A/N: This story is also posted on AO3. I would really like to use this version as a beta, I really need the feedback to make this story all that it can be. Please feel free to leave suggestions in the comments below. On another note, I wrote this after my feelings got destroyed by the end of season 2. I decided that I needed to hurt everyone else's feelings in order to make myself feel better. This story takes place immediately after the finale.
Six Thousand years doesn't feel like a long time when you are cursed with immortality. Really, it feels like it went by in the blink of an eye for all of the divine beings that had watched over Earth. Crowley, however, does not appreciate his immortality in this moment, or the last several moments. If one were to be perfectly candid, Crowley was very much beginning to regret the last six thousand years of his existence. Pain is something that Crowley is intimately familiar with, he was a Demon after all. It was something he specialized in after his little tumble from Heaven. In fact, the pain of the fall is the only thing he can seem to remember from that incident these days. It haunted his dreams when he allowed them, and he often found himself recalling it in the darker parts of the night when no one else was around. That pain is something that will never really go away no matter how long he lives. He was okay with it after a few hundred years. The pain simply became a part of who he was even if it would never fully go away. It was like having a wound that would never fully heal no matter how much time passed: healed but never cured. He had never expected that wound to reopen again. No, in his expansive life, Crowley had never thought that he could ever feel worse than the day he lost his home, but he was so very wrong.
When one lives with humans for so long, one learns a thing or two about what it means to feel. There was joy, rage, despair, hope, sadness, and uncertainty among a myriad of other emotions that humans experience throughout their short lives. Crowley had felt a great many of them, mostly those of the negative variety. Some of them he had rather enjoyed witnessing and experiencing: joy and uncertainty being his particular favorites. Crowley could still fondly recall the first time he felt joy. It had been in London in 1941, after the fiasco at the church with the Nazi buggers. The time in that odd little magic shop watching as he marveled at all of the hacky bits and bobbles. Seeing the look on… their face had been one of the only times that he had felt that unfamiliar warmth spread across his body. A warmth that made him feel whole, light even. All because of… well it doesn't truly matter what or who caused it. It wasn't the first time he had felt it but it was the first time he was able to put a name to it. Though Crowley would be loath to admit it, even to himself, the very same being was also responsible for his encounters with uncertainty. It was because of them that he began to question if there was a correct side to choose and fight for. Was it worth it to let the world end just because She said so? Because there was some Divine bloody Plan? They had made him question what was worth fighting for and protecting even if they hadn't meant to. They… he … had always been an avid rule follower after all. What were Divine Beings without rules after all? He was the reason that Crowley liked those emotions the best out of the whole lot. Crowley had only felt them, learned them because of him and the things that they had been through together. It seemed to be a particularly unique talent of his to make Crowley feel new things. However, at this exact moment, as Crowley raced his Bentley down the crowded streets of central London, he desperately fought an internal war to stop himself from feeling anything at all.
There was a searing ache in Crowley's chest, it scorched and ravaged his corporation like the infernal fire that permeated Hell. It seemed that the faster he tore through London, the faster that ache spread through his body. He might not realize it but Crowley was desperately trying to outrun what had just happened in the bookshop and, more specifically, what happened on the street directly after. It had only happened a few minutes ago but Crowley felt as though he had been driving for years, decades even. It all felt like a bad dream; not the human kind but rather the kind of ghoulish nightmares they used to punish the Damned souls. This was worse than Crowley's worst nightmare finally coming true. He thought he had experienced it when he thought that Aziraphale had been killed in the fire. It wasn't the idea that Aziraphale was dead dead but rather he had been discorporated and taken to a place that Crowley couldn't reach. It was truly terrifying when he thought that someone else had taken Aziraphale away from him when it wasn't Aziraphale's choice to leave. This time was different: the Angel had chosen to leave him behind this time. He had chosen to be Heaven's faithful puppet-in-charge rather than explore what they could have been together.
