Chapter Text
And so, he stood there.
Crowley just watched as the love of his long demonic life disappeared, behind two elevator doors, sliding together, closing them of.
Separating the two of them.
Just the two of them
Forever.
He just stood there, and he kept standing there for what could have been an eternity or the fraction of a second.
All the memories they made together rushed through Crowley’s minds. 6,000 years of thwarting, drinking, talking, laughing, dreaming. Dreaming of more.
Of that more which was so close and is now farther away than ever.
Of that more that won’t ever be real.
Not now.
Not ever.
Not after the kiss.
Not after the doors closing.
It was over.
And it was final.
Aziraphale had left.
He chose heaven over Crowley. Of course, he would.
How could he have been so stupid? In what world would an angel choose a demon over heaven?
It doesn’t matter how much Crowley thought they’d put heaven and hell behind them. Aziraphale was still an angel and would always be an angel.
How could he have been so stupid, so foolish, so self-centred, so ignorant?
Somewhere, at some point he believed he heard voices that were coming from somewhere other than his mind, but he was too caught up in the memories of all those nice evenings in the bookshop, or at the Ritz. Or a warm summer night in Rome. Oh, how they had loved Rome.
After an undefinable amount of time, he finally got in the Bentley and drove. Drove and drove, drove away, from everything. From his past from his future that would never happen, from the future that was drowning him in loneliness and emptiness. Drowning him in quiet nights. Alone.
So, Crowley drove, because at least he still had his Bentley. He’d always have his Bentley. She couldn’t just go and leave and choose stupid heaven over him.
He couldn’t tell where to, or for how long Crowley drove, he just let his car take the course, while those 6,000 years’ worth of memories kept replaying in his head over and over again, until he feared his head might explode.
After who knows for how long he found himself in front of the bookshop once more. He was tempted to just press down on the gas pedal and keep on driving, but the Bentley gently stopped him. It was night and the shop was dark.
Crowley slowly opened the door of his Bentley and stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the cold and empty bookshop. His thoughts still circled round and round about him.
Even thinking his name hurt more than he could bare at the moment. The sheer thought of seeing his bookshop all normal and like nothing ever happened, made Crowley feel like blowing up this whole stupid planet.
Finally, Crowley gave himself an emotional shove, and entered the store.
It was dusty, and books where definitely not in their normal place. They seemed to litter every surface. The couch was full of high bookstacks, that were leaning dangerously over the edge. It looked like someone picked up every book and put it somewhere else. The shelves were still lined with books, of course, but they were all wrong.
It made him feel a little better that the bookshop seemed to suffer from his absence at least a little bit.
Not as if Crowley could tell you where a book would belong, but he certainly knew where they didn’t belong.
Deciding to leave the mess for tomorrow to deal with, Crowley miracle the books that were occupying the sofa someplace else, and set down on it, while more memories were washing over him like a tsunami.
Crowley knew it would take millennia for those memories to disappear from his mind if they ever will (they won’t). So, he settled in and leaned deep into the sofa, taking comfort in the familiar way the cushions felt beneath him.
He miracle himself a good glass of wine out of his collection of wine bottle he knew he kept in the cellar. He wouldn’t need any more after all. There’s no way he’d sully his stupid celestial body with stupid matter as stupid Gabriel had put it now that he was a stupid supreme archangel.
Hanging on to all the pessimistic, but oh so accurate thoughts he started drinking out of his glass, which was filled to the brim with dark red wine.
After taking one sip after another, Crowley realised how tired he was. He’d been driving for an unknown amount of time and was still shaken to the core with grieve.
Once he took the last sip of the wine bottle (Directly out of it one might mention, Crowley just didn’t see the sense in pouring it in the glass anymore, if there wasn’t even anyone to look fancy with or for.), he closed his eyes and turned his face to the back of the couch, so he wouldn’t be woken up by stupid sunlight.
Still cradling the empty wine bottle like his sanity depended on it, Crowley drifted into restless sleep.