Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Another rough day at the pub.

Crowley wasn't very social, and thanks to his little demonic miracles he didn't need to worry about strangers approaching him. Sadly, the miracle loosened its effect the more he got drunk, making the body guards throw him out after shouting and crying to a young random couple "you should go and FUCK in a motel, not here, where the ones who were just dumped have to deal visually with you, ARSEHOLES".

Yeah, he drank too much. And this wasn't the first time. Neither the fifth.

It has been like this since he lost his only companion on Earth. Since that horrific day at the bookshop, facing the only one he ever cared about, watching him reject and abandon him just to work with the same people who wanted both of them out of the Book of Life. Crowley just couldn't assimilate it.

After all those ages together, going around the world, watching every important event in human history, dining at the most iconic bars and restaurants ever funded, spending all the time together, always ending up at St James' Park feeding the ducks. Specially the fast rides in the Bentley, making the angel worry about the pedestrian rate lowering because of Crowley's need for speed...

You go too fast for me, Crowley.

A random memory crossed his mind, letting out a groan as he entered the car and locked himself in it.

He was so tired of this sorrow. Why was he the one to deal with it? Why was he the one to fall for the angel, and not the other way around? Why couldn't he just not give a damn and continue living on Earth as he always did? Why... Why did he miss him so much?

... Why was Aziraphale so convinced of leaving him?

All these thoughts just hit Crowley's drunk system like a brick, turning his stomach and sending sharp jabs to his head. Before any disaster could occur in the Bentley, he miracled away his intoxicated state and took a deep breath.

And then another. And another. And so on until he felt less nauseous. A big sigh escaped his lips, sliding his hand through his hair- it's been a long minute since he styled it or cut it, it was longer than usual and very sloppy. His outfits were also really messy, and he hasn't properly cleaned his glasses lately.

One hand went to the steering wheel, gripping it as he started up the engine with the other. His foot tamping on the pedal as usual.

* * *

While the fast-paced views surrounding the car reflected through the Bentley's windows, his eyes were fixed on a blank space in the horizon. He didn't know where he was heading, neither if there would be a final destination- he just wanted to drive non-stop.

Come with me... To Heaven.

A soft voice echoed in his mind, reminding him glimpses of that gut-wrenching moment. But he didn't even flinch this time. He just sighed.

Crowley was tired of pretending he wasn't hurt to the core. It has been almost a year since Aziraphale's departure and the loneliness was killing him. Not a single sign from the angel around him, not a single visit to the bookshop, not a single word exchange. It was almost like 6000 years of friendship never really meant anything to him. And that destroyed Crowley's human heart, piece by piece.

At first, he just played pretend, like nothing mattered to him either. Living among the humans as always, tempting them and being a little stubborn- that couldn't be difficult to pick up at all, right?

But the memories kept coming back to his mind, worsening his mental state and unmoved facet as the time passed, becoming more erratic and insufferable than ever.

He needed it out of his body as soon as possible- so, he just let it happen. He needed to feel sad. To feel rejected.

Oh, Crowley... Nothing lasts forever.

That one just hit right in the middle, where it hurt the most. It hurt him so bad he suddenly stopped the Bentley in the middle of the highway, almost throwing himself out of the front window. He gasped, dropping his head and groaning in relief, sliding a hand through his face, sighing deeply.

That was a close call. Not that it should really worry him, since he can regenerate his body by miracling it and whatever- but, knowing his depressive tendencies on situations like this, he would most probably get up from wherever he landed and keep driving with all the glass and dirt damaging his human body.

While reconsidering all his human life choices, a soft white noise came from the radio, catching his attention. Maybe some random chores from Hell were about to be announced to him- chores he would obviously avoid. Or maybe Muriel wanted to tell him something and found a way out to miracle a call through his radio.

... Or maybe, it was Azir-

I'll drown my beliefs

Oh. It was... A song. A really soft one.

To have your babies

A song he obviously never put on the tracklist.