The city blurred around Crowley as he drove, that dreadful memory of being left behind clawed at his brain, but he couldn't stop. No, Crowley wouldn't stop until he was back at his flat, hidden away from the prying eyes of humanity, angels, and demons alike. In truth, his flat was still technically owned by the home office but he had a feeling that they wouldn't be checking in on him for a while. Gabriel and Beelzebub would hold their attention for a while longer, he was 'safe' for now. The normally short drive was done in less than half the time, desperation making Crowley speed more than he normally did. The brakes of his Bentley cried out as Crowley slammed it into park in his designated spot. He might be a Demon but he wasn't a dick. The Demon swung the door open and moved to step out, but his body had other plans. Before Crowley could catch himself, his legs gave out and he found himself crumpled on the pavement. The air raced out of his lungs as that ache he had been trying to ignore clawed its way into his throat and then behind his eyes. His heart was hammering a frantic beat, his pulse matching that rapid rhythm. This feeling was new, quite unfamiliar to him. He had never experienced this before. That ache turned into a burning that threatened to strangle the very life out of his corporation where it lay trembling on the pavement. Suddenly, something truly astonishing happened: small drops of water began to race from the corners of his eyes. Crowley's vision blurred as, what he could only assume were tears, began to overflow. Never in all of the millennia he had been on this someone-forsaken planet had he ever felt inclined to actually cry! He didn't particularly feel inclined now either but he wasn't inclined to stop it either. He raised a shaking hand to his face, wiping a hand through the ever-flowing tears. The light shimmered off of them in an almost ethereal way, it may have even looked like those tears on his fingertips were drops of water straight from Heaven.
A strangled laugh tore out of Crowley's throat as he dragged his hand across the ragged ground. He couldn't say what struck him as funny but there was something about those glittering tears that made his shriveled heartache in ways he had never felt. Maybe, one might be inclined to believe that he was amused by the thought of God robbing him of something else that he considered precious. Or perhaps, it was the feeling that he was finally, Blessedly, alone on this useless lump of rock. It doesn't matter, whatever he had found funny in that moment quickly turned sour in his mind. Crowley wasn't sure when the laugh had morphed itself into a wail, but it felt so very good. He screamed until his lungs finally gave out and his corporation demanded that he take in air or do away with the annoying need to breathe. After taking a few deep and ragged breaths, Crowley shakily pulled himself from the ground and snapped his fingers. In a flash, Crowley found himself half falling, half stumbling into one of the large houseplants he kept. The rim of the pot dug into his ribs as he crashed into it but he welcomed the sting of it. It certainly felt better than the burning in his chest and throat. Thankfully, his tears had subsided while he had screamed his anguish to the world but his face still felt raw from it. It would be simple enough for him to miracle away the pain he felt all over but he couldn't bring himself to. There was something that was cathartic about it all, like a balm for his shattered heart.
Crowley scrubbed a hand across his face as he pushed himself to stand, intending to make his way to the bar he kept in his kitchen. The burn of alcohol seemed like the perfect thing to counter the burning in his body. The only sound in the flat came from the soles of Crowley's snake-skin shoes as they slid across the granite floors. The plants didn't so much as flutter their leaves like they normally did when the Demon was home. The weight of Crowley's despair far outweighed their fear of him at this moment, not that he noticed their silence. It was like there was a haze wrapped around Crowley's brain that he couldn't break free of. It wasn't the kind of haze that came from indulging in too much alcohol like he planned to do, but rather the kind that comes after a life-altering event. Crowley didn't know it yet, but he would be stuck in that all-consuming fog for a great long while. He couldn't make out the surroundings of his flat right now even if he bothered to try, he was moving on autopilot. When he finally reached the kitchen, he made a quick turn to his right. There on the counter sat the bottles he always kept there for when he felt like drinking, which was most of the time. He could take the time to choose a specific bottle, but he didn't care. Crowley grabbed the first three full bottles that he could find and stomped off to his bed. That burning feeling hadn't gone away yet, merely gotten worse.
The cool sheets of his bed wrapped around him as Crowley shoved himself underneath them. A large array of pillows cushioned his back as he leaned into them, one of the bottles tipped against his lips. Normally, Crowley would take his time to savor the alcohol, he rather liked the taste of it. Now was not the time for savoring, no, now was the time for drunken oblivion.
' Please, whoever is listening, just let this all be a bad dream, ' Crowley pleaded silently as he drained the contents of the first bottle down his aching throat. A harsh breath left him as he dropped the empty bottle to the comforter. He didn't want to feel this way, didn't want to remember the Angel that made him feel this way. One might say that Crowley was being dramatic seeing as less than an hour had passed since he left the bookshop, but you would be wrong. His whole world was crashing down around him: there was nothing left to do but drink until he couldn't feel anything. Crowley closed his eyes as he started in on the second bottle. The scotch burned as it went down but he wouldn't stop until the bottle was empty or he passed out.
