Heart of Demon

Crowley in Despair

Crowley sat up in his bed. His body ached everywhere, but it was mostly a dull ache. His soul ached more. There was a void in his chest that couldn't be filled by anything. It had been months since Aziraphale had left a void in his heart, but he still couldn't seem to find anything that would ease the pain.

He hadn't left his bed since he had been miracled back. The first few days he cried straight for hours. He only stopped when his body let him fall asleep. But even sleep was painful. Every time he closed his eyes all he saw was Aziraphale's face as he was engulfed by the fire. How he looked right into Crowley's soul. His face contorted in pain.

Crowley felt another sob wrack his broken body. He was healing physically, but it was a slower process than normal. He didn't have the strength to miracle himself better, and he welcomed the physical pain. It reminded him he was alive and brought him out of his miserable thoughts.

Crowley dragged his feet to the edge of the bed. He needed to get something to eat. He had barely moved, let alone get out of his bed, in what felt like a month. His corporation needed substance.

He stumbled over to his fridge. He reached in and grabbed something. He stuffed it into his mouth. He stuffed his mouth until his stomach felt closer to full than it had. Then he stumbled back to his bed, where he curled himself into a ball. He wanted the black dreamless sleep, but he was plagued with dreams that made his sleep restless and more tiring.

***

It took almost a year before Crowley could bring himself to leave his flat. He walked aimlessly around London. He didn't mean to walk to St. James' Park, but he ended up there. He sat at the bench where he and Aziraphale had once sat and argued about the arrangement. He missed the way Aziraphale had always been reluctant to agree to his plans, but always came around in the end.

Crowley felt tears prick his eyes. He was grateful his sunglasses hid the oncoming tears from passersby. He didn't want other people's sympathy and most definitely did not want people's pity. He could take care of himself.

It was another month before he hopped into his Bentley. He loved his Bentley, but it felt empty without Aziraphale's warmth sitting next to him. And the radio was silent, knowing anything it played would only bring pain.

He hadn't meant to, but he found himself parked in front of the bookshop. Aziraphale's bookshop. It stood there like it always had, but now it was devoid of life. There was no angel inside, reorganizing, or reading the books. Crowley couldn't bring himself to go inside.

He drove past it at least a dozen more times before he finally got out of the Bentley. He reached the doors before he felt the familiar wetness on his face. He gently touched the metal plates. He never really bothered with them before, but now he couldn't find the strength to push them. He was going to turn back, go back to his Bentley, when he heard someone clear their throat. He turned and looked at the stranger.

"Shop's closed, ya know." They said, awkwardly. "Been closed for a while now."

Crowley felt the sting in his chest. "I know that." He looked at the closed sign that would never be turned over. He knew painfully well how closed the shop was.

"Then what are you doing?"

"I knew the owner. He was my friend." Friend. He was more than that. He was Crowley's will to live. The reason he breathed and got up every day. He was Crowley's sun and moon. And he was gone, and Crowley was left in the dark. All the colors had been drained, and everything was a dull grey. He couldn't see the roses or smell the fragrances in the air. There was no life left without Aziraphale. "I guess I just wanted to see this place one more time. Remember all the good times we had." Crowley told the truth.