It didn't surprise him, though. Lately, Bentley has been pretty silent- but whenever she put on music, it was melancholic tracks, none of them being by Queen, strangely. Crowley didn't understand her new taste on music, but he really didn't mind. Bentley was pretty gloomy since that day, too- she wasn't as fast as she used to be, neither as loud, but Crowley knows she was doing her best.

The song shifted in volume depending on the lyrics, like Bentley was trying to say something through them. Crowley sighed, adjusting his posture and looking at the dashboard. "What now." He said on a low tone, calm, waiting.

I'm not living, I'm just killing time

"That's not..." he sighed, looking away. It was true, and he should stop denying it.

Since Arizaphale left, he hasn't lived a day without thinking when will the wait be over- waking up to drink, distract himself around London, drive until sunset and repeat, hoping to wake up next morning with a call or sign from the angel. 'Cause, yes, Crowley still hoped for him to come back, at least once. He had to, he couldn't just leave everything behind- at least not that easily.

And true love waits

He frowned at the words, trying to hide in an upset smirk the growing ache in his chest, just where his human heart was. A knot formed in his throat, making it harder to avoid all the body signs leading to his tears. All those restrained emotions and spasms were so close to exploding all at once.

He didn't want to cry. He knew he needed it, but he didn't want to cry- not like this. Not now, nor ever. He hated crying for his angel. He shouldn't be crying for him- they should be together, at a table for two at the Ritz, sipping wine and laughing at the destiny...

All the memories replaying in his mind, all those moments of sharing things with Aziraphale, spending time together. Just the two of them, and no one else. How did all ended up like that? And why? Why them?

And true love lives

On lollipops and crisps

"Hah... 'Course." A breathless scoff slipped through his lips, followed by a shaky sigh. He wondered if Aziraphale missed Earth. The food, the sweets, the pastries, the wine, the books, his bookshop... If he missed him too. He removed his sunglasses, closing his eyes.

A warm tear dropped through his cheek, slowly, cautious. The skin of his face bristled at the sensation, like it was something unfamiliar to it. Gently, other tears made their way through his cheeks and chin, leaving his face and wrinkles completely wet by his anguish. A delicate, almost inexistent gasp escaped his mouth- one hand wiping his tears off, and the other wrapped around his torso, trying to settle down the chills and shaking.

Just don't leave

Don't leave

The silence after the last lyrics filled the air in the car, being Crowley's shaky breaths the only sound left.

He dropped softly his head forward, leaning his forehead on the back of his hand. He stood still, letting the tears fall on his thighs- there was nothing else to say. Nothing else to think about. Every time he thought about the angel, it was all in the past. Nothing new, nothing recent. Everything was too far from the present.

If only Aziraphale understood him- if only he actually listened to his words... Maybe, just maybe, Crowley wouldn't be so miserable daydreaming of a normal day at St James' Park feeding the ducks together, knowing perfectly at the end of each day that these dreams will never happen.

Crowley was doomed to live with it.

Chapter Text

A cool soft breeze caressed his face, bringing a feeling of tranquillity to his whole body. He was asleep.

The air was fresh, growing in humidity. There was a constant acoustic generated by the moving trees, followed by distant thunders and klaxons. The air filled the room, freezing the atmosphere to the point he had to curl up in his bedsheets to warm up– it wouldn't bother his sleepy self if only he had changed the summer sheets to the winter ones when it was necessary.

As the cold grew in the room, his sleepiness faded, making him groan in annoyance. The cold weather was in tune with his emotions, that's why his apartment's windows were wide open throughout the night. But his silly arse couldn't remember to change all his closet to avoid freezing out.

If only he cared enough to miracle warm cloth and sheet.

Another breeze, a bit stronger than the last one, let part of the drizzle in, dropping gently on Crowley's face. His body slightly twitched at the wet cold touch, opening his eyes slowly. Through the window, the view of the cloudy sky reigned upon Mayfair, embracing the city on a gloomy cold morning. He could notice lightning strikes between the clouds, followed by the roaring of thunder. 

The morning was loud, but the streets barely made a sound. Not many people seemed to be around.

