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Happy. He should be happy. Happy with how things turned out. He no longer was the traitor of Heaven, no, he was even promoted to an Archangel. And not just any Archangel - he was the Supreme Archangel, the one who gives commands, the one who decides what to do and which plans to execute. He was the one in charge of almost everything in Heaven, right after the Almighty themselves. He was capable of changing things, changing the whole system. He should be happy, happy he finally got to do what he’s wanted to do for such a long time.
But… he wasn’t, no. Instead, he felt… bitter. Disgusted. Empty.
They held a special ceremony for him. Hosts of thousands of angels welcomed him, cowering before their new leader. Well, cowering was a strong word. He noticed all the crooked looks and he heard all the half-whispers. The Archangels weren’t particularly happy to welcome him as one of them. Michael was not-so-discreetly forcing herself to smile while Saraquael could be heard very audibly gritting her teeth. The message was clear - they didn’t like him being there. It seemed like they only tried to keep up good appearances because of the presence of Metatron. He tried to ignore it.
Ignoring reality has become a vital part of his existence now. It was so easy to pretend everything was fine, that everyone liked him and that he was content with his life, with his job, with his current position. They say a lie told one thousand times would become reality.
He became a very profound liar over the span of the past few years. He lied to everyone around him, including himself. It was like a defense mechanism, activating itself whenever he sensed danger. Danger, or any sort of unpleasantness, for this matter.
Unpleasant. It was so easy to remain ignorant, to avoid anything that caused him to feel unpleasant. To attempt to go back to the simpler times, when the word “unpleasant” never existed. When there was no “good” or “bad”. When there was no “us” or “them”.
He didn’t have his own desk. He really wanted one, but they refused. They said he wouldn’t need it, since he would be spending most of his time supervising other angels, anyway. It was someone else’s job to keep up with the paperwork. He was there to do the thinking part.
Despite being full of angels, Heaven was a very lonely place. He was all alone, even when there were plenty of others around. He was their boss now, but he surely wasn’t one of them. They didn’t want him here. He was the traitor, the one who collaborated with Hell, and who deceived Heaven time and time again. It almost felt like a joke to appoint him as the Supreme Archangel. He attempted to cure his terminal loneliness by entertaining himself in human ways. He told himself jokes, performed tricks and even tried reading for comfort, yet nothing seemed to bring him peace.
“Artiya’il,” he once said to the angel accompanying him. “Do you think that perhaps we could play some… music here? You know, to cheer ourselves up? It’s unbearably quiet here, don’t you think?”
“Music?” asked Aritya’il. “What is a… music?”
Aziraphale frowned slightly. Did other angels really never consume any art?
“You see, my dear friend, it’s this special kind of… sound that is pleasant to listen to. Humans seem to be having a jolly good time creating it.”
The angel nodded with amazement.
“What music would you like to listen to, mister Supreme Archangel?”
“I’m quite fond of classical music, but this time you can surprise me,” he laughed gently. “Go on! Pick any song you like. There are millions of them.”
Artyia’il looked up, shuffling through a metaphorical collection of records. Xe seemed quite amazed by the sheer amount of possibilities xe could choose. After a while of deciding what to play, the angel finally made up xer mind, and the whole room filled up with music blasting through celestial speakers:
An angel's smile is what you sell
You promised me Heaven, then put me through Hell
His smile faded as the voice of the singer boomed through the hall. His heart sank - out of all the songs he was anticipating this was the one he expected the least.
Shot through the heart
And you're to blame
Darling, you give love a bad name
Aziraphale snapped his fingers, which caused the sound to disappear completely, giving room for the ringing quietness to creep in yet again. He turned to Artiya’il, a nervous smile painted on his face.
“You know what, I think I would prefer to work in silence, actually.”
Except that the heavenly silence was deafening, it was louder than any kind of noise. As a matter of fact, he hated that silence - it was exactly when his feelings got the better of him. It was when he couldn’t ignore them anymore. It was when he was forced to acknowledge them.
That kiss was like a mark burned into his lips in an act of passion and desperation. It left a permanent trace that would haunt him forever. Sometimes he would still bring up his hand to his mouth just to be able to touch it, just to be able to feel it once more. He longed to experience it again, to be able to link their lips together, this time with more tenderness. He yearned for it to happen again, if it was even possible. He felt tears gathering in his eyes.
He forgave him. He forgave him for refusing to join him. And yet, his heart ached at the thought they could’ve changed Heaven together. They could’ve made new rules together. They could’ve been there, together, forever. If only Crowley claimed his angelic status back, it would’ve all been so much simpler.
