Crowley X Aziraphale

Trigger Warning: Suicidal Theme

This is possibly one of the saddest and most anger inducing things I've ever written.

»»1967««

You go too fast for me, Crowley.

It all started the following morning. The coughing fits and feeling of something unnatural in his chest. It started small, just like a chest cold.

For a week Crowley sat alone in his flat, drinking wine throughout each day to try and wash down this feeling of something stuck in his chest. Each day the feeling just got worse and worse. It took him the entirety of that week to realize this was no chest cold.

Crowley woke up quite early in the morning, before the sun had even risen, to a severe coughing fit. His chest felt so much worse now, far worse than it did when he fell asleep the night before. Heavens, it hurt the demon so bad. He'd never felt a pain so strong. It'd nearly made him forget about Aziraphale and the emotional pain he'd just gone through.

After he managed to stop coughing for the time being, he got out of his bed. The time was probably around 4 AM, but he hadn't really took that into consideration. He shuffled into his livingroom fairly slow. He was wheezing with each breath from the pain, but he still trekked onwards.

Once he made it to the table where he had his phone, he practically fell onto the surface. He rested there for a few minutes, sweating through his silk pyjama button-up. His chest felt like it was endlessly cramping, only twisting into a worse contortion with every passing second.

Eventually he managed to push himself up a bit. He propped himself on the surface with use of his elbow and forearm. He grabbed the phone with his free hand, resting it between his head and shoulder, then dialled Aziraphale's number. The last thing he expected was to have the Angel answer, especially not right away.

"Hello, Aziraphale speaking."

Crowley could barely get himself to speak. He had no idea if it was the pain in his chest, or if it was the anxiety of talking to the Angel after how they left off.

"Aziraphale..." He barely managed to breathe the other's name out.

"Crowley," Aziraphale commented with a bit of surprise. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Crowley began weakly, "I'm fine. I just, er..." He stuttered a little along the way. "I'm sorry, Aziraphale. I'm sorry..."

"Crowley, I..." There was a very quiet sigh within the momentary pause over the phone. "I forgive you."

Why didn't that ease Crowley's nerves?

"Y-You what?" Crowley stammered.

"I forgive you," Aziraphale repeated himself.

That didn't make anything better.

The phone hit the table as Crowley went sliding right off of the surface onto the floor. He would've groaned if it weren't for the coughing that started back up. He had a sudden flare of itching and soreness in his chest. He coughed and coughed until he could actually feel something coming up.

Three bloodied white flower petals.

He held the petals in his palm, that hand balling into a fist. He felt such a seething...

Depression.

This wasn't anyone's fault except his own. He was the one who fell, the one who was deemed unforgivable; unlovable. He was the one who fell in love with his enemy. He was the one who wasn't loved back.

He was the first demon to suffer this fate, and he was going to be the last.

No. He didn't have to suffer this fate. No one had to know. He could wipe this all away with one easy move, not a soul would know what happened to him. It would save him from the alienation he would suffer for the rest of his life.

He pushed himself up from the floor and barely stood, rocking between his toes and heels for a few moments time. Once he got his balance and gathered himself mentally, he started to saunter characteristically. The pain was nothing to him now. It wouldn't last much longer.

He only stepped into the plant room to go to a private part of the flat, but he stopped in his tracks when he noticed something very wrong with every plant.

None of them were shaking. As a matter of fact, they all seemed quite perked up. Even the dwarf weeping willow wasn't quite weeping.

Crowley let out a hiss at them all, that trailing into a few weak coughs. The plants didn't react, at least as usual. They rather all leaned towards him, just a bit. It was the plant equevalant of a person taking just a step closer to him.

"The landlord will find you. I promise. You'll be in safe hands."

The plants only then began to shiver, only while leaning towards the redhead even closer. As close as they could lean without tilting their pots.

"I'm sorry..."

He took a seat on the floor, looking around at everyone as they shook and followed his lead in their leaning. He turned to face a bright red pot with just a sapling. "You're going to be so grand, Ruby. Grow the sweetest apples for me, will ya?" He stroked the pot with a frown.

He spoke with each of his plants, touching each of them and saying his goodbyes. There was no afterlife for a demon, nor an angel, who had died. Regardless, he was going to miss every single one of his beautiful children. And he knew they were going to miss him. They were telling him so.

He would never be ready to leave his lovely plants behind, but he couldn't wait forever. He couldn't wait for someone to find out what had happened to him. The word would spread like hellfire and he would be disowned in no time. He had to go now.

Crowley gave one last little wave to everyone, each green friend shivering and shaking like no tomorrow. They were right to do so. There was no tomorrow.

The demon left behind his family, going into the private room that was usually locked and hidden. That's where he kept the thermos, at least until he installed a safe. That was his plan, anyway. His plan was never for him to use it as a suicide pill, but then again, he never planned to catch the forbidden disease. He had no choice.

The thermos was in his hand in a blink. He stared at it for a little while.

I'm not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley.