Crowley stretched under the sheets, letting out a big long sigh, feeling his shoulders relieving all the tension they were holding. Another breeze let itself in the room, wetting part of the ground with the drizzle. He sat on the bed, rubbing his face with his hands before standing on his feet. He approached the window and closed it, cutting the air flow inside the room. Another sigh escaped his lips.

He reached the phone on the nightstand and unlocked it. It was Thursday, 12:45.

How long has it been since he isolated himself in the flat? Days? Weeks? He didn't even know. Since that ride on the highway, he locked himself in his room and hadn't gotten out to do anything but to binge on alcohol and random TV shows, trying to keep his mind out of... The matter.

Maybe today he should go out, walk around the city, as far as possible from Soho. Maybe he could renew his looks, change his outfit, style his hair... The weather wasn't suitable for such plans, but that wasn't something his miracles couldn't handle.

As soon as he got up, the Bentley was already waiting on him by the door. Crowley entered the vehicle and started the engine, heading to the shopping centre.

* * *

Crowley was a demon, that goes without saying. He didn't need to go get himself clothes, he could just miracle himself whatever he wanted to wear and– ta-da! He'll have it. Nonetheless, all these effortless miracles just to get something he craved wore him out sometimes– specially when it came to craving little treats like alcohol or material shiny objects. Sometimes he wanted to do things the human way, just to be entertained.

So, going out, despite the heavy rain that was soaking everyone and everything in the streets, would be a sensible way to start looking for little treats to spoil himself.

Long walks have been done, looking around the establishments of the centre and avoiding the clustering of people seeking refuge from the rain until it was bearable enough to go home, or wherever they wanted to be. Crowley was inspecting coat hangers at a random boutique, searching for some dark or black jacket that fitted his taste in fashion– he hardly thought human fashion would fit his standards, or at least be similar to it, but he was willing to give a look around.

After some long minutes looking at different jackets, of diverse fabrics and various dark shades of colours, he was about to give up, turning on his own feet– and then, a mannequin stole his complete attention. It was dressed in a transparent black shirt with an open chest, black, leather corset on top, which had carved small serpent scales on its fabric from the bottom edges to the top ones– its silver brooches all clipped, tightening the corset around the mannequin's waist, provoking the shirt to adjust beneath quite enough to fold slightly. The sleeves of the shirt were hidden beneath a pitch black coat, with silver buttons as well, made of velvet.

"Well, aren't you just perfect" Crowley murmured for himself, approaching the mannequin cautiously– his fingers run gently against the fabric of the coat, tingling his fingertips as the diminutive hairs of the cloth passed through. He never really wore something made of this material, instead he always opted for leather skinned or suit clothing– guess it's never too late for the first time.

Although the top of the outfit was stunning, the bottom just wasn't working with it. It wasn't bad... But neither was good– maybe too basic for him. Straight baggy dark plain trousers– no belt, no print, no embroidery nor accessories. No nothing.

His face manifested his slight bother, with a soft head tilt. He turned his head around, looking for a replacement for that boring bottom– his eyes wandered around the different sections, trying to not get too far from the mannequin. He needed something more... Dramatic, provocative, something that made people turn their gazes upon him– not that they already didn't. Or just something that stood out or matched with the whole attire vibe.

Then, a click lightened an idea in his mind– the summer sale section.

After a quick look at said place, he finally found two possible options: classy dark grey suit pants, with three silver buttons in each hip side as fasteners– or a long black cotton pleated skirt, matching with a thin silver-plated rhinestone belt. In the dressing rooms, Crowley tried both of them: the pants were nice, not too big nor too small, just his size– but he wasn't convinced at all. Then, he tried on the skirt, noticing something he totally missed when taking it to the dressers– his left leg was completely bare even with the cloth on. It seemed the skirt had an aperture high up the thigh– and, oh, wasn't that just provocative enough. A soft smirk raised his lips, looking at himself in the mirror as he slowly shifted his legs and hips, seeing the skirt move in the air and the rhinestones from the belt bling in consequence. It was almost the perfect candidate– it just needed a little demonic miracle-fix, a detail that clarified to people by just looking at it that it was his.

