Familiar Comfort

Cruel Angels

Disclaimer: Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

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Five Times that Crowley Comforts Aziraphale, and One Time that Aziraphale Comforts Crowley

Chapter 5: Cruel Angels

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Just before Crowley and Aziraphale return to their rightful bodies:

"Shut your stupid mouth and die already." Gabriel snapped at Crowley. Despite knowing that angels can be mean and cruel, Crowley never expected them to be this horrible to one of their own.

He looked like Aziraphale, after all. Wonderful, lovely, stupid, brilliant Aziraphale.

He distinctly remembered hearing Gabriel tell Aziraphale to "lose the gut," and felt another surge of anger at how the angels treated each other.

How they treated Aziraphale.

Crowley gave Gabriel the most condescending look he could muster with a face that was not his own, then primly stepped into the Hellfire that was waiting for him.

Once he was engulfed in the flames, Crowley stretched his shoulders and cracked his neck, choosing to blow some fire toward the other three angels and give them a good scare.

He had never really hated angels, despite his Fall. And he loved Aziraphale. But Crowley felt that familiar, deep-set feeling uncurling in his stomach toward Gabriel.

He usually opted not to hate people. He found it to be far too much effort. Sure, he was usually mildly annoyed at everyone except Aziraphale, but he didn't really hate anybody.

Until now. Because no one treated his angel like that.

Once Gabriel and the others came to the conclusion that Crowley was somehow immune to the Fire because he had changed, rather than because he was a demon actually disguised as Aziraphale, they let him go, telling him that they planned to leave him alone for the foreseeable future.

Once Crowley was back on Earth, he quickly made his way to Aziraphale's restored bookshop, smiling to himself as he sat and waited for his friend to return.

Of course, he was unbelievably worried for Aziraphale's safety down in Hell. Even though angels were right bastards, demons were worse. They could choose something other than holy water to kill him, something that angels were not immune to.

But, he loved the bookshop, and he loved his friend, and he had to be optimistic that they would both make it through and be able to be happy.

Crowley started to think about how the other angels treated Aziraphale as he sat and waited.

He still felt the tightly-packed anger and hatred coiling in his gut, remembering all the different things he had heard Gabriel say to and about Aziraphale.

He was sure there were more instances that Aziraphale hadn't told him, and he was sure that more angels than just Gabriel had said these things.

Crowley let a snarl blemish Aziraphale's usually serene face, wishing he would have blown the Hellfire with just a little more force, so Gabriel would have ceased to exist.

No, he didn't hate angels. But he hated every angel who was ever mean to Aziraphale.

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Hell was, more or less, exactly what Aziraphale had expected. He had expected cramped hallways, smelly and dirty demons, and no justice to speak of.

He knew Crowley was different than most demons. He remembered what Crowley had told him, about how he hadn't rebelled, he had simply asked a question and promptly Fell.

He had seen other demons, however briefly, and he knew that Crowley, with his beautiful yellow snake eyes, his immaculately cleaned and styled hair, and his impeccable clothes was a different breed of the Fallen.

He detested Hell. He thought it was disgusting, repulsive, degrading... all the nasty words he could think of. But he couldn't bring himself to hate it. For one thing, he was an angel, which made it extremely difficult to hate anything.

But the other, far more prominent reason, that he couldn't hate Hell was the simple fact that Crowley came from here.

Yes, technically Crowley had been an angel, so that meant that he was actually from Heaven in a sense... but Aziraphale knew that being Fallen made Crowley who he was. If he hadn't Fallen, he wouldn't be Crowley.

He could never hate the place that his love came from.

He tried to act as much like Crowley as possible, asking for a rubber duck and making Michael miracle him a bath towel. He was thinking about his friend the whole time, thinking that he actually, truly, wanted to try to be with him now that the Apocalypse was over and they no longer were on opposite sides.

Once he was back on Earth, he took his time walking back to his bookshop, where he and Crowley had planned to meet.

When he walked in, he saw Crowley (or, rather, himself) hop up from where he was perched. They clasped hands to swap their bodies back, Aziraphale noticing a look of grief in the demon's eyes as they slowly changed back to his usual yellow.

"Crowley, what –" Aziraphale started to ask.

But, as soon as they had fully changed back into their original bodies, Crowley wrapped his long arms around Aziraphale's shoulders and pulled the angel into his chest.

Aziraphale spluttered into Crowley's shirt, where his face was cushioned, but wrapped his own arms around the demon's waist and pulled him even closer.

They stood like that for a long time before Aziraphale pulled back slightly to be able to speak. He still had his hands latched around Crowley's waist.

"My dear... was there a particular reason for this?" he asked awkwardly.

"Er..." Crowley made to pull back from the embrace, but Aziraphale latched his hands together so the demon couldn't move. "I just... I just kind of got hit with the realization that the other angels are mean to you and I..." Crowley's voice cracked and he stopped talking, looking away from the angel.

"Crowley..." Aziraphale felt love for the demon blooming in his chest. "What happened?"

"Nothing... I mean... Gabriel said something rude... I mean, not in the sense that, like, it offended me, being a demon and all, but..." Crowley started to ramble.

Aziraphale shushed him. "Just tell me, Crowley."

"Well... after they untied me and told me to stand up to walk into the Hellfire... I started talking, trying to act like you. And Gabriel looked at me and said, 'Shut your stupid mouth and die already.'" He explained. "It didn't offend me, but I started to remember all the other things that angels, especially Gabriel, have said to you before, and I just... I got so angry at him. You don't deserve the bullshit they heap onto you..." Crowley trailed off and blushed crimson, embarrassed by what he'd said

"Oh Crowley..." Aziraphale leaned forward again, resting his face against the demon's chest. "Thank you. I appreciate that you... care about me so much." He muttered, not wanting to make Crowley uncomfortable.

Crowley hummed, tightening his grip on Aziraphale.

"I mean that, Crowley." Aziraphale pulled back again so he could look into the demon's eyes, reaching up with one hand and pulling the sunglasses off his face. "Thank you for the concern."

"Uh, yeah, Aziraphale. Yeah, it's all good. I'm, er, I'm sorry that I just, like, attacked you. I mean, not attacked you, but..."

Aziraphale shushed the demon again. "Just stop, my dear."

He leaned forward again, resting his head against Crowley's shoulder.

Aziraphale felt the demon unconsciously tighten his hold around his shoulders. He smiled, content for the first time in a long time.