Gardening
Aziraphale was enjoying a quiet evening with a good book, when he heard yelling coming from their garden. He was not surprised in the least – Aziraphale knew Crowley bullied his plants - but he assumed it harmless chastisement at most.
This was not that.
It was loud and aggressive. There was plenty of curse words and Crowley just didn't seem like himself. Aziraphale could hear the crack in Crowley's voice, as he teetered on the edge of tears. Enough was enough decided Aziraphale. He set his book on the table and went outside to find Crowley crouched over a flower bed.
"What are you doing dear?" he asked.
"Telling this pathetic piece of garbage that it needs to start growing properly or else," snarled Crowley.
Then everything started making sense. Crowley was mimicking the way he was treated in heaven before the fall. People up there spent so long pressuring him to be perfect and the second he showed the slightest flaw they threw him away. That kind of treatment would influence anyone.
Just as Crowley went to rip the offending plant out the ground, Aziraphale grabbed him by the wrist. "Don't do this," he said. "Don't hurt yourself like this. You're perfect just the way you are my dear."
Crowley snapped back at him. "I don't know what you're—"
"It's okay. I understand why you're doing this and I'm so, so sorry for the way that you were treated in heaven."
Crowley stared at him with teary eyes before pulling Aziraphale close. He isn't even sure why he's crying. But he just needed to let all this pent-up sorrow out. Six thousand years of distress came flooding out.
Time passed – it might have been minutes, or it might have been hours, time didn't really make sense at that moment – and Aziraphale spoke again. "I love you dear, but you need some serious therapy," he said gently.
Crowley chucked a little to himself. "You think?"