Ineffable Omens (Crowley x Aziraphale)

A Step You Can't Take Back

 Crowley hadn't meant to fall for Aziraphale. It was never part of his plan—maybe God's great ineffable plan—but certainly not his plan. More importantly, he never meant to fall so hard. 6,000 years of wistfully longing for the angel without doing anything about it had become unbearable. His feelings kept growing by the day, to the point where he couldn't be within 50 feet of the angel without wanting to run to him and kiss him, much less 5 feet away. With the antichrist defeated and Heaven and Hell off their backs, Crowley didn't see any need for them to be friends anymore. They had both played their parts, the way Aziraphale always wanted, and now it was time to move on. God knew that's what Aziraphale wanted, or so Crowley thought. So while Crowley had offered to let Aziraphale stay at his place, he had hoped that Aziraphale would decline. It still hurt when Aziraphale declined the offer however.

No, Crowley had to distance himself. It wasn't easy for a demon to be broken-hearted. It wasn't natural, and each time he saw Aziraphale, it just hurt more. Being around the angel hurt, and being without him hurt more, but he had a choice to make. He made the choice he thought would be best. He had been alone for 6,000 years, and he could continue that way. He didn't need Aziraphale anyway. The truth is, Crowley needed Aziraphale the way a fish needs water, and Aziraphale was about to find out he felt the same way.

Crowley had no idea how to go about telling the angel he couldn't be his friend anymore. He couldn't bear the thought of what that might do to the angel—though he was really more scared that Aziraphale just wouldn't care at all. He couldn't very well tell the angel why he couldn't see him any more. How does one go about explaining to his best friend of 6,000 years that he has been falling in love with him since the dawn or time? It was an awkward conversation at best, and the lovesick Crowley planned to avoid that at all costs. Emotions weren't really the demon's forte.

Crowley, after much contemplation, decided the easiest way out of a painful situation, was simply to become someone that Aziraphale couldn't stand to be friends with. That way, it was Aziraphale who would push him away, instead of vice versa. He simply that to be the demon he was supposed to be, and the problem would work itself out. Aziraphale would distance himself, and Crowley would finally get a break from the constant pining, and maybe, if he was lucky, the feelings would go away entirely in a thousand years or so so he could apologize to Aziraphale and they could pick back up where they left of: just friends.

Crowley had been playing the demon for weeks now, snarling rude comments, tempting more people than ever, and even though it hurt his heart, snapping at Aziraphale occasionally. He was getting desperate, searching for the most wildly evil things to do. Crowley through Aziraphale's books around in fits of anger. He smacked ice cream out of childrens' hands when he knew Aziraphale was watching. He stirred up bar fights. He lashed out at strangers. He lashed out at Aziraphale. No matter what he did—no matter how horrible he became—Aziraphale still refused to think badly of him in any way. Aziraphale still stuck by his friend, and in fact, was actually concerned for Crowley, seeing that his friend was acting up so.

"It really seems like there's something on your mind," the angel remarked as they walked up the street toward his bookshop. "You've been acting out, real angry all the time. It's not like you, Crowley."

"No," Crowley spat. "Don't you see? It's exactly like me. I'm done playing nice. It gets you nowhere. This is who I am, and if you don't like it, you can leave."

"Oh, don't worry about me leaving, silly. We've been friends for 6,000 years, I'm not giving up on you now because you're angry at something. You know you can't talk to me about whatever is bothering you."

"Nothing's bothering me," Crowley said, adding in a hiss for effect. "This is who I am. Stop pretending I'm nice. I'm not nice."

"I never asked you to be," Aziraphale said, a sentence that shocked Crowley. "I like you just the way you are; it doesn't matter how angry you get." Aziraphale was busy unlocking the door to his bookshop.

"Will you stop stubbornly trying to see the good in me!" Crowley snapped. "There is no good, and I don't know why you can't see that. Stop believing in me. Stopping forcing me to be what I'm not. I hate it. I hate you!" Crowley didn't mean that. He didn't mean a word. His thoughts were racing and he filled with regret and shame. How could he say such things to his angel? His angel!

"I don't understand how you could say that," Aziraphale said, visibly hurt. He tried to mask the pain, the way he always did. "I'm afraid you can hate me all you want, I'll still be your friend."

"Oh drop the act!" Crowley drawled. "Last I remember, before defeating the antichrist you couldn't even admit we were friends!"

"Yeah?!" Aziraphale said, raising his voice. "Well that's before I realized how much it would hurt to lose you!"

Kiss him, Crowley's thoughts urged, but he couldn't. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He was confused and his thoughts overwhelmed him. This wasn't working out the way he wanted it to. He needed Aziraphale to hate him. He needed Aziraphale to walk away. So he lashed out, and almost as soon as he realized what he was doing, he regretted it. He hit Aziraphale, right across the cheek.

Aziraphale stood there in shock, and slowly brought his finger to his lip. It came away bloody. Crowley's heart broke as he saw the look of disappointment and ... fear ... on Aziraphale's face. He legitimately feared the demon. "Maybe ... maybe I was wrong about you," the angel said, hurrying into his shop. Crowley heard the click of a lock.

In anger, he kicked the side of the building. How could he have done something so stupid? How could he have hit the one person he would never, ever hurt? Crowley stormed into his Bentley which was parked in the street and slammed the door shut. He sat there and let himself cry.

Of course, the stupid weather had to be perfect. It couldn't suddenly decided to thunder and pour down rain to fit Crowley's mood. In fact, he deserved to walk home in pouring rain. Even better, let it rain holy water. That was a fitting punishment for what Crowley had done.

Back in the bookshop, Aziraphale was confused and alone. It was possible he could have seriously misjudged the demon, but he didn't think that possible. Still, he felt hurt and betrayed. How could Crowley lash out at him like that? Aziraphale didn't know what to do, so he made himself a cocoa, and curled up under a blanket with a book, searching for a distraction—any distraction—from the bruise forming on his cheek and his newly broken heart.