Good Omens One Shots 1

Memory 10

Aziraphale sighed dejectedly. He was on his knees by Crowley's bedside once again, hands clasped in prayer. He had been doing that a lot lately... praying. He wiped at a few stray tears as he looked over at his demonic husband, completing the prayer.

It had been weeks since Crowley's health had deteriorated, and he hadn't slept since it started.

After Crowley fell ill in the book shop, the first one or two weeks the demon was throwing up, heaving whatever Aziraphale had gotten into his stomach up and onto the floor. When he couldn't get him to eat anything, the demon dry heaved until his throat tore open and the acid in his stomach burned away enough skin so he started throwing up blood. It was absolutely gut wrenching to watch the love of his life go through that. But that wasn't all. The worst was the screams.

Crowley had had nightmares before — either about the shop burning down or falling — and the demon screamed then. However, back before he lost his memories, it was a rare occurrence. The odd month or year where he had a few troublesome nights that was usually comforted by the angel waking him and having a good cuddle.

There was no waking Crowley now. Even when the demon's eyes were open, it didn't necessarily mean he was awake, Aziraphale found out quickly. The demon screamed nearly every hour during the first few weeks after Aziraphale had miracled them back home. The sound would plague the angel for decades to come, he was sure.

He was so scared, trying everything to get Crowley to wake up, stop screaming, or just to stop heaving. There had been an array of miracles — that only seemed to make things worse — and millions of prayers to his mother for guidance and assistance but... nothing.

The angel cried for days, feeling utterly helpless as the love of his life was tortured by something unknown. Yet, as awful as the first few weeks of screams and vomiting had been. This last week was worse by far.

Crowley had stopped everything, he had gone perfectly still. From the screams and sickness to silence? It was the most unnerving. Aziraphale spent every day at his side, praying and pleading with Someone for him to just wake up.

He rested his head on the demon's chest, finding comfort in the way it softly raised up and down with his shallow breaths. It was the only sign he had to know that Crowley wasn't completely gone. Hadn't left him just yet.

Tears came faster at the thought of his love going somewhere he couldn't follow. He just wanted Crowley to wake up. Just wanted to see his eyes shining down on him, those hands to take his, he wanted to say 'I love you' a million more times in a million new ways.

The angel sobbed quietly into the demon's chest, clinging to him as if he was a lifeline. He didn't know what he would do without him, and didn't want to think about it. The only constant in his life had been Crowley. The demon was his anchor when things got bad after the apocalypse. When he had relapsed into his old habits. It was heartbreaking to know that he couldn't have been that for Crowley. That he couldn't assist the demon in pulling through this nightmare. That he had failed at retrieving the demon's memories, the one thing Crowley had wanted.

Aziraphale would never give up on the demon, he knew that. But he was tired of praying and bartering with the silence. He was tired of crying for days on end and clenching his fists so hard that his nails broke his own skin. He was tired. And he wanted his love back.

Eleven years ago they had said 'I love you' and five years ago they had said 'I do.' But it wasn't enough time, there was never enough time. He sobbed harder into the demon's pliant body. He was never the strong one of the pair but he had tried. Lord knew he tried so hard during all of this to keep a strong face for Crowley, but even angels had their breaking points.