He head started to spin. His insurance was never meant to be the suicide pill. Pity that's what it had become in only a week's time.

He opened the thermos with shaking hands. He'd been holding his breath now for a few minutes, all he could hear was the sound of fluid rushing around in his ears, making him so dizzy. He shook his head a little bit to try and shake himself back into stability. Oh, it didn't matter.

He put the thermos to his mouth, tilting it upwards so slowly. All of his vision was blurred, he was swaying a little, and he couldn't hear a thing outside of his head.

"Crowley!"

The thermos was no longer in his hand.

Instantaneously he was back in reality. His vision was normal and he could hear everything. Including the sound of something steaming. Right on his chest.

He was touched by the holy water.

He backed into the wall just behind him, screaming in such an intense pain. A scream like that had never been heard before. The inside of his chest was already so strained, and now the outside now corroding away.

"What have I done..." The voice belonged to Aziraphale. He just spilled the holy water on the demon. "I'm so sorry, Crowley, I-!" His voice broke. His eyes filled with tears quicker than he ever imagined possible. He grabbed the back of his head in a panic. "I just wanted to help you, I- What do I do?!"

He shut his eyes very tight, attempting something he'd never done before. "Stop, stop, stop," he chanted rapidly, gripping his hair tight and squeezing his eyes shut even tighter. He kept going until Crowley stopped screaming. He was so afraid to open his eyes and discover it was too late.

Luckily it wasn't. He opened his eyes and found both him and Crowley were in the Ethereal Plane. Time was frozen.

The angel dropped to Crowley's side, undoing his silk top and mumbling continuously, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Crowley breathed heavily. "Aziraphale, you have to stop."

The principality refused to listen. He looked at Crowley's skin, finding it already so far damaged. Burns worse than ever imaginable, burns that were only going to spread and kill him once time restarted. He brushed his finger delicately along some of the skin on his chest that wasn't affected yet.

He suddenly pulled back. Upon making skin contact, he could feel it. The love, the heartbreak, the disease...

"Y-you've caught it..."

Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale shook his head. "But..I love you. I do..."

"Don't lie, Angel..." Crowley pouted and inhaled shakily. "You don't."

Aziraphale swallowed nervously, biting down on his tongue. "But I do."

"It's too late," Crowley responded with a quiet, broken voice. His golden eyes, not a hint of white, were filling with tears. "It's too late."

Aziraphale shook his head in denial. "It doesn't have to be. I-I can save you." He held his hand out, willing the spirit of the flaming sword into his possession. He watched as a mirage of the sword became the real thing. Well, not quite, but it was real enough to slice.

Crowley shook his head quickly. "Aziraphale, don't, please. I'm begging you."

Aziraphale once again ignored him. "You just need to be discorporated before the holy water can..." It hit him then how this idea would most likely bust. "Give me a chance," he pleaded. It was unclear if he was begging the demon or the Almighty Herself.

Crowley practically begged for him to not spare him. He was going to die anyway, at least this way he could go without anyone from upstairs or downstairs knowing. That's all he was worried about, since he wasn't going to survive.

"I have to try," Aziraphale insisted, a look of pure fear in his eyes. He was afraid of losing his dear serpent. "I can't lose you, Crowley..."

Crowley shook his head, continuing to beg him to let this go, to restart time, to save him from humiliation. Aziraphale just wouldn't listen.

"I'm sorry."

»»6 Days Later««

Aziraphale waited around impatiently each day, waiting for Crowley to come back. He knew the paperwork was a tedious process, but it shouldn't be any longer than a week.

He was currently watering each of Crowley's plants. He had been making sure to tend to the household chores in his best friend's flat, making sure it would be well kept for his rearrival. But it was predominantly an excuse to be there to see Crowley as soon as he came back.

It was nearing an entire week since the entire fiasco, and Aziraphale was starting to panic. The holy water had stopped destroying the demon's body, but what if that still didn't work? What if the holy water still killed him? What if the disease didn't reverse?

No, no. It had to have reversed. Of course it had! He loved Crowley.

He did.

Of course he did...

Crowley was his best friend...

Heavens, why couldn't it just stay that way? Why couldn't they just be friends in peace?

This was all his fault. He wasn't good enough for his best friend and it killed him.

Sure his best friend was gone, he gave up on remaining at the flat any longer. Even another minute and he would have found himself in too much pain.

He dumped this morning's tea in the sink (he'd made tea multiple times a day, every single day for Crowley's arrival), and then he left the flat.

It was a cold, rainy day today in London. Aziraphale didn't pay much mind to it at all. He didn't care that he was practically freezing, nor that he was drenched in a matter of minutes.

He took the long way back to his bookshop. He passed some of his and Crowley's favorite places from Kensington Gardens to the Ritz. He walked slowly with no purpose. It took him a few hours to make it to his destination. Once he arrived at the bookshop it was nearly 2 in the afternoon.

He was greeted by an unexpected yet very familiar face upon entering his locked bookshop. He took in a deep breath and stood upright, folding his hands together in front of him. "Archangel Sandalphon," he greeted awkwardly with a little nod.