Crowley paced nervously in front of Aziraphale's desk. Warm sunlight filtered in through the window that faced the street, the ever-present dusted lazily floating within it. Adam had done a remarkable job at restoring the shop; everything was just as it had been before, even the dust. Nina and Maggie were chattering at him about needing to talk to Aziraphale about their partnership… relationship? They wanted them to actually talk to each other about their feelings and what they wanted from each other. More specifically, they wanted Crowley to start that conversation. He wasn't exactly good at expressing the things that he felt or what he wanted, especially when it came to himself. It wasn't like he could tempt himself into doing it either, which would have been a much simpler solution. Yet, it had to be done. They needed to know what they really were to each other after all of this time. Crowley hardly noticed when the two women left with knowing smiles on their faces. Aziraphale had walked in just a moment later, practically vibrating where he stood. It was adorable when the Angel was excited about something: he would bounce on his heels and smile like an utter fool. Crowley smirked at the thought of calling Aziraphale adorable. Perhaps he could finally act on calling Aziraphale adorable, handsome, suave, or all-together lovely. There was nothing that could keep them apart after the stunt that Gabriel and Beelzebub had pulled. What would the two of them be compared to their runaway leaders? The answer was simple; they were nothing. Gloriously nothing. All of this was contingent on Aziraphale agreeing with him, feeling the same way. Crowley bristled at that particular thought. Was there a chance that Aziraphale didn't feel the same way that he did after all of their years together, their time? No, Crowley wouldn't allow himself to think about that possibility until after he had said what he needed to.
"Look… I've got something to say," Crowley started, trying to shake his sudden nervousness, " I know we ought to be talking about... It's probably best if I start off doing all the talking, you do all the listening, 'cause if I don't start talking now, I won't ever start talking, right? Yes, so…" Crowley plowed forward but he didn't get far before Aziraphale let out an excited huff, effectively cutting him off.
"What is that lovely human expression? Oh, yes! Hold that thought!" Aziraphale giggled as he took a few quick steps to stand closer to Crowley.
Crowley smiled shakily and tried again, "You see, I…"
"I have some incredibly good news to give you!" Aziraphale all but squealed, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. Crowley wanted so badly to say what he had on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't find it in himself to deny Aziraphale.
"Really." Crowley ground out, anxiety beginning to crawl its way up his throat. This was not going the way that he wanted.
"... um... So, um... the Metatron, you know, I don't think he's as bad a fellow... Well, I think I might've misjudged him." Aziraphale fidgeted with his expertly manicured hands. It was clear that whatever the 'Voice of God' had told the Angel was important. "You see, I... Well, he said, um, that Gabriel obviously hadn't worked out... as Supreme Archangel and Commander of the Heavenly Host, and he asked who I thought should take over in Heaven now that Gabriel was gone. And I said…"
Crowley stood in stunned silence as Aziraphale recounted the conversation that he had just had with overly animated gestures and voices. It was clear to Crowley that he was not going to like the end of this story, not even a little. Aziraphale continued, occasionally glancing at Crowley. It didn't surprise him all that much when Aziraphale mentioned how the Metatron wanted him to take Gabriel's place as Head Stooge in Heaven. Aziraphale was a natural leader, firm in his beliefs, and all around the perfect Angel, in Crowley's expert opinion. For a moment, Crowley was scared that Aziraphale would accept, but those worries were wiped away when Aziraphale mentioned his refusal to return to Heaven. Hope burned in Crowley's chest like an unholy beacon. He was surprised that Aziraphale didn't notice the gentle glow that radiated from Crowley. However, that hope faded just as quickly as it appeared. The Angel spoke so fast at the end that Crowley had thought that he had misheard him. He thought he had heard Aziraphale say…
"He said what?" Crowley started. There was no way in Heaven or Hell that Crowley would ever want that again. Not after what God had done to him, everything that he lost in the fall.
'Didn't Aziraphale know that? He can't expect me to be excited to go back to Her after what She did to me,' Crowley thought as he watched the Angel gear up to say it again.
