I hope you all enjoy the fic. I am not an English speaker, so please be patient with me. If you wish to help me, please send me a message. I will be grateful for your help.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, just the plot. Whatever you can recognize belongs to Good Omens and Neil Gaiman Terry Pratchett. This fanfiction is just for fun and I don't expect any profit from it.

There is something funny about demons that most people know but tend to forget. Demons can feel anger and lust, despair, but they never shed a tear or feel any pain. They have no connection with their "emotions" like any other entity or human, for that matter. They were not created to feel but to cause feelings.

And Anthony J. Crowley wasn't the exception to the rule. Back in his bed, tossing and turning, his last conversation with Maggie and Nina was still playing on his mind like that stupid classic music Angel used to listen to.

It had been days, weeks, hours, or months already, perhaps? He could still remember Aziraphale's gaze from the distance, the idiotic influence of Metatron and his overly exaggerated, shiny white smile, as if any of these stupid angels wanted Aziraphale back in Heaven after trying to kill him in front of his own eyes.

For all he cared, he was sure he was already dead or something. Everyone was just a pawn for God or Satan; even he, as a demon, could find himself in a bathtub filled with the purest holy water at any time. He hissed at the thought and promises of Aziraphale of redemption and becoming an angel again to work by his side. Nobody wanted him there; after everything they had been doing for years, why would he be granted another chance he didn't even want in the first place?

Maggie and Nina had to be wrong; there was no love. He wasn't capable and Aziraphale either. Loving the creatures of God as a creation was something completely different, perhaps the only thing that stupid Angel could feel and nothing else. But the kiss played in his mind like a broken record. Was that just a form of temptation to force him to stay, or it was, indeed, as Aziraphale once said, the deeply-ingrained "nice" part of him that, even after becoming a fallen angel, was still dormant inside him?

How could an angel as intelligent as Aziraphale be so stupid? It was beyond him. He wasn't even sure if he knew the definition of disappointment, accustomed as he was to having everything he wanted in the palm of his hand, but he definitely felt something deeply inside that had to be like what all the human books, music, and movies described it.

Watering his plants had even lost any sense. They continued to fear his outbursts and became as fragile as his temper, now that he had lost his only and best friend in his entire existence.

Angels were capable of crying; he had seen it before. But he was sure that their tears had a different significance than any human tear. Feeling sadness for the turn of events of their creation didn't count as an emotion per se. And that idea of shedding tears to heal the poor damned souls of their pain was nonsense.

Could Aziraphale be crying for his poor, damned, corrupted soul that was now trapped in an interminable loop of anger and despair? Oh no! Of course not! If he was surely not dead already; he was smiling in whatever stupid golden throne he was sitting on, trying to keep the imperfect world the Almighty had decided to create in check. Forgetting about the 6,000 or more years they were together and everything they had gone through, just like a puff of his hands.

There were no calls in his cellphone anymore. There was no bookshop to hide in anymore. There were only the voice of the devil and their requests for chaos that he could hardly say no to. If Aziraphale wasn't there anymore to keep him in line, who would come next if he decided to cause the chaos he was supposed to? If the Angel was determined to put a line between Heaven and Hell that he couldn't cross, then he could have his own free will too.

After all, he was alone and there wasn't that annoying little voice over his shoulder telling him when it was enough. Even his car would get over it in time and would stop turning yellow just to argue with him.

A copious amount of alcohol in bed was always nice to start something. Whatever God's plan or even Satan's was, his mind was expecting a legion of angels to come after him and try to stop him. So so much that even the Archangel Aziraphale would have to come down and use his almighty power to end his life. Whatever the outcome was, it was better than the feeling that was starting to grow inside him and made him hiss all the time. Perhaps it was because of all the time spent on earth, but it couldn't be sadness. It couldn't be tears. He even thought that if he shed a tear, it would be the purest holy water, blinding him forever.

But every night he burned, he called his name and was totally fucking tired of it.

Getting up and stretching his black wings became easier of what he thought, now that he had a plan in mind. If it even implied killing innocents humans, he would. Whatever that would bring Aziraphale back for at least one more time.

The conversation wasn't over yet, even if his last word was "don't even bother."

It really bothered him so much.

And everything could start with a little fire here and there, with a little possession here and there. If he had to become his own Anti Christ, then he would be.

It was easy to know where the hell to start. London wouldn't even know what even happened.

A giant ball of fire in the middle of the street. Oh! The joy of creating one of these!, he had so much time without enjoying his frustrations that much. Like canons hitting everything possible, cars, pubs, coffee shops. If nobody stopped him in time there wouldn't be anything to be saved afterwards.

