didn’t.”
The more you've learned and grown
The less you cared for me
But I was too blinded by my feelings
To see the dawning agony
When he came to recall the War, often after heavy drinking when the memories forced their way to the surface, Crowley would always say the first thing that came to mind was how red the sky was. It had changed from a serene blue-white to the colour of venous blood in a matter of moments. The next thing he would remember was the smell. It was like burning eiderdown as angels were cut down in mid-flight, screaming in agony as they plummeted downwards. There would be no trial, no questions. Those who were seen to take sides with the Morningstar were to be punished immediately. Without mercy. The Archangels had made that much painfully clear.
The angel who would be Crowley was experiencing fear for the first time in his existence. He tried to keep his head low, not taking up arms in this…slaughter. He kept telling himself that maybe they would not come for him. After all, he was not part of the rebel group, not really. If he just kept quiet…perhaps they’d let him be.
He always was very good at kidding himself.
“Oh,” he glanced up at the towering mass of Archangel which had suddenly cast a shadow over him. “…Um. Hi?”
The Archangel Michael looked confused for a moment, almost as if he were expecting a different response. It only lasted a moment, though, and his flaming sword was in an offensive position again.
“Stay where you are, rebel,” he said his voice gravelly, already sounding like a war veteran despite how young everything, including himself, still was.
“Oh, me?” the angel decided trying to talk his way out of this instead. “I’m no rebel. No, you have me confused with someone else. Perhaps someone who looks like me? I’m told I have a very common eye colour.”
“Silence!” Michael’s voice boomed, causing the other angel to finch. “Enough games, we all know who was involved in this… uprising. You are one of them, face your punishment as you must have known you would have to.”
“Please,” said the angel, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “I did not raise a sword against you.”
The Archangel Michael watching him impassively.
“Nor did you raise a sword against them,” he said simply. “Therefore your loyalty is questionable. If you are not with us, then you are against us.”
“But that’s…”, the angel tried to find words to describe it. Unfair? Wrong? Cruel?
“That’s terrible logic!” he decided on. “I thought we were supposed to be peaceful beings. He said we were to love one another like brothers. This….”
He looked out at the carnage that littered the place he knew of as home, a sadness crossing his features, temporarily replacing the fear.
“…This is not brotherly. Not at all.”
“Neither is standing by and doing nothing,” said Michael, unmoved. “Do not stall me any longer.”
The angel took a shifty glance to one side, taking a step back.
“Do not try to run,” said Michael. “Come now, even you can’t be that foolish.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” murmured the angel quietly, his wings drooping a little in defeat. “…Does it hurt?”
Michael looked at his flaming sword in contemplation.
“I would not know,” he said. “Do let me know, will you?”
The angel gave a small, humourless laugh.
“Yeah. I’ll do that.”
And then he Fell.
I love you more than I can say
And we will never part
You told me nearly every day
But still you broke my heart
Aziraphale had not touched a drop of his wine, his face fixated on Crowley as the demon spoke. Once it was clear there was no more, he allowed himself to blink.
“…And did it?”
“Did it what?” asked Crowley, tilting his head.
“Hurt,” whispered Aziraphale. “Did Falling hurt?”
“Pray you’ll never have to find out the answer to that question, Aziraphale,” replied the demon, watching him steadily.
“Oh…right,” the angel cleared his throat, looking a little abashed. “Sorry.”
Crowley shrugged by way of brushing it off, before draining his wine glass, standing.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go home and watch re-runs of the Golden Girls until I pass out and have terrible nightmares.”
“Wait…” Aziraphale dithered for a moment. “You don’t have to go. We could talk some more, if it will help.”
Crowley gave a dry chuckle, sliding on his coat.
“Nothing helps, angel,” he said. “That’s the whole point. If I found something to ease that pain, I wouldn’t be one of the damned now, would I?”
“I…suppose not, no,” said Aziraphale quietly, his eyes downcast.
“Don’t worry about me,” Crowley’s expression had once more been replaced by his arrogant smirk as he put on his sunglasses. “I’ve been dealing with it for six thousand years, I’m not going to have a breakdown in the middle of the night.”
Aziraphale was about to ask Crowley to clarify on what that method of expression actually meant, before instead choosing to stand with the demon, offering him a smile.
“You know, you’re always welcome here if you want to talk, my dear,” he said.
Crowley’s smirk grew bigger.
“I’ll always come here, angel,” he said. “You give me free booze.”
Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, before smiling a little to himself. He’d long learned to hear the things the demon wasn’t saying. The things he’d likely never say in an effort to keep his reputation afloat. The things, instead, he hid inside other words, just waiting for someone who knew him well enough to pry out.
“I suppose I’ll see you later, then,” said the angel. “St. James tomorrow morning? There’s a drake with a gammy leg I’ve been a little worried about. Perhaps we should give it a look?”
Crowley rolled his eyes behind his shades, sauntering off towards the door.
“Yeah, St. James in the morning, I’m making no duck promises, however,” he said. “Ciao, angel.”
And with a small wave, the demon was gone. Aziraphale stood in the quiet of the back room for a few moments, before letting out a sigh, going about tidying up the empty wine bottles for recycling. He doubted Crowley would open up about that part of his past again, but knowing he had, however briefly, gave Aziraphale hope. Hope that maybe one day, if they regretted it enough, the Fallen could return home again.
But then, would his friend really be the person he knew today? For all Crowley’s flaws, Aziraphale had to admit… he wouldn’t change a thing. He smiled a little to himself as he put away his wine glasses, pushing the demon’s chair back under the table. Maybe that was the point. Maybe Crowley had already found home.
You've been a fallen angel
Ripped out of the sky
But as your wings grew strong enough
You left me - behind to die
X-Posted at lower_tadfield