"He said I could appoint you to be an angel. You could come back to Heaven and... and everything, like the old times. Only, even nicer." There was a tone of desperation underneath all of the excitement. So, Aziraphale did know that Crowley wouldn't want to. The Demon tensed at the thought, his fingers digging into the upholstery of the chair he was clinging to.
"Right." Crowley's tone was clipped, harsh, "And you told him just where he could stick it, then?"
"Not at all." Confusion briefly flashed across Aziraphale's face, before morphing into indignation.
'Don't look at me like that! You know what you're asking me to do and you think that you have the right to be upset with me?!' Crowley itched to bark at the Angel, but his nature got the better of him.
"Oh, we're better than that, you're better than that Angel," Crowley hissed at Aziraphale. The hurt that he saw on the Angel's face didn't bring him any satisfaction like it might have if it was someone else. The distinct feeling of an invisible knife being shoved into his chest was a swift reminder that being harsh to the Angel wasn't going to get him anything at this moment, but he couldn't stop himself. There was a reason he was a Demon after all and Demons seldom forget their nature.
They continued their back and forth for a while, biting remarks against desperate pleas. Crowley was trying his worst to get Aziraphale to drop the subject and realize that neither of their home bases was good for them. Aziraphale didn't seem to care, he continued to try and convince Crowley that this was the best thing that could have happened. The Angel truly believed that they could change things but he couldn't see the bigger picture or what was truly at stake if they said yes. They were going around in circles and tempers were beginning to rise.
"Right. I didn't get a chance to say what I was going to say, I think I'd better say it now Right, okay, yes, so," Crowley released a heavy sigh, raking a hand through his hair, "We've known each other a long time. We've been on this planet for a long time. I mean, you and me. I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me. We're a team, a group. Group of the two of us. And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't. I mean, the last few years, not really. And I would like to spend…" Crowley growled, choking on what he wanted to say, "I mean, if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can. Just the two of us. We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell, they're toxic. We need to get away from them, just be an us. You and me, what do you say?" Crowley didn't remember moving to stand in front of Aziraphale, but there he was, desperately staring into his Angel's eyes awaiting an answer.
Aziraphale's already snowy skin had paled to a near-sickly color, confusion and fear playing across his features. The Angel took a shuddering breath, squared his jaw, and continued his onslaught,
"Come with me… to Heaven. I'll run it and you can be my second in command." Aziraphale pleaded, moving to close the distance between the two of them. As Aziraphale advanced, Crowley fled backward subconsciously trying to escape the ugly feelings rising within him. After everything, all of those millennia, Aziraphale still clung to some hope that Heaven was good and honest. Crowley couldn't believe what he was hearing. It couldn't be real. A dull ache started in his chest as if someone had gripped his heart and started to squeeze it. This isn't what he had wanted, not where the talking was supposed to go.
"You can't leave this bookshop," The excuse sounded lame even to Crowley, but he couldn't say what he meant. No, Crowley couldn't tell Aziraphale that he didn't want the Angel to leave him behind.
"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale sighed, something akin to pity lighting in his eyes, "Nothing lasts forever."
Crowley stood ramrod straight at that statement, his typical mask of disinterest slamming down on his features. That was the final straw, the words that finally broke Crowley to his core. Aziraphale didn't say it directly but the true meaning was there right below the surface. They couldn't last forever, the life that they had carefully crafted over the last decade couldn't last. Nothing was meant to stay the same but Crowley had desperately wanted things to.
"No," Crowley said thoughtfully, "No, I don't suppose it does. Good luck." Without waiting to see if the Angel would reply, Crowley angrily stalked for the door of the bookshop. He intended to leave before any more damage could be done to their relationship or his poor aching heart. He would rather Aziraphale felt that Crowley abandoned him like the Demon he was meant to be instead of the other way around. If it meant that Crowley had to be the villain, then so be it. Aziraphale quickly turned to chase after Crowley. There was a brief moment, one that Crowley hadn't noticed, where Aziraphale reached out to grab his hand and pull him back. However, Aziraphale stopped himself, choosing to root himself to the floor and fidget with his hands again, tugging at the tailored cuffs of his sleeves.