In the middle of the busiest street seemed like the perfect place. Taking his coat from the bed and dressing as charmingly as possible, he stepped out and stared at the sky above him, smiling. Who would come this time for him? If Aziraphale was too busy for him, then he would willingly get arrested and let himself be blasted with holy water right before his own eyes.

"Woohoo! Fire!" His exclamation, loud enough, passed through deaf ears of all the humans walking right next to him.

Snapping his fingers, his anger grew and grew, no longer able to be ignored by anyone who looked up. If he was "deeply inside nice" as Angel once said, then he was about to kill that part of himself completely.

"Of course, it had to be you, my dear," That voice screeched in his ears like bells and holy chanting, making him hiss and turn faster than he would even have liked to stare at those kind of brown eyes staring at him again.

"Damn my luck!" "The guardian of the heavens itself!" Crowley said under his breath, still with his arms up and the giant ball of fire over his head.

"Apparently you're still under my care in Heaven," Aziraphale sighed heavily, still avoiding his eyes as he had before the kiss.

"Am I a duty now? Then duty calls, right?"

"This isn't how it should end, Crowley. My offer is still on the table. Come with me, let's get everything back to how it used to be."

Crowley jumped in place a few times, infuriating himself more and more, and of course making the ball of fire bigger and bigger. Why was the man he had kissed so cold and distant now? "Shut up, foolish traitor Angel! Otherwise, I swear I will blow this entire place up with us in it!"

"You know you can't do that, and if I have to stop you, then I will."

"Oh, so I suppose you have your fire sword and your aureole back now!? It must feel good to be back in Metatron's good graces after Gabriel wanted nothing to do with you but to kill you!"

"Gabriel took decisions on his own and I'm afraid that is out of the question now."

"You could do it too! But of course, you had to follow God's orders because everything we had here was less important than his poor, defenseless creatures!"

"I'm an angel, Crowley, and you're a demon. How something like lo... could exist between you and me!?"

"Something like what? Say it, Angel, for God's-Satan's sake! Admit that you desire it as much as I do!"

"You tried to tempt me...!"

Taking his glasses off and giving him his most infuriating serpent look, Crowley hissed even harder than Aziraphale thought he had ever heard him hiss before. How could he still be so clueless that humans could see it, but he couldn't? If it was blasted love, so be it. If it was the first demon to feel it for an angel, so be it.

"How can you be so blindly, fucking idiot!? Heaven must be brainwashing your brain so hard that you forgot everything we went through together. Do you need any fucking proof to refresh your memory, Angel?"

An awkward silence followed, while Crowley put his black glasses back and looked up at the now huge ball of fire and the looks of all the passersby around. He was making a great spectacle, but that was how he liked to end things if he had to.

"Stop it now, Crowley. Please."

"Come back to me, Angel, and everything will be back to normal. I guarantee it."

"You're a demon, you could be lying to me!"

"Don't start with that nonsense again and just make up your own mind about this, about us. Now!"

The angel's hands were open in front of him, so he had to take off his glasses again and look more closely. It seemed like burn marks.

"What in the world is that in your palms, Aziraphale!? Are you still being punished in Heaven as before!?"

"Do you think you're the only one in despair, Crowley?"

"Angels don't know what despair is, only if their precious creatures are suffering!"

"So... are you suffering as well, Crowley?"

"I'm not one of your stupid humans! I'm a demon!"

"But you were once an angel too, and you know how precious things can be for us, right, Crowley?"

Damn it, the stupid Angel and all these "feelings" he didn't even know a demon could have. Was he really suffering or was he just projecting feelings that weren't even his own? Was his old angel fighting his inner demon for the decision that the Angel didn't seem able to make by himself? Should he go back to heaven if that meant being with him again and stop feeling whatever he was feeling?

His face felt wet, but it wasn't raining and the ball of fire started to diminish slowly. What was happening, for Satan's sake? Demons weren't able to cry, but his serpent eyes were blurry and itching like they never had before. It was as if he was in the presence of God itself and His brilliant presence was blinding him.

"Crowley, my dear boy," said Angel softly.

"Stop this now! If the demons find out about this, I will be damned!"

"I'm not doing anything to you; it's all in your head, your body, and your soul."

No, no, no! White feathers couldn't match the beautiful black ones on his back. He couldn't be...

"If we keep fighting, I'm sure this will be the end of both of us." Aziraphale looked sad, but nothing could compare to the expression on Crowley's face. Even if he kept plucking the white feathers that suddenly appeared on his black coat, they kept falling from nowhere.

"I have no soul!" Crowley yelled at him. "I'm a freaking demon!"

"You always have had one, otherwise we would never be the friends we are, Crowley," he replied.

Otherwise, you wouldn't feel what you're feeling now.