Angst (The Forbidden Fluff)
Aziraphale knew that Holy Water was dangerous for demons. He wasn't stupid.
So, when Crowley had asked him for holy water, he was scared. Scared that he would do something stupid. Or hurt himself. Or someone else. And there would be unimaginable consequences.
Most of all, he didn't want to lose Crowley.
"I'm not giving you a suicide pill Crowley," he had growled, tossing the slip of paper into the river, and storming away. And that was that.
Or so he thought…
A century passed. It was a long time for humanity. Wars were begun and ended. He watched London grow and change with every passing year and wondered if Crowley was noticing the same things that he was.
Cars replaced horse and carts. He saw many new inventions arise in fact, which was both interesting and highly confusing.
Still, it was a slow time for Aziraphale. Slow and boring. He hadn't spoken to Crowley since their disagreement and found that he missed the demon, more than he thought he would.
Then there was the Blitz. When the penny dropped, and he realised that he may have developed feelings for Crowley. Still, he couldn't bring himself to say something. Decades later, he heard of a plot to rob a church of holy water that was reportedly orchestrated by an attractive redheaded man.
It was obvious that it was Crowley, laughably so. Almost like he wanted to be found.
And Aziraphale knew exactly what he wanted. The question was, would he be willing to just hand it over, knowing the risks?
It turns out he was.
He was trembling, his knuckles white as he gripped a hold of his flask. Was he really doing this? Letting his friend endanger himself just in case he needed to kill himself before hell got around to it. This was ridiculous!
And it was all his fault. If he hadn't been hanging around Crowley so much, then he wouldn't have been in so much danger.
Maybe that guilt was what prompted him to hand it over. A repayment of sorts. He hated everything about this, but he had no choice. It wasn't like he wanted Crowley to need it, or even want it. But he had to do this he thought, handing Crowley the Holy Water.
It was what was right.
Or was it?
He couldn't even tell anymore.