Author's Note: This was inspired by a few lines from H. J. Bender's, Secrets and the Serpentine, which is a brilliant fic that I regret not reviewing and shall recommend you go and read as soon as possible if you already haven't.
I figured I should write this up, mainly because I have no stories under this username yet and, to be frank, there is a depressingly limited amount of Good Omens fics around considering how completely awesome the book is.This was so hard to write. I couldn't properly put into words what I wanted to convey, so forgive me if it's a bit crap.
oOo Cleansing oOo
Each tiny droplet burnt behind Crowley's eyes.
They slid down his cheeks as he wept silently, secured in his apartment's bedroom. They curved inwards from his defined cheekbones and ran down, dripping from his solid jaw, each bead glowing red in the faint light from the slit between his curtains, slowly gliding as thick as the blood it had joined with.
The blood had been drawn from the pain each purified tear had ripped from the demon's non existent soul.
Aziraphale worried when he didn't see Crowley for several days, and it forced the angel to travel from Soho to the demon's apartment. When he got there he found Crowley asleep on a bed, with a face that looked as if someone had painted lined down from his eyes to his jaw with holy water. Burnt lines, from holy tears shed over an angel.
When golden eyes fluttered open, a soft forefinger was placed on his lips to stem any possible protests. No angel in history had ever seen a demon cry, and was previously thought it near impossible, but somehow Aziraphale knew. Crowley would be forever grateful that it was never bring it up, or ask about.
When pale fingers ran along lines left by toxic tears, dark eyelashes fluttered shut and Aziraphale healed the marks. It stirred something inside Crowley that wasn't supposed to be there, cleansing it with a touch, leaving the content serpent basking in an angel's glow.
More tears would come, but they slid down skin of equal to that of an angel's.
The glow wouldn't last. When it faded, and Crowley was once again forced to accept the fact they were angels of an opposite stock, another tender moment would pass between them, sparking hope in the space absent of a soul.
It was the hope that it wouldn't have to take a river of blood for a spark to ignite into something that would burn eternally, as opposed for the limited time a demon can be pure.