Crowley

Crowley drove back to his flat, tapping along to Queen as he drove. He pulled into his garage, the garage door shutting as he walked inside. He took off his coat and sunglasses, throwing them on his chair without a care. He sighed, grabbing his watering can and walking into his garden.

As he watered the plants, he began talking.

"Nice restaurant, nice setting, and the idiot still doesn't know its a date. What does a man have to do?!"

He shouted the last part. He took a deep breath before continuing.

"Of course I'm bloody in love with him, why can't he see that? Or is he just ignoring it? Maybe he doesn't feel the same way...I go too fast for him anyway...but it's been 6,000 bloody years. He should have at least noticed by now. Only an idiot wouldn't fall in love with him, I mean look at him! He's nice and sweet and-IS THAT A SPOT?!"

Crowley grabbed one of his plants roughly, and identified a spot in one of the leaves. He held up the disobedient plant to the others.

"We all know what happens when we have a spot."

He said cooly, walking down the hall. There was the faint whir of the garbage disposal in the distance and the demon came back a second later. He showed his other plants the remnants he now had, as if to show an example.

"No Spots." He said sternly, before throwing away the rest of the plant.

He put away his gardening tools and shuffled into his bedroom, snapping into his pajamas before flopping lazily on the bed. It didn't take his long to drift off to sleep.

There was fire. Fire everywhere. Crowley navigated through the falling beams and burning pages. He searched frantically, almost getting himself burnt in the process.

" Aziraphale! Where are you!" He shouted over the roar of the flames.

There wasn't a reply, and he threw piece after piece of wood out of his way in the search for his friend.

" Aziraphale! Anyone!" Crowley yelled, ducking as a burning book fell from the ceiling. "C'mon angel, where are you-!"

He listened the best he could. In a corner of the shop, he heard a soft voice call to him.

"Crow...ley?"

The demon's head snapped towards the sound, and he quickly made his way over there.

His friend, his angel, was laying on the floor. Golden blood flowed out of a wound on his side, and a large piece of wood stuck out of the angel's midsection.

"Shit shit shit Aziraphale!" Crowley said, his panic levels rising even higher. "We gotta get you out of here!"

"I'm not going to make it." Aziraphale whispered, hissing slightly from the pain.

"You-You will, You have to-" Crowley protested.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale snapped, which caught Crowley off guard. Aziraphale stared up at him, his bright blue eyes faded and weary. He didn't have much longer, and they both knew it. "Go."

Crowley started shaking his head frantically. "No no no I'm not leaving you!"

Aziraphale reached out to touch the demon's hand. In a voice filled with pain and sorrow he whispered: "Go. Please." He took a sharp and shaky breath. "Goodbye, my dear. It's been nice."

Aziraphale's head rolled to the side as the last bit of light faded from his eyes.

"Aziraphale? Aziraphale!" Crowley yelled desperately, shaking his friend to try and wake him up. When the angel didn't respond, Crowley pulled him into his chest. "No no no-!'

"No!"

The real Crowley shot up in the real world, clutching the sheets in a death grip. His breathing was heavy, and beads of sweat had formed on his forehead.

A stray tear trickled down his face as he realized where he was. The nightmare had forced him awake, and he swung his legs over the side of his bed. He rested his head in his hands as he tried to regain himself, whispering reminders that it was just a nightmare.

He got up, stumbling slightly as he walked into the kitchen. With his now shaky hands, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and downed it.

But no matter how many times he assured himself, he needed to make sure. So he grabbed the bottle, and stumbled out and into the garage. He pulled himself into the Bentley, setting the bottle into one of the cupholders. He almost floored it as he drove to the old bookshop, taking a swig every few seconds.

In his haste and uneasy state, Crowley had forgotten his sunglasses as well as forgetting to change into his usual clothes.

So now there was an emotional demon, dressed in linen pajamas, drinking whiskey, barreling down the street. And what a sight it was.