He snapped his fingers and the belt shape curved until it assimilated to a snake body, of course. Another snap and the top clothing on the mannequin miracled directly on him, completing his new attire. He checked himself out, smirking with slight amusement- he should do this human way of shopping more often.

"Now we're talk- Woah-" his face expressed complete rejection at the way his hair ruined the vibe of his new look. "We're not talking, not at all." He murmured, tilting his head to the sides, sliding his fingers through it, trying to make a sense out of the disastrous disperse locks of his sloppy hair. Yeah, he had to take care of it asap.

After going through the checkout and having his new attire folded inside paper bags, Crowley immediately headed to the nearest hair salon. With a small miracle of his own, one of the hairstylist was available, preparing his seat. Once he sat, he showed the girl an image from his phone, vaguely explaining the hairstyle he wanted- she nodded and went for the necessary materials. Meanwhile, Crowley looked at himself in the mirror, ignoring his surroundings and other people inside the salon, their chatters fading as he focused on his own features. He looked a bit more wrinkled than he remembered, and his face looked rather ageing, even though, as a demon, his looks shouldn't be affected by the passage of time, which hasn't been more than a year.

A year, huh. He thought thoroughly touching his face gently, examining his features. A year since that winged bastard left him to his fate, without thinking twice or reconsidering how it would affect their... Friendship? Relationship? Whatever they had. He preferred not thinking about it, not now. Nor in a long time.

A slight frustrated sigh escaped his nostrils, adjusting his posture on the seat as he saw the girl come back with the supplies, ready to get on with the job.

"Excuse me, luv." She pointed at his sunglasses.

"Uhh, right. Sorry." He took them off, leaving them on the small shelf in front of him. His eyes found themselves in the mirror, surprising himself slightly as he noticed a small change in them. Not the colour, they were yellow as ever– instead, his pupils looked... Rounder. Almost human. How was that even possible? It's been so long since he tried to humanise them to go unnoticed between humans, but it never worked– he stopped trying since it wasn't really necessary. But now, he couldn't help but wonder, why were they changed? And how?

* * *

The rain calmed as he got out of the salon with his new hairstyle, seeing most of the clutter disperse and get out of the shopping centre– the loudspeakers were streaming music from the radio, which wasn't audible until the place went quieter. Crowley was wandering around the halls, listening to the echo of his footsteps and the subtle distant voices of the few people left mixing with the music. It was peaceful.

There was nothing left to do in the centre, so the next plans on his to-do list were going back to the flat, drinking while watching something on the TV and sleeping until remembering he had to wake up. However, he didn't feel like going back yet– he knew that as soon as he got there, he would isolate from the world again, and who knows when will he get out. He had to make the most of it while he was still there– today was the day his new look had to be witnessed by the emptiness of the halls, dazzling the mannequins which couldn't compare to his astonishing style.

His saunter equalled a model catwalk, making his hips rock side to side like a serpent, shooting condescending glares at the shop windows where the mannequins seemed ashamed to even be there, trying to keep up with him uselessly. He was, simply put, unbelievably gorgeous. And maybe this cheekiness was a little over the top– but, he still deserved a bit of selfishness after those rough depressing months. He missed spoiling himself like this.

Suddenly, the loudspeakers emitted a soft white noise, trying to tune in to the radio.

When you get older, plainer, saner

Will you remember all the danger we came from?

A pop folk song sounded under the static as Crowley kept his catwalk, ignoring the weird occurrence.

Burnin' like embers, fallin' tender

Long before the days of no surrender years ago

And will you know?

The static seemed to drown some lyrics and turn up the volume to others, resembling that time on the Bentley, when she was trying to tell him something through an unknown song. Oh, what a weird coincidence...

So smoke 'em if you got 'em, 'cause it's goin' down

All I ever wanted was you

I'll never get to heaven 'cause I don't know how

The last verse was the only one whose sound reverberated a bit louder through the halls, making Crowley's steps cease slowly.

