Angel Of Death - Crowley X Aziraphale (Finished)

6 - Hope

Crowley knows that there's no way the fifteen years since he last saw the Angel, and the fifteen years since the horsemen were given the instruction to protect the demon, can be a coincidence. He paces around the bookshop as he's done for the past twenty-four hours, occasionally stopping to look at symbols on the dusty floor that he used to summon death several years ago.

Death had made it clear way back then that Crowley was not to summon him again. But Crowley looked over the bookshop. It was dark despite the shining sun outside. It was dirty and neglected. It had a haunted air about it. The demon hated it. Years ago, he would have called this his favorite place. But now... Looking at it just hurt. But now he had a chance. And he was sure, if death was so determined to make sure he was protected, surely he wouldn't hurt him... Right?

The Demon's decision had been made. With a snap of his fingers, the symbols on the ground began to glow. A darkness blinded the room but thankfully for the demon, his eyes were programmed to see through the darkness an awful gas seemed to emanate from symbols creating a putrid smell and horrible fog.

"Pollution!? But I summoned death!" Crowley exclaimed.

"You were warned not to summon him, demon." Pollution replied.

"But I need answers!"

"It isn't your job to receive answers. your job is to stay out of trouble and stop bothering us."

"Please. Just give me some answers and I'll never summon any of you again!"

"The answers you want are not answers we can provide."

"But you do know something?"

"That's enough demon. Your precious angel is not coming back to you. Move on." With that, the gas retracts and pollution disappears.

"Never. I'll never ever move on."

And that's proven by the demon when eleven further years later, Crowley is sitting on the floor with his back against one bookshelf while another stares back at him. He's drunk beyond comprehension. Several empty bottles lay by his sides. He's just finished chugging another and tossed it to the side.

"Whyyyy can't I get over you!?" He whined loudly to the store. He'd long since come to the acceptance that his angel was never coming back to him. He'd considered going back to hell but he knew he'd just be tortured there. And he had tried going to heaven for holy water, but the barriers wouldn't even let him onto the stairs. But as he sat there drunk, he had a realization.

With a wobbly snap of his fingers, which took way too many goes, the tartan flask appeared in his hands. Sure it was a long shot. It was likely that all the water had evaporated. But, if there was even one small droplet still in there, he could create more. He shut his eyes and sent a wish to the flask in front of him and as he did, it steadily became heavier. A faint and weak smile drew onto the Demon's face and before he could even think, he opened the flask and raised it above his head.