Disclaimer: Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

Summary: Back in Rome, in 41 A.D., Aziraphale noticed that something was… off, with Crowley. He had cut his hair extremely short and his eyes were covered. This was the first time Aziraphale had ever seen Crowley with short hair, and the first time that the demon's eyes were hidden from him. Now, about a month after the Apocalypse, Aziraphale notices the same odd behavior from his friend. This time, he asks about it. One-Shot.

A/N: I'm stressed, depressed, and ready for my death. This is the result. Reviews fuel my fire so if you like this story please leave a kind review! God knows that I need the positivity. Thank you!

….

Sadness

Chapter 1

….

Rome, 41 A.D. Just after Aziraphale and Crowley parted ways:

Aziraphale was worried, not that he would admit that to anyone. He had noticed something very different in Crowley, something that he had never seen in his other meetings with the wily demon.

Granted, he didn't have much experience to go on. He had only met Crowley a few times, and they were all fairly brief encounters. They'd had conversations, but nothing more than that until they had lunch today.

And yet… Aziraphale could still tell something was off with the demon. He tended to pay a great deal of attention to Crowley – after all, he was Aziraphale's only friend. Which was another thing that the angel wouldn't ever admit to anyone but himself.

Aziraphale first noticed something was wrong when he saw that Crowley had cut his hair extremely short and practically plastered it to his scalp. Aziraphale had always admired Crowley's long, flowing, fiery red hair; and he'd always had a feeling that Crowley had too. So why had he cut it so short?

Aziraphale became even more concerned when he noticed that Crowley was covering his eyes with tinted glasses. Crowley's snake eyes were another thing that Aziraphale secretly admired; he loved when the sun glinted off the demon's liquid gold irises. There was a sort of mystifying, hidden beauty that lay behind Crowley's eyes. A secret sorrow that was buried so deep that Aziraphale wasn't sure that even Crowley could find it. Aziraphale thought that he could search the demon's eyes for hours if he was given the chance. And now he had a feeling that he never really would, that Crowley would hide his eyes as often as he possibly could.

So, what led to this dramatic change in Crowley's demeanor? Aziraphale always considered the demon a sort of free spirit, someone who refused to be defined by anyone else's rules. And now he was hiding the parts of him that made him so gloriously unique.

But, Aziraphale knew that he couldn't bring any of this up. He had let Crowley leave their lunch without saying a single sentence about his concern. Crowley may have been comforted by knowing that Aziraphale cared about him, but Aziraphale wasn't ready to admit that he had affections toward the wily demon.

He let his fears and worries fester, waiting on the day when he would be ready to talk to his friend about his troubles.

….

Z. Fell & Co., Soho, one month after the Apocalypse-that-wasn't:

Aziraphale hadn't opened the bookshop since the not-pocalypse. He had thoroughly enjoyed lounging around the shop with his books, his cocoa, his snacks, and his favorite demon. Crowley had hardly left the bookshop since everything that had happened, napping on the couch in the backroom whenever he started to feel tired (Crowley may not need sleep, but he has become so accustomed to it that he has started growing tired, like a human, if he goes too long without it). Oddly, though, Crowley spent most of his time sleeping these days. More so than usual.

Today, Crowley has ventured out. This was the first time he had left the shop for more than an hour since the Apocalypse – he had only ever let to pick up some pastries or for a drive around London to exercise the Bentley.

He had been gone for four hours, and Aziraphale was left wondering exactly where the demon had gone. Crowley had mumbled something as he left, so low in his chest that Aziraphale, even with his heightened angelic hearing, could not hear it. Aziraphale didn't even hear the Bentley screech away when he left.

Aziraphale stood from his chair, concerned, and looked out one of the windows next to the door. The Bentley was sitting on the road in a… parking space? Aziraphale searched his memory for any time, ever, that Crowley had parked in an actual parking space. He usually pulled up onto the curb, or took up at least three parking spaces at once. And yet, here was the Bentley, parked neatly in a parking space next to the curb in front of the shop. It was… odd.

Aziraphale carefully bookmarked the book that he was holding, placing it on one of the small tables next to the front door and walking over to his desk. He picked up his ancient phone and dialed Crowley's mobile number – the only number he knew and the only one he ever called.

It rang three times before going to voicemail, something that had mystified Aziraphale when Crowley had explained it to him after the Apocalypse. "This is Anthony J. Crowley. You know what to do, do it with style."

