Disclaimer: New disclaimer to go with the new season! Obviously, I don't own Good Omens or its characters, locations, etc., or else I wouldn't have let Neil Gaiman destroy my entire soul. I love the characters he and Terry Pratchett wrote, and I wouldn't change them for the world, except maybe to make them a bit smarter and more observant. But, alas, that's what fanfiction is for.

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Inside I'm Falling Apart

Chapter Four

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Crowley felt it the moment Aziraphale arrived back on Earth. Of course he did, he had been so attuned to Aziraphale's presence over the last six millennia that he was able to pinpoint the angel's exact location any time he wanted to, and that wasn't something he could exactly turn off.

He had been a staple of the run down pub he found since Aziraphale had left six months ago, in Earth time, pounding whiskey shots from open to close and sleeping in his car in between. He had decided right away that the numbness he felt after his fourteenth shot was infinitely better than the feelings he had when he was sober, and he had decided to sit on this very stool until the pub closed for good.

Aziraphale's arrival on Earth had felt simultaneously like a stab to the chest and the feeling of a warm, fuzzy blanket being wrapped around his shoulders, making Crowley shiver and order five more shots of the pub's strongest whiskey, downing them all in a row and ordering more. He conjured up money every few hours to give to the bartender, and used a miracle after every tenth shot to make the workers forget how much alcohol he had ingested. He didn't want them to cut him off, after all, not when the whiskey was working so very well.

Just as he was taking his eight shot in ten minutes, he felt Aziraphale materialize in an alley around the corner from the pub, and he clenched his fist around the bar and ordered more shots. He wasn't even ready to face his feelings about Aziraphale, he was certainly not ready to face the angel in person. He downed a shot when he heard the bell above the door ring, not turning around. He wasn't sure he could hold himself together and do what he needed to do if he looked at Aziraphale. The angel always seemed to make him melt. To be fair, he had never been very evil to begin with, but Aziraphale softened him in a way that he didn't need right now. He needed to be strong to protect himself.

He felt Aziraphale walked up behind him and lift up a hand as if to place it on his back. When Crowley pulled his shoulder away, Aziraphale dropped it back to his side.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale was tentative, and Crowley felt a sick feeling curl in his stomach that had nothing to do with the whiskey in his glass. He needed to turn the angel away, but could he do it? He could hear the hurt and the betrayal and the emotions racing through Aziraphale with that one simple greeting, and he had to steel himself and take a shot of his whiskey before he could find anything to say.

He cleared his throat, washing away all of his many emotions. "Aziraphale." He took another shot. Having the angel, his angel, so close to him was shaking his resolve to not forgive and forget so easily. He clenched his fist and grimaced, psyching himself up to do what he needed to do. Maybe, one day, he could get over all the hurt he was feeling and have a proper conversation with Aziraphale about what happened, but today was not that day. This year was not that year. He was over six thousand years old, he could not get over a betrayal like this in a mere six months.

"Crowley, can we… can we talk?" Aziraphale moved around Crowley to sit on the stool next to him, and the demon slide noticeably away from him.

"I'm rather enjoying drinking in silence." Crowley said flatly. He stared straight forward at the rows of liquor on the wall behind the bar, refusing to look at Aziraphale. He snapped his fingers to refill his glass, no longer bothering with the pretense of asking the bartender to do it. He drank it all in one go.

"Please, dear…"

"Don't call me that." Crowley slammed his glass down on the bar. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Crowley…"

"You left, Aziraphale. I showed you how I felt and begged you to stay with me, and you left. What more is there to say? Please leave me alone." Crowley clenched his fist under the bar, trying not to shake. He hadn't even meant to say that much to the angel, but this was so hard for him. He loved Aziraphale so much, and he had missed him desperately, but how could he forgive the angel for what he did? He had decided, around his fourth month in the pub, that this just might be the final straw in their relationship. He could not go through the pain of Aziraphale betraying and abandoning him again and again.

Aziraphale stood, barely concealed tears in his eyes. Crowley fought to keep a mask of indifference on his face. Aziraphale brushed his hand against Crowley's arm, making the demon pull away.

"I know you're not ready to talk, dear, and I should have realized that you wouldn't be. I keep making all these terrible mistakes… I understand if you never want to talk to me again, but you know where to find me if you do." He leaned down and kissed Crowley's temple before the demon could properly react. "I'm so, so sorry, Crowley. I will never forgive myself for doing this to you."

Aziraphale brushed his hand across Crowley's shoulder on his way out, and the demon didn't pull away, no matter how hard he tried to. He bent over his whiskey glass and forced back his tears. He felt the moment Aziraphale materialized back in the bookshop, and he felt a wave of the angel's emotions wash over him. He felt grief, despair, worry, and a profound loneliness that mirrored his own emotions that he had been shoving down for six months.

He snapped his fingers to refill his whiskey glass, draining one shot after another until he didn't feel anything at all.