Let's raise a glass or two

To all the things I've lost on you, oh, oh

Tell me, are they lost on you? Oh, oh

Just that you could cut me loose, oh, oh

After everything I've lost on you

Is that lost on you?

In a sinusoidal rhythm the lyrics melt with the static, letting the melody slip through from time to time. Crowley was standing still in the middle of the passage, completely alone at the moment, carefully listening to the song.

Wish that I could see the machinations

Understand the toil of expectations in your mind

His hands clinched into fists softly, gazing down at the floor, trying to keep his mind out of the memories and just go back to walking.

Hold me like you never lost your patience

Tell me that you love me more than hate me all the time

And you're still mine

And just like that, the music gradually drowned in radio's static sea, normalising its volume, leaving him with a lingering feeling of confusion. What the heck was that.

Unexpectedly, everything started to feel weird, like everything was wrong with him. His clothes started to itch onto his skin, his shoulders and jaw were too tense, and his hands were sweating cold, making him rub them against his skirt- the air became weirdly thin, and his throat bobbed, trying to swallow down the growing knot. A sudden urge to run to his flat and isolate from the world again crashed upon his chest, overwhelming him- he was... Anxious. No, that just made no sense, why was he feeling that way? He has never felt anxious over anything at all, not even when his demonic bosses threatened him with holly water.

"Ngk, never mind." he murmured, straightening his new coat, letting out a rough pant. He turned on his heels, going back to the Bentley to head home.

Once Crowley got in, he clinched his fist against the wheel muttering grumpy nonsense toward the car, knowing what happened minutes ago wasn't just a random phenomenon or hallucination- and to nobody's surprise, he was right. The Bentley was awkwardly silent, she knew what she had done to the shopping centre's loudspeakers- still, she regretted nothing. Crowley, on the other hand, was grumbling at her "Who. Do. You. Think. You. Are." emphasising every word as he hit the steering wheel. She didn't seem to care, like it was ignoring him- Crowley would take to his grave that he got moved by the song she played, but the Bentley knew he needed a bit of emotional shaking. He needed to get out of that vicious cycle of avoiding feelings and blocking memories- he needed to step out of his protective bubble.

"You're no therapist, you can't just play a random song and think "oh, this is it! This will snap him out of it!". 'Cause, first of all, there's nothing wrong with me- and secondly, I don't need that." He growled speeding up more than usual. "I don't need to snap out of it! There's nothing to snap out of! I'm completely fine, and I don't need your help!" He shouted, and the Bentley did not like that. She hit the brakes by her own, stopping the engine and making Crowley almost leap out of the window, again.

"Ugh, c'mon!? What are you doing!?" He let his back fall on the seat, groaning in frustration. "Seriously?! We're in the middle of the road!" His hands gestured his anger while the klaxons of the cars behind them started to fill the streets, making people look at the scene as they walked. The Bentley still didn't respond- he assumed they would spend all day there.

Chapter Text

It was Christmas already. Crowley couldn't sleep no matter how hard he tried.

It's been a month since the incident with the Bentley in the middle of the road- he had to go back in public transport leaving the car blocking the streets until she decided to come back, leaving a long traffic queue waiting for a whole day behind her. He hasn't driven the car since then, going by foot anywhere he needed or wanted, ignoring the presence of the vehicle following him with its tail between its legs, and the people's confused eyes on the streets glaring at the car moving on its own.

Since then, he has been exploring different shops and boutiques around Mayfair, having purchased all kinds of different trifles just to keep his mind entertained, to distract himself of whatever made him hurt- that included anything that had beige colours, tartan pattern and white feathers. Luckily, everything that Crowley achieved was the complete opposite: dark, no prints and black fur. He was having fun reinventing himself the human way, going through a "glow up" as the youngsters on the internet would say.

