Its the terror of knowing what this world is about, watching some good friends screaming let me out!
Crowley slowly realized that this was the third time he'd heard this song since he started driving. He pulled the Bentley over to the side
of the road, stepped out and slammed the door. He turned himself left, then right, and saw he hadn't stayed in London, or even on a paved
road. Crowley was on a dirt country road with darkened hills in the distance, with deafened Freddie and Bowie the only company. With a snap
of his fingers the music was gone. He didn't know what he was feeling. It was dull, with barely any energy behind it. looking up at then night sky,
he removed his glasses to see his work better. God got the credit but Crowley had designed it.
"I like that shiny blue bit, over there"
Crowley wrinkled his nose at the memory. Why hadn't he seen it over the millennia? Aziraphale enjoyed earth, but he loved being an angel.
'More then he loved me.' he thought bitterly. Crowley growled, and turned to his Bentley, his loyal car.
"I need to just, let him go, eh? Who needs him, an angel who can't...can't..."
A hopeful look at the Globe theatre
"Oh fine, my treat." "Oh really? Thank you"
"Crowley!" adoration turns to annoyance, in mid-revolution France.
"You go too fast for me." a meaningful look in 1960s London
Crowley gripped the car door handle, falling to his knees with a moan.
"I thought...i thought i was enough for him..." He now knew what this feeling was, not only anger but sadness and loss. It was pain. Even when he was punished for the Edenborough incident, even all of the fourteenth century, hadn't been as pure a pain as those three words of rejection from the angel he loved.
"...I forgive you." London, just hours ago.
and for the first time in over six thousand years, since he fell, the demon Crowleys face crumpled, he whimpered, and he cried.
Meanwhile, in Heaven...
the second coming was taking a lot of work, but it suited Aziraphale fine. Especially since Michael had to do whatever he said to do. He couldn't resist a persistent smile as the archangel would glance nervously at him from their presentation. it was around the eleventh glance that he wanted to chuckle, remembering the towel request he made when he impersonated...
The chuckle died in Aziraphales throat. Crowleys unbridled laughter when he was told about that miracle stayed in Aziraphales thoughts.
'No, I did the right thing' he admonished himself. The meeting broke, and as he swiped the meeting screen away Aziraphale couldn't stop his thoughts.
"I'm a demon...I lied" said with a slight shrug of shoulders in ancient Uz
"You can do proper magic!" distressed embarrassment in modern London
"A little demonic miracle of my own" casual pride during the blitz.
Alarmed at his rising emotions, he looked left and right. all open walls, and angels sparkling from holy light coming and going. He quietly rose from his desk, and started a brisk walk.
"Sir, could you sign this release please?" one principality asked.
"Of course." he paused long enough to etch his sigil, then gave a polite smile and continued his brisk walk to the stairwell. His breath came out shakily as he closed the door to the stairs. Finally alone, he tried to control his emotions as he always had. He hadn't made a mistake. Making heaven a better place meant earth would be a better place, and that was his given purpose in life. nothing wrong with purpose in the service of others. A sob uncontrollably left him. Then another, and another. then the tears came, unbidden and falling freely. He had wanted heaven, but Crowley had always been part of that wish.
Modern London. A crush of lips brings distress, and wanting.
"damn heaven," he cursed bitterly, "damn humans. damn..." he stopped from cursing himself, for ever coming back. Panic stops his sobs. Realizing he'll soon be missed, he miracles a wet cloth to wipe his face. Aziraphale takes some deep breaths, and leaves the stairwell with a plastered delighted smile on his face. He made his choice for good, and no matter what he can't turn his back on it now. For who else would have him now?
...this is ourselves, under pressure.