"Good luck? Crowley!" Aziraphale cried, anguish lacing through each syllable of the Demon's name, "Crowley, come back, to Heaven. Work with me! We can be together," there was a pause in which neither of them moved a single muscle. Crowley stood frozen a few feet from the door and Aziraphale just a few feet behind him, "Angels… doing good."
Crowley had wanted to hear those words for so long now even if he hadn't realized it until today. He wanted them to be together: working or simply living together, it didn't matter. The only thing that stopped him from turning around in that moment to embrace the Angel and miracle them away was the whole bit about having to be an Angel again. Good Satan, Aziraphale didn't want to be anything more than they already were and Crowley couldn't handle it anymore. It didn't matter that they didn't want the same thing, but rather that Aziraphale wanted Crowley to change. Crowley couldn't change who he was at his core any more than Aziraphale could. The difference was that Crowley didn't want that silly bastard to change, he loved him just as he was, feathers and all. Yes, love. Crowley knew it in the very seat of his soul that he loved his Angel more than anything in Creation, it just took him a while to realize it. Then, the Angel said something that utterly shattered Crowley.
"I… I need you!" Aziraphale rasped, his words caught somewhere between whining and pleading. Oh, Crowley shuttered at those words. In a different reality, those words would have wrapped around his soul and bound him where he stood, but in this moment they broke his heart even further, " I don't think you understand what I'm offering you."
"I understand," Crowley turned to face the Angel again, his glasses tilted just enough to show his eyes, "I understand a whole lot better than you do."
"Well," Aziraphale calmed his face into stone, "then there is nothing more to say."
Crowley glared, "Listen. Do you hear that?"
The silence that stretched between them was tense, ready to snap and send deadly splinters in all directions
"I don't hear anything!" Aziraphale's composure cracked and his fidgeting started again. It was clear to Crowley that the Angel was frustrated with how their conversation had turned out.
'Good. Maybe you'll understand what I'm feeling,' Crowley thought as he continued to stare the Angel down, his eyes never leaving Aziraphale's face.
"That's the point. No Nightingales," Crowley gestured angrily to the world that lay just outside the walls, "You idiot. We could have been… us."
Realization dawned on Aziraphale's face, the pieces finally clicking into place. There was no joy or excitement or a hint of relief coming from the Angel. He gave no response to the Demon as they watched each other from their respective spots. Neither of them wanted to make the next move. A delicate balance had been erected for just a moment, that left the two Divine Beings with equally broken hearts. Yet, this could not last, the scale had to be tipped. Crowley couldn't take it any longer, he would just have to show the Angel what he meant. Words weren't enough anymore. This could be his only chance before everything came to a burning halt.
'Damn it all straight to Heaven. It's now or never,' this was the only thought Crowley had before he charged straight for the Angel. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by the shoulder, turned him to face him, gripped his lapels, and brought their lips together.
For Crowley, nothing had ever felt better than the softness of Aziraphale's lips against his own. They were even softer than he had expected. He would happily stay like this until the world ended and they were the only things left on this planet. If he could, Crowley would say that this is what Heaven was meant to feel like; perfect.
Crowley was relentless in his passion, he poured all of his love and heartbreak into the kiss, slanting his mouth over the Angel's. Aziraphale was both tense and relaxed against him, his arms skating over Crowley's back. Those perfectly manicured hands switched from holding the Demon tightly to trying to pull away. It was like the Angel was trying to fight against his own desires rather than push the offending Demon away. They melted into one another for a moment before being forced apart like the same sides of a magnet. Their mouths moved together, desperately chasing after each other when the other seemed like they might pull away. Although Crowley wasn't sure if he had imagined it, he could have sworn he had heard Aziraphale moan as he pulled away finally bringing their kiss to an end.
Between their harsh breathing and shaking hands, Crowley and Aziraphale gazed into each other's eyes, searching for answers to their unspoken questions. Their unspoken words hung in the air like storm clouds right before the downpour. The silence that had stretched on was finally broken as Aziraphale let out a shaky breath. The Angel looked as though he might cry and Crowley started to raise a hand to stroke his face, offering a small comfort. That melancholy look didn't last and quickly morphed into righteous anger.
"I… I forgive you," Aziraphale seethed, his delightfully soft lips set into a harsh line.
Crowley almost laughed, "Don't bother."