"Crowley, dear, are you alright? I'm probably just being silly, but you've been gone for hours. Please call me back." Aziraphale hung up the phone and rung his hands, beginning to pace behind his desk. Ten minutes passed, and Aziraphale was getting increasingly worried by the second, before his phone rang.

He answered the phone faster than he ever had before; it didn't even finish the first ring. "Crowley?" he answered.

"I'm fine, angel. I'll be back in an hour." There was a pause. "I'm sorry I worried you." Crowley hung up the phone before Aziraphale had a chance to get another word in. Even though he was reassured that Crowley wasn't dying in an alley somewhere, Aziraphale was even more worried about his friend after the call. Crowley had never been that short with him, not even the first time they met, in the Garden. Crowley hadn't been mean, had even apologized, but he still sounded… closed off, in a way that he had never been before. The only other time Crowley had ever been like this was…

Rome. Crowley had been closed off and acting oddly when they had met in Rome, back in 41 A.D. He'd looked incredibly sad, hiding his eyes and changing his appearance drastically. And if Aziraphale remembered correctly…

Aziraphale bustled out from behind his desk and toward one of the many shelves that were stuffed into the bookshop. He ran his finger along the spines until he found the book he wanted, pulling it off the shelf and flipping to the index. He found what he was looking for and flipped to the page, putting his glasses on and scanning the text.

Yes. Changing one's appearance, closing oneself off, and excessive sleeping were all signs of depression. Aziraphale closed the book and walked back to his desk, setting the book down and sighing heavily. He too his glasses off and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He shouldn't be surprised that Crowley had depression. He had suffered more than one serious trauma in his life. Aziraphale should have realized that Crowley was hurting long before now. He displayed all the signs from the beginning. If only Aziraphale had paid attention to someone other than himself…

Just as Aziraphale was about to reopen the book and read about treatment options for depression, Crowley burst through the door, long hair flowing behind him… long hair?

"Crowley?" Aziraphale questioned, silently slipping the book into his desk drawer.

"Yes, angel?" Crowley drawled, walking to the back room.

"Your hair?" Aziraphale asked.

"Oh, yeah. I got tired of my short hair. I haven't had my hair very long since Christ died. Figured I'd grow it long again. Like it?" Crowley explained. His hair was down to his elbows, deep red curls bouncing, pairing perfectly with his black jacket and skinny jeans.

"It's lovely, dear. Though, to be honest, I've almost never seen a hairdo on you that I didn't like." Aziraphale answered, following Crowley to the back room and sitting in his chair. Crowley sprawled across the couch in his usual position. He took off his sunglasses and flung an arm across his eyes.

"Thanks, angel." Crowley muttered.

"Are you alright, dear?" Aziraphale asked quietly.

"M'fine, Aziraphale. Just tired. Mind if I take a nap?" Crowley answered.

"Of course not, Crowley. I'll be in the front of the shop if you need me." Aziraphale stood and patted Crowley on the shoulder as he left. As soon as he made it to his desk, he pulled the mental health book out of his desk drawer and read the entire section on depression, as well as the one on PTSD. When he finished reading that, he powered up his old desktop computer and searched for any research on depression, PTSD, and all other disorders that Crowley could possibly be suffering from. He spent two days researching mental health while Crowley slept.

When Crowley woke up, around six in the evening two days after he fell asleep, Aziraphale was sitting in his chair in the back room reading a novel, his tiny reading glasses perched on his nose.

"Y'know, angel, I've never understood why you wear those glasses. You don't need them." Crowley muttered, flipping over and sliding his sunglasses on.

"I could say the same to you, my dear." Aziraphale responded, turning his page and continuing to read without pause.

"Not the same." Crowley said. He sat up and conjuring a glass of wine for himself.

"Crowley, you just woke up. You're drinking already?" Aziraphale exclaimed, bookmarking and closing his book.

"It's five o'clock somewhere, angel." Crowley drained his glass and refilled it with a snap of his fingers.

"Crowley, are you alright?" Aziraphale asked quietly.

"Didn't you ask me that when I got back? I'm fine, Aziraphale." Crowley answered, not looking up from his wine glass.

"Then why won't you take off your sunglasses?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley glanced up at the angel, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "It's habit, angel. It feels weird to not have them on."

"I don't believe you." Aziraphale said calmly.

"Excuse me?" Crowley responded.

"Dear, while you were sleeping… I did some research. I think you might have… well I think you have depression, Crowley. And PTSD from you Fall. I think the Apocalypse triggered some symptoms and… I'm worried about you." Aziraphale answered.

"Aziraphale, I appreciate that you care about me, but I'm fine. And even if I wasn't, it's really none of your business." Crowley replied. He drained another glass of wine.