"Gabriel and Michael would like to speak with you," Sandalphon informed Aziraphale.

The principality pursed his lips and nodded after a hesitent moment. "Right."

Sandalphon put his hand out towards Aziraphale, though he declined it.

"I can take myself," Aziraphale commented.

Sandalphone lowered his hand and tilted his head momentarily. "I trust you won't attempt to escape."

The blonde simply shook his head with assurance that he wouldn't.

Sandalphon grinned cynically. "We'll be seeing you then."

»»Later in Heaven««

"You froze time at precisely 4:46 AM BST," Michael informed, holding a file. "At precisely 4:47 AM BST the demon Crowley appeared in Hell after a very inconvenient discorporation. Stabbed right through the chest with a sword." They then placed the file of ethereal and occult information on the table in front of the Principality where he sat. "Coincidence?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "Could be, could not." He shrugged quite carelessly.

The Archangel Uriel slammed their hand down on the desk in front of Aziraphale, leaning in close. "Do you think this is a joke?"

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows with his reply, "could be, could not."

"We just want to know what you've been up to, Aziraphale," the Archangel Gabriel chimed in. "We care about you," he then added quite apathetically. Aziraphale nodded at that, a look of approval on his face from said statement. He didn't buy it, not for a second.

"Have you been fraternizing with this demon?" Michael asked matter-of-factly.

Aziraphale's face turned confused. "How could I be fraternizing with the same demon I freeze time to discorporate?"

"To cover your tracks," Michael began with the listing of answers, "to put up a show for us and Hell, to save from death via holy water." They turned a page in the file to a recent image of Crowley in Hell with scarring that could only be caused by holy water, even though he survived it.

"Or to protect him from the Forbidden Disease, which will bear no good resolution," Gabriel then added as another very clear answer. "Your demon friend is in sealed glass containment, and he will be until the disease kills him. He is going to die a very slow, and very painful death, and he will be Hell's laughing stock until the day he dies. He will be remembered notoriously as The Demon Who Loved."

"I wonder who he loves," Uriel commented sarcastically. They all knew at this point that it was Aziraphale. In fact, they all knew from the start. This interrogation was practically pointless, they could have just let him fall right away.

"I didn't love him back, obviously. That's why he's suffering from the disease." Aziraphale put on façade of feeling apathetic for Crowley. But really, he felt apathetic for himself. He would sacrifice himself to save Crowley in a heartbeat. Literally or metaphorically, that's up to you. At least he was alive. Maybe he could.

"Make me fall," Aziraphale then insisted.

Gabriel's eyebrows furrowed, and each of the other Archangels looked quite surprised. "What?" Gabriel asked, confused.

"I've been fraternizing with a demon. Cast me down to Hell, make me a Fallen One, as punishment." Aziraphale started to smile a cynical smirk. "If you don't, I will."

"You're a principality, you wouldn't," Michael asserted, certainly sure Aziraphale wouldn't dive into Hell himself.

Aziraphale's smirk formed into a grin, his eyes already starting to turn into a crimson shade. "Well, if you're so certain. We'll just see. Goodbye."

»»Later in Hell««

It's been days since this all started and still demons were coming to laugh at Crowley. He was surrounded by bloodied white flower petals, and his condition was only worsening. An hour ago he coughed up a petal, only this time it was black. He was just coughing another, and this one was also black. He was so scared, and so depressed. Did this mean he was closer to his death?

He heard a tap on the glass. He refused to look up. Demons had been doing that, getting his attention to laugh in his face. He held the petals in his hands, shredding them to keep himself distracted.

Tap tap tap.

He continued to ignore it. He was tired of seeing all the mocking.

Knock. Knock.

Crowley grumbled and looked up against his better judgement.

He fell back against the glass in...no words could describe his feelings. Shocked, afraid, confused? All the understatement of the millennia. There was an unlikely-- no, impossible face right in front of him.

"A..Az..."

"Az-azel," the one outside the glass spoke slowly, grinning.

It was Aziraphale, but...it wasn't. It was Azazel. Supposedly. The same body as before, only know he had quite long jet black hair and bloody crimson eyes. He was wearing some simple, dirty, dark clothing. Some first time in Hell thrifting.

"Hello, brother Crowley," Azi- Azazel spoke lowly through the glass. The room was quiet, all the demons in the peanut gallery simply watching the situation in front of them. "You look...sick."

"You fell by choice," Crowley sounded entirely hopeless. "Oh, Angel..."

"Angel!" Azazel broke out into a genuine fit of laughter. So much was different about him now. The way he stood, the way he talked slower with more enunciation, the way he grinned so menacingly, and now the way he laughed. He was no longer an Angel. He was an entirely corrupt demon, and he fell right into Hell with such an easy transition.

Crowley started to cough again, spitting blood into his already blood stained hands. Then several bloodied black petals fell out of his mouth into his hands.

Azazel watched with a malevolent look upon his face. "He Who Loved," he mumbled shamingly. "Suffer, lover."