He sat in his Bentley, furiously driving away. He had no idea where he was going, but what he did know was that he needed to be as far away from that bookshop as possible. He needed to flee Soho, he needed to flee London, perhaps he needed to flee the country, even. The farther the better, he was desperate to distance himself from that godforsaken angel and all his antics. No, he wasn’t godforsaken, quite the contrary, actually, and that was what infuriated him the most.
He tried to hate him, he really did. After all, it would be the only thing he was good at, according to his nature. Hatred, anger, sorrow, he wished he could feel all of that. But instead, he felt nothing. He felt complete apathy creeping up inside him, causing him to not bother about anything in this world. He lost the very reason he ever even bothered in the first place.
He regretted ever falling in love. He felt like a fool, an utmost idiot, the universe’s biggest moron. He partnered up with him, he sacrificed everything for him, he gave up his place in Hell just to be with him. But he didn’t do the same for him. No, he even had the audacity to try to convince him to come back to Heaven with him.
He smoked a cigarette after a cigarette and he never seemed to catch a break in doing so. He himself and his car were quite literally reeking of the tobacco stench, and the smoke seemed to damage the plants as well. He didn’t bother, he didn’t bother about anything anymore. He might’ve as well crashed the car and killed all his plants for all he cared. None of this made any sense, none of this had any point, after all.
He got what he wanted. He was free; not helping Heaven or Hell, he was finally on his own side. He should be happy, he should be relieved he doesn’t need anyone to rely on, he doesn’t have to trust anyone but himself. And yet, being on his own side was lonely. It was isolating. The freedom to do anything he pleased seemed much less enjoyable without him by his side.
Crowley finally got out of his car as he stopped by a pub. He wasn’t by any means tired with the journey, instead, he just needed some alcohol to free his mind of any troubling feelings, or rather the absence of them. He ordered a glass of whisky he sipped while looking around the pub. Throughout the noise, a faint sound of music could be heard playing from the TV. He decided to ignore it, focusing on his drink instead. He was definitely not in the mood for music.
He sipped one glass of whisky after another, it wasn’t until someone turned up the volume that he started paying attention to the sounds:
We've gotta hold on to what we've got
It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not
We've got each other and that's a lot, for love
We'll give it a shot
Crowley froze up in terror as he put the glass down on the table. That surely wasn’t a song he wanted to hear.
Gina dreams of running away
When she cries in the night, Tommy whispers
“Baby, it's okay, someday”
Perhaps apathy wasn’t the end-all, be-all state for him, after all. All of a sudden, he experienced anger so intense he’s never experienced before. In a fit of rage, he hurled his glass at the TV, then tore it off a wall, throwing it on the ground and destroying it completely. The crowd watched, frightened, as he tossed chairs around, flipped tables and smashed glasses. He was mad, he was angry, he was furious and for this sole reason he decided to turn this place into shambles. He screamed, he screamed so hard he was convinced it was audible even in Heaven.
Furiously, he stormed out of the pub, leaving the terrified crowd amongst the havoc he just caused. He leaned onto a wall of some building and closed his eyes; fits of fury sure were exhausting. Slowly, he slid down the wall - now he was sitting on the ground, trying to shelter himself from the world around him. Tears ran down his face generously. For the first time in his existence, he cried, no, he wailed. He bawled tears of pure sorrow, of misery and despair. He clenched his fists and slammed them onto the ground as he cried his heart out.
“How could I ever be so stupid?” he kept asking himself amidst the sobs, yet he never received an answer.
He tried so hard to hate him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. He loved him too much to do so. He loved him so much it was painful, incredibly painful. But he seemed to not realize it, did he?
He just wanted to run away with him, far from all the heavenly and hellish shenanigans. He wanted to create a new reality, their reality, with just the two of them involved. They didn’t need anyone else when they had themselves.
That kiss was his last desperate attempt to convince him to join him. He poured his entire life essence into it, it was like his final testimony before the verdict. He knew it wouldn’t make him change his mind, but deep down he hoped it could. He wished it happened under different circumstances, in a different place, in a different way. But there was no going back now. There will be no “different circumstances”, never again.
Perhaps a life path like this was too difficult for his Angel. After all, he preferred to do things the simple way. And yet, he couldn’t help but long for a reality where he accepted his offer, where they ran off together, where they were just… them. If only Aziraphale trusted him, maybe both of them would be happier.