He decided to have a distinctive attire for each day of the week: Mondays he would wear the one he got at the shopping centre, Tuesdays would be a classic dark grey suit —no shirt underneath, mind you— and moccasins, Wednesdays a long black silk dress with a thick dark fur coat on top and annoyingly noisy black high heels, Thursdays and Fridays he wanted to stay home, so the scarlet dressing gown would do, and weekends was still a work on progress. Dressing up differently every day has done quite the change in his social life in pubs and clubs- not that people wouldn't be tentatively attracted to him whenever he pleased, but this time he didn't even need to tempt them into it. He hasn't done anything weird with them, instead he's been expanding his human contact list for business and... Other personal businesses.

In fact, his roaming around anywhere has also attracted some demons this exact morning- few low rank demons have been sent his way trying to, allegedly, renew his Hell contract since his devilish activity has increased recently.

"My devilish activity?" Crowley asked in a snorted condescendingly, pouring red wine into his glass, sitting on his desk chair leg crossed, looking at the demons in front of him. "And what devilish activity have I exactly done, to be worth going back to... The horrendous Pit." 

"Well..." one of the low rank demon mumbled, rereading the documents as he stepped slightly forward. "You've tempted younger adults to robbery, fraud, scam calling, dropping off college to end up drug dealing..." He kept reading a long list of temptations to which Crowley just scoffed and kept drinking, completely careless about the allegations thrown at him —which all were true, sadly— "... And... W-well, you get the idea." Said the demon before him, suddenly nervous with a forced smile in his face "Are you accep-"

"What is it." Crowley interrupted, gaining nervous glares from the group.

"P-pardon" the one that read the documents mumbled, visibly trembling.

Crowley let out a cocky laugh. "The last sentence. What is it? I don't recall doing something worse than what you've already stated. C'mon" said pompously, lifting his sunglasses and resting them on his crown, revealing his shiny yellow eyes —which were miracled to keep looking reptilian, 'cause of the sudden pupil's roundness— "Awe me! What's my last crime?" he hissed, smiling malevolently.

The demon hesitated, fidgeting his fingers between the pages- the other demons seemed to hide behind him. Did he do something so bad to have them all shuddering, that not even he remembers? Finally, the demon cleared his throat before speaking.

"T-the last statement, uhm..."

"Yes...?"

"You'vecomittedshamelessadultery." the demon spoke hastily before shrinking like preparing to be hit.

A boisterous laugh reverberated across the flat, leaving the group of demons wide-eyed.

"Shameless adultery?!" Crowley almost choked on his own laugh, having to relax himself to speak clearly. "Oh, you guys..." he laughed gently this time, trying to recover "I think- I think you've got it wrong this time! I mean-" he raised his left hand, wiggling his nude fingers "I'm not married nor compromised to anyone. And, as far as I'm concerned, every human that I've met hasn't built a relationship with me, so..." he shrugged, exhaling loud as he adjusted on his seat.

"Oh. Uhm..." The demon exchanged looks between him, the group and the papers. A heavy silence filled the room, rebuilding the tension and fright on them. Crowley frowned, confused. 

"What?" He asked with genuine doubt.

"The... The Duke said..." His voice lost volume as he tried to explain, starting to shake again.

Oh, no. He didn't like where this was going. Especially if Shax said some nonsense just to bother and ruin his peaceful human way of living.

"It, uhm..."

"Spit it." He said this time with bitterness in his tone, face completely darkened in anger and his fingers pressing on the glass.

The demon couldn't bring himself to say it- instead, he lent the documents to Crowley, taking refuge on the group once his eyes landed on the last statement.

... Oh.

The sepulchral silence was broken by the shattering glass that made the group of demons leap in fear, followed by the crackle of flames burning the documents on Crowley's hand. His gaze landed upon them.

"Leave. Now." he sentenced with a serene tone, retaining all his burning fury behind his eyes.

Without complaint, the group disappeared, leaving Crowley and the flames alone. A liquid leaked from the palm of his other hand- he was bleeding, the small shattered pieces of glass were cutting into his skin. He let out a groan, healing it and miracling clean the floor, standing up to get another glass to keep drinking.

