1) Broken

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Tws - self-harm mention, depression

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Crowley sat on the floor, his back leaned against the floor, his glasses and a tartan flask discarded next to him. He was thinking. A lot.

He was thinking about what he had planned for the flask laying next to him filled with holy water. He was thinking about lots of things. Like how he hadn't done anything because Aziraphale would blame himself. Probably.

He had said originally that he wasn't giving Crowley a "suicide pill".

He was certainly smart about that, but the angel did know Crowley well enough.

Crowley was also thinking about reasons. There weren't a lot, except for how overwhelmed and tired he was. He had made so many people sad and stressed. It was his job, but he still felt bad. And then there were all the times he had been mean to his angel. Then there was the fact that he was worried he'd lose his best friend. He loved Aziraphale so much, and he couldn't bear to lose him. And they were stupid reasons. That's what Crowley thought at least. So he felt even worse.

He felt selfish. And even with his job as a demon, he felt horrible. Horrible.

And thinking his reasons through again, he rethought about how selfish they were, and glanced, again, at the flask. Deciding against it, not very surely, he stood up tiredly. He had dark circles under his serpentine eyes, and his dark red hair was ruffled and messy. Those were the least of his concerns, and as he picked up his scratched, dark-lensed glasses from the floor, he debated mentally whether to call Aziraphale.

He wobbled over to his phone in the centre of the room, and dialling Aziraphale, took a deep breath.

"Hi, angel. Could you come round?"he croaked.

"Of course, dear. I'll be right there."

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304 words.

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