Of Stars And Meteorites

He still remembers sometimes, what Heaven's like. Echoes of light and laughter dance in the outer reaches of his mind, something distant and warm where his Glory used to be. Soothing on some days, twisted agony on others, but he never forgets. They're the story of his origins, frozen in time, however painful they are to look at.

He remembers the light. Warmth and peace radiating from the fabric of Reality itself, caressing around him like a sentient consciousness. The crackle of holy power in his palms as he molds the stars themselves, hanging each one with all the care and love he himself embodies. He named every one of them. His gems gleam at him every time he blinks, still perfectly clear after all this time. His proudest creations. They're cold now, retreating shyly from his dark aura, but they shine as beautiful as ever.

He remembers his little brothers and sisters flocking around him. They were so enthusiastic, with their joyful eyes and delighted giggles. Sibling rivalries broke out over his approval, sometimes to a potentially dangerous degree, but he'd never tire of watching them play. He was- is -proud of them. His little flock of thriving seraphs, just starting to spread their wings and experiment with little miracles of their own.

There was a time when they looked up to him. When he could stand tall and mighty, an Archangel of Heaven himself, worthy of their pride. Now they regard him with disdain. With betrayal and anger filtered through accusations never spoken. Millennia have passed, wedging distance and loathing between them like thorns. And yet, somewhere beneath all the pain and confusion, lost in the darkest pits of his tortured mind, he still feels like the older brother he's forbidden to be.

And God. Mother. With her starry hair and gentle eyes, always so benevolent and kind. He can still feel her serene gaze, dancing with mirth as she watches her creations. He dreams of her sometimes. The quiet words of celestial wisdom, the all-encompassing aura of love so strong it leaves him aching to remember. Even as she cast him out, her eyes held such remorse and heartbreak. She mourned him as he Fell, and even with all her power to bring him back, he could never bring himself to hate her for it. He brought this on himself. He can't pretend otherwise, even if he wants to.

And he Fell. He doesn't like to think of it. It was violent. Bloody. He Fell in a blaze of fire and burning flesh, the ashes of his own soul staining pristine feathers black to match his sin. The pain of his very nature shattering apart drove him to insanity. For eons he writhed in wretched agony, destroyed by what he lost. He never meant to be evil. He still doesn't want to be, and yet, it's the only choice he has.

Even millennia after, Crowley still feels like he's breaking. He's been a demon since before the dawn of Earth, but the emptiness tears at his mind as viciously as when this all began. Crashing, burning, searing, smashing. His own personal hell, brought to him by devastating meteorites, falling rubble of his own design.

Some days are better than others. The human pastime of sleeping seems to help some. Shutting down and drifting into oblivion gives him time to collect, to build up his walls again. Never enough to block the shadows out entirely, but enough to keep him on his feet.

He can stand on his own. Often with unsteady limbs and a stone-heavy heart, but he does it. The reason that Crowley can smile, however, has nothing to do with him.

For all the suffering he's endured, for all the hours spent with crawling skin and arduous despair, he still considers himself the lucky one. Because out of every dark soul to ever curse the halls of Hell, he's the only one with a saving grace.

Aziraphale. His angel. Breathing lost life and beauty into his atmosphere since that day on Eden's walls.

The connection was immediate, born of simple curiosity. There stood the Guardian of the East Gate, tall and pure above the burning sands- the very image of Heaven's strength, mighty and steadfast. This angel could raze entire armies to the ground with the flick of his finger, could destroy mountains with a word. Crowley had every reason to fear and flee, but he didn't. Instead he slithered forward, drawn by something tranquil he couldn't explain. Something he hadn't felt before.

Heaven's Principality was not at all what he expected. He was soft, shy, perhaps even awkward. But he was different. Because despite being among the most devout, he aided the very creatures Crowley himself tempted to abandon God. Not to further Heaven's goals, not for his own interests, but for the sake of the humans themselves. In all his life, Crowley had never met someone so kind. Someone willing to sacrifice his own Grace if it meant making someone's life easier.

Crowley was cast out for asking questions. Aziraphale disregarded Heaven entirely, at the risk of Falling, and opened the gate for humanity to flourish. Watching Adam defend his wife and unborn child, Crowley couldn't find it in him to be bitter. Instead, his heart flooded with an overwhelming sense of awe. With a single thought, this angel had taken what he'd ruined and made it something beautiful. Effortlessly, this angel had righted his wrong, and for the first time since his Sin, hope surged through him like lightning.

It was that moment, standing under Aziraphale's wing, that he fell a second time. It was just as intense, just as devastating but infinitely more exquisite. The echoes of Heaven and lost innocence never leave his mind, but his angel gives him new memories to covet every time they meet. Demons are said to be incapable of love, but Crowley's never been more sure of what he feels.

He loves it all. The way Aziraphale's eyes light up when he's excited. The pure bliss on his face as he savors every bite of food. The way his hands fly and flutter when he's found a good book to read. The way sunlight falls across his skin, the slant of his shoulders, the warmth of his hands. His instant, unwavering trust in Crowley and his everlasting positivity, no matter the situation. His insatiable need to protect even the smallest of creatures from harm, to reduce humanity's suffering. Everything about him reminds Crowley of the good that exists, despite the darkness that tells him otherwise.

Aziraphale's beautiful. He's smart. He can be a bit selfish and infuriatingly stubborn at times, but his kindness and compassion more than make up for it. His smile alone, shy and bold and bright, makes everything worthwhile. He's the joy to Crowley's misery, the light to his darkness; everything he can never be and only wants to hold.

Crowley's lost so much. He's still Falling, but his angel's love burns so much brighter than the fires of Hell ever could. When the pain drives his breath away and leaves him shaking in the dark, he still finds the strength to smile. He'll endure this, like he always has. He'll endure an eternity of this, because his angel is worth every second. Every smile, every touch uncovers endless strength he never knew he had.

It's ironic, really. Crowley was never meant to be saved, but his angel always did march to the beat of his own drum, whether he knows it or not. Timid and hesitant at every step, but never swayed, always impossibly courageous. Crowley's perfect future. The past has left its scars, but for once, he has a reason to look forward. With his angel at his side he feels complete, and in the end that's all he can ever ask for.