What the fuck was that?! The papers, specifically, what was that? He had to burn them down 'cause, whatever was crossing Shax's mind when writing it might have made her think she was the queen of bullshiting or something- the papers stated, apart from all the recent tempting allegations, he was or seemed to be fraternising —if not compromised— with ethereal forces, which he recently seemed to break bonds with in order to commit adultery shamelessly with humans. And, if that alone wasn't a total baffle, there was physical evidence- photographs taken by the despicable Furfur, where him and certain angel were together all the time —especially in that cabaret in 1941— and then other photographs of recent events at clubs. Gosh, that Furfur was a creep, how did he take those photos without him noticing?

Why wouldn't they let him be, anyway? What was their fucking problem? Well, obviously it was Hell, of course they'll do anything to piss him off since they know he's not going back, despite now being completely lonely on Earth. Nonetheless, he wasn't exactly being evil, he wasn't back on tempting people to agony and despair- he was just being social, and that included drunk talking about their futures, and most of the humans he's talked to, they've decided their own destiny. He couldn't, and didn't want, to take credit on that- if they're miserably doomed to failure, it's not his problem.

"Fucking. Bullshit. Arseholes" he grumbled angrily, feeling a burning ache beneath his skin- small electric crackles exited his pores as he tried to calm down, sitting on the chair and clinching his free hand nails to his thigh. So he sat there for hours, reflecting and thinking non-stop, drinking until forgetting the passage of time and until his upcoming crash out feeling eased by itself.

And now he was half drunk laying on the bed, unable to sleep. He was dizzy, head giddy, ears ringing and throat tighten- perhaps a walk until dawn would clear his mind, a bit of fresh air and contemplating the lights of the city going on and off, sitting on a bank at a random park, also a bottle of wine to keep company. Or maybe not- it was Thursday stayin-in-home night, he wasn't in the mood for a stroll. A long sigh escaped his lips, shifting his position on the bed- he could go or a relaxing ride, although he didn't want to deal with the Bentley and her music-therapy tomfoolery. No, he'll stay home this time.

He got out of the bed, opening the blinds and the window, letting the urban air in followed by the calmed humming of the city- it was a quiet evening. He leaned on the window frame, resting the chin on his palm as his eyes wandered over the building rooftops, city lights reflecting on his iris and lightening up his features dimly. A soft breeze caressed his cheek, bristling his skin delicately- it almost felt like a hand pampering him, trying to calm him down. A small twisting sensation appeared in his chest, making his breath a bit uneasy.

It hasn't been that long, and yet it feels as if the days lasted for years, time passing tortuously slowly, gnawing at his mind and tormenting him with his own memories. It is as if this was his destiny, as if he was condemned to live his eternity without the only one he longs for, the only one he was ever able to yearn for- not only as a human, but as an occult being, as the demon he is. Even though they were naturally enemies, he could not see himself capable of feeling anything more than... That tender feeling. That feeling that impulsed him to pour all his efforts into a kiss to convince that idiot before leaving him forever, that feeling whose warmth only made him cringe to his knees by how unnatural for his own body was. What was it... Almost like a constant whim, yet genuine, innocent.

A gag escaped his mouth, revolving his insides just thinking about it. No, he could never feel something like that, that was just unacceptable. He was an intimidating demon, he had a reputation to up-hold- he couldn't let himself even think of feeling something so delicate like love.

"Ugh... I need a drink" he muttered, sobering himself up to get another bottle.

* * *

Crowley ended up going out. Not to sneak on a random party or to seek for human company, but to finally drive the Bentley, in silence if possible. He looked at her, thought two times before hopping in, and finally opened the driver's door. He sat, closed the door and let the silence build a thick awkward tension between them.

"Hey." He mumbled, arms crossed, looking away from the dashboard. "So..." He stretched out the vowel, trying to maintain his nonchalant facade. The Bentley was still bitter about a month ago, he could sense it, but she also regretted her decision- she knew it hurt him even though she was just trying to help. He sighed, tapping the wheel in an attemp to console her- it kinda worked, since she turned the engine on by her own. "Oh." Crowley glanced at the car radio, noticing a white noise coming out of it, meaning it was being tuned in- he could hear the mumble of an audience applauding between the noise. "Oh- Actually, I just wanted to-"

An orchestral instrumental started playing, and then he knew there was no going back. "C'mon, I just want a late night dri-"

To the tempo of your uptight

Is the flicker of a street light

You know this moment, don't ya?