Without another word between them, Crowley stalked out of the shop with tears in his eyes. Luckily, those tears were hidden behind dark sunglasses. Aziraphale, sagged against a bookshelf, a trembling hand brushing across his lips. The Angel let a single, lonely tear roll down his rosy cheek before he sensed an Angelic presence approaching. Now was not the time for tears. No, the tears would come when they were both finally alone.
Crowley shot straight up in his bed, a cold sweat slicking his skin. The pain that had tormented him before he accidentally fell asleep crashed into him like a tidal wave. The Demon clawed at his chest, attempting to stop the agony to no avail.
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck," Crowley sobbed into the dark, emptiness of his flat, tears began to roll down his face again. Crowley brought his hands to his head, clutching his hair as he rolled onto his side, curling around himself. Broken sobs filtered into the night as Crowley lay there, wrapped in his silken sheets. Aziraphale had left him behind, rejected the fragile thing that he had laid at his feet. His beloved Angel had chosen power over his love, and Satan, that had hurt him like nothing else ever had. Below the sadness was a deep well of bitterness and anger that surged, demanding to be released to seek their vengeance. Vengeance on the man who had hurt Crowley so deeply and profoundly that he might never recover. For the first time in his long existence, Crowley did not give in to his need for violence, instead, he grabbed one of the pillows from his bed and buried his face in it. The tears came for what seemed like hours, the pillows in his arms thoroughly soaked with their salt. According to humans, crying was supposed to be a cathartic experience. It was supposed to make him feel better and wash away his pain, but it didn't. No, the pain intensified until there was no part of Crowley's body that didn't radiate with it. From the tips of his toes to the top of his tangled red hair throbbed with the hurt of a broken heart. Slowly, as air returned to his lungs and the tears dried from his eyes, Crowley shifted until he was leaning against his headboard. In the quiet that followed his outburst, Crowley did something that he hadn't done in a very, very long time; he prayed. He didn't know who he was praying to, he just wished that someone would answer and take away his heartache. With his hands firmly clasped in front of him, Crowley lowered his head in reverence and waited. Like always, no one answered.
Somewhere in the pristine white halls of Heaven's main office, an Angel felt himself be called upon for aid. He almost didn't notice it because he was so engrossed with the mountain of paperwork. It was the first time in nearly a millennium that someone had prayed to him specifically. Aziraphale had always cherished the few that he had gotten, they made him feel special. It warmed his heart to know that someone had thought that he was important enough to reach out to in their time of need. And he was more than happy to oblige them, when he could that is, as long as their request was within reason. Excitement fluttered in Aziraphale's chest as he made himself comfortable in his chair, preparing himself to listen. Without much extra thought, the Angel tuned into the prayer, only mostly listening as he started to sift through a stack of reports.
Please, please come back… I can't do this without him. Please, whoever is listening, give him back to me. Take whatever you want from me, I don't care anymore. He doesn't have to love me… I just… I need him…
Papers scattered across the desk as Aziraphale froze in his place, despair gripping his heart in its icy claws. He recognized the voice that called to him better than his own, he had been hearing it for the last six thousand years. Dear Lord, it was like a knife directly to the heart as he continued to listen. Never, in all of their time had Aziraphale ever heard Crowley beg for something. The demon hadn't even begged when he was cast out from Heaven, he had simply accepted the consequence. Now it seemed as though things had changed. After everything that had happened to Crowley, Aziraphale going back to Heaven is what had broken him... He had broken him. The tears that the Angel hadn't let himself cry earlier now cascaded down his face in an unrelenting stream. There was a bitter ache in his chest that he had dutifully ignored in the face of everything he had thrown at him today. Aziraphale had felt guilty about leaving Crowley on Earth but now that guilt was all-consuming. That ache and the guilt wouldn't be ignored anymore, not after what he had just heard. It blossomed across his body, ravaging every atom of his being, until Aziraphale was folding in on himself, tucking himself deeper into his overly plush office chair. For a while, Aziraphale sat there, letting himself feel everything he had pushed down throughout the day. It felt so good to let it out, but so awful to think about what had brought him to this depressing state.
"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered as the Demon's prayer faded, "Please, please forgive me."
Demons couldn't receive prayers but Aziraphale hoped that against all odds, Crowley might hear him.