"You're my friend, Crowley, I –"

"I'm your friend? When have you ever treated me like a friend, Aziraphale? I've always dealt with my problems by myself and that's not gonna change now." Crowley stood from the couch and moved toward the door.

Aziraphale stood and followed him. "Crowley, I didn't mean to upset you. I care about you; I just want to take care of you. I want you to be okay."

"I've never been okay, Aziraphale! And I never will. You'll have to deal with that if you want to 'take care of me.'" Crowley snapped, turning around just as he reached the door.

"I can help, Crowley. I know that I can't take back the things that have happened to you, but I can be there for you. I want to be there for you when you feel overwhelmed." Aziraphale said calmly. "Please, dear. I care about you so much."

"Aziraphale, you don't get it. I don't think you ever will. You didn't Fall. You haven't been viewed as a monster since the beginning of time. You didn't have to worry about being destroyed every time you saw your best friend. You didn't have to suffer with the thought that you had forever lost your best friend! You'll never understand my pain, angel. So how could you possibly help?" Crowley's voice cracked at the end, which caused Aziraphale's heart to seize in his chest.

Aziraphale walked up to the hurting demon, reaching up to his face and slowly pulling the sunglasses off his nose. There were tears in his golden eyes. "I would never say that I understand your pain. But I can support you through it, Crowley. That's all I want. I just want to be there for you when you need me." Aziraphale stepped closer and placed his hand on Crowley's elbow. "Please, dear."

Crowley pulled Aziraphale into his chest and buried his face in the angel's white-blond curls. He refused to let his tears fall. He hugged Aziraphale tightly and didn't let go for a long time, relishing the comfort that his best friend was giving him. "Thank you, angel." He whispered.

Aziraphale tightened his grip. "I'm sorry about everything that has happened to you, my dear. I'm sorry that you Fell, and that people think you're a monster. I'm sorry that you thought that you lost me." Aziraphale paused, pulling away from the hug to look Crowley in the eyes. "You're not a monster. I know that saying that won't change how you feel about yourself, but I mean it. Sincerely. I know you think that your eyes are a symbol of your Fall, that they prove that you're an evil, vile demon, but… I think your eyes are beautiful. Truly. When sunlight reflects off them… your eyes are the most beautiful things I have ever seen. I have seen nebulas and galaxies and every beautiful pat of the Earth, dear. And your eyes are my favorite things I have ever seen. The depths of your eyes are astounding…" He paused, realizing that he was going off on a tangent. "And I also mean it when I say that I will not leave you. Ever. You won't lose me, dearest."

This time, Crowley couldn't help but let a tear fall from his eye. "Thank you, angel. I… you don't know how much you mean to me." Crowley rasped.

"I could say the same, my dear. I love you." Aziraphale whispered.

"So much…" Crowley murmured. He pressed his cheek against Aziraphale's. "It will take a long time for me to get better, Aziraphale. It may never happen. I need you to be okay with that."

"Crowley, my love, I have always accepted you for who you are. I know you have been struggling since before I met you. And I know you have struggled many times since we met. I know you were hurting when we met in Rome. I don't know why, but I noticed that you had cut your hair and covered your eyes. I can only guess what caused such a strong reaction from you, but…" he paused, pulling himself away from his rant. "I've seen you when you didn't know I was there, reaching out for the stars that you made and the home that you lost. I think it has made me love you more. I will never judge you for hurting, my dear. And I will never love you any less because of it. I have loved you for a long time, you wily old serpent. That will never change."

Crowley sighed shakily. "Same goes for you, angel. Emotions aren't really my thing, but everything you just said… I feel toward you. I will always be here when you need me. I promise."

Aziraphale got up on his tiptoes and kissed Crowley on the cheek. "I'm sorry for everything you've suffered, dearest."

"And I am so eternally grateful that you have never suffered the same." Crowley kissed Aziraphale's forehead. "And I pray to anyone that'll listen that you never will." He paused. "You promise that you will be there for me, no matter what? I've got a lot of problems, Aziraphale, and…"

Aziraphale silenced Crowley with a kiss. He pulled away after only a moment, but it was enough to stun the demon into silence. "I promise, my love." Aziraphale smiled at Crowley and pressed his face into his black-clad chest.

Crowley would be alright. Aziraphale would do everything he could to help the demon, and he would be there every time that he was needed. He owed Crowley so much more than that, but he would settle for being the best friend, the best partner, that Crowley had ever had. And the best that there ever would be.