The music interrupted him, making him huff and adjust his posture- if he was going to go through this again, at least he wanted to be comfortable.

And time is strangely calm now

'Cause everybody's gone, it's

Just you and your anger

He snorted to the lyrics trying to ignore them, looking at the outside through the windows. It was calm, it seemed nearly deserted- only the lamppost lights and the cold were present, keeping him company.

Oh, golden boy, don't act like you were kind

You were mine, but you were awful every time

So don't tell them what you told me

Don't hold me like you know me

I would rather burn forever

This time the Bentley didn't lower the volume to any verse, only to the instrumental from time to time.

Before he could react, the vehicle started moving slowly by herself, driving him through the lonely Christmas themed streets. He didn't even notice the Christmas decorations before and the intensity of its lights, almost like he just passed by them casually- perhaps 'cause his apathy toward the festivity and the memories that brought him.

But you should know that I died slow

Running through the halls of your haunted home

And the toughest part is that we both know

What happened to you, why you're out on your own

Merry Christmas, please don't call

As the lyrics made its way cautiously to his ears and consequently to the small tear on his human heart, his eyes were fixed on the streets, distracted on the way the lights flickered softly and how they dimly reflected on the accumulated snow. It was... A nice view, it was pleasant. 

You really left me on the line, kid

Holding all your baggage

You know I'm not your father

Who says "welcome" to your uptight

While it flickers like a street light

He flickers through your damage

Yet, the lyrics and the way the song was being played with such a gloom mixed in anger caught his attention- he couldn't help but feel his throat tightening, making it hard to swallow. No matter how hard he was trying to focus on the street lights, houses and establishments, the song was surrounding all his thoughts, exposing all the retained painful memories to himslef.

Oh, golden boy, you shined a light on our home

And at your best, you were magic, we were sold

So don't tell them what you told me

Don't even tell them that you know me

I would rather burn forever

He closed his eyes shut, feeling a sudden sharp pain invade his chest- his breath was shaky and his throat started burning due to the tight knot. He clinched his jaw, trying to breathe in and out to calm the storm of sentiments he was experiencing.

While the chorus played, he tried opening his eyes to continue contemplating the outside. Sadly, his vision was blocked by a thick blurry barrier of tears. Of course, he was crying- of fucking course. He tossed the sunglasses to the other seat, huffing heavily and covering his eyes by pinching his brow- thick warm tears running through his cheeks and others falling on his lap.

"'S HIS DAMN FAULT!!" he snapped abruptly as the bridge played, his lips shaking as he sucked breath trying to ease his cracked voice. "He's the one to blame for all of this- this- this whole stupid situation! All of- All this- Ngk!" he hands gesticulated in anger "All of this unnecessary drama wouldn't be happening if HE, that DUMB a-angel, had actually LISTENED. TO. ME." his hands falling exhausted on the leather seat "W-what the fuck was he thinking about!? Asking ME, a former DEMON, to come back to HEAVEN. The place where EVERYBODY wants BOTH OF US, mind you, erased from the Book of Life!?" he let out in a breathless incredulous laugh "And when-... When he looked me in the eyes and... He just..." the anger in his voice easing little by little, revealing all the melancholy that has been masked. "H-his eyes were... That look..." his hands covered his face, shuddering slightly in his place.

Merry Christmas, please don't call

Merry Christmas, I'm not yours at all

Merry Christmas, please don't call me

The last verses played in a lower volume, with all the orchestra emanating all the built-up rage of the song, all the instruments melting its sounds as if they were one, accompanying the screaming vocals- Crowley's gentle sobs were inaudible due to all this noise.

All of a sudden, the noise dropped altogether, fading into the white noise and the mumbling of the audience applause. Crowley was left alone with his delicate cries.