Did It Hurt When You Fell?
Hello again! Sorry I’ve been gone for a while, been kind of busy! Anyway, here’s another aziracrow fic, because if you can’t tell I love this ship oof. I also love writing about Crowley’s fall, soooo. This fic is based off of @evilsausageflavouredpretzel ‘s post, which is here.
There’s kind of a trigger warning? I want to put it just in case:
Descriptions of mutilation.
Please don’t read if any of these trigger you.
Someone once hit on Crowley with the line “did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?”.
He kept it together for just long enough to get back home and then had a breakdown.
He yelled at his plants. Pulled at his wings. Screamed. Cried. Relived that moment again and again and again.
It wasn’t till Aziraphale turned up, hours later, that he was finally able to ground himself.
Crowley sat in a bar, an hour before he was supposed to meet with Aziraphale for lunch, sipping at his rum and coke to pass the time. He had decided to only have one, as he would probably be drinking wine with Aziraphale at his bookshop later like they usually did these days.
Someone slid into the stool next to him, leaning toward the demon, elbow on the counter.
“Hey there,” He said. The demon glanced at the human, then turned back to the bar, unfazed.
“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”
Crowley froze, glass halfway to his lips, the liquid sliding against the shape of the cup. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe, all of it hitting him at once. He never really dealt with it, you know. Just stomped the trauma down deep inside himself, nestled right in his ribcage where it grew and grew, and now it just exploded inside him, because of a pickup line.
But Crowley couldn’t force him to laugh it off or shrug it off. He had to get out, get out, away from the pain and the memories before it tore him apart.
Without responding, Crowley downed the rest of his drink and pushed away from the bar quickly. He had to get out, he couldn’t stand it.
He stumbled out to his car, opening the door and hitting the gas so hard his head hit the back of the car seat as he took off in his Bentley.
He felt tears, tears, make themselves known as he drove. He couldn’t make them stop, so he just drove and drove until he made it home, stumbling inside the flat and closing the door, leaning against the frame.
Do you know what Crowley remembered the most vividly about the Fall? The smell. Not the pain, but the odor of death and sulfur and salt and evil that engulfed everything, that became his world. He Fell for days, for eons. Or maybe it was just hours. But the smell. It was so distinct and strong it seemed to become part of Crowley, melding into his skin and his clothes, his hair and every atom of his body. It stung his nose and made his eyes water. He hated the smell the most.
Then there was the pain, the feeling of Falling. It burned, burned like someone was just pouring hot lava all over you. Not just outside but inside, erasing every bit of Holiness from him, from his very essence. His eyes burned like acid as they melted from green to yellow and black. His feathers didn’t fall, both of his wings did, forcing themselves to detach from his body, ripping skin and flesh and part of his soul away. The grew back, pushing past raw, bleeding flesh as black as a hole in space. His entire back burned and ached for weeks after.
How he saw the world changed, too. He couldn’t, couldn’t, see the world as good and bad, as right and wrong. He could only see it as people trying their best, people being curious, people who obeyed, disobeyed, fought, cried, loved, existed. Pure and simple.
His entire being changed, the moment he fell into the pit of sulfur and lost everything, his home. They deemed him Crawley, the snake, meant to drive humanity to sin.
But he couldn’t be what they wanted, just like he couldn't be what Heaven wanted.
Crowley fell against the door, tears streaming down his face without his permission, without his consent. He screamed, yelling at his plants as he crossed the room.
“GROW BETTER! BE BETTER! DON’T SCREW UP LIKE I DID! DON’T--”
He collapsed in his chair, hugging his sides as he curled up. He didn’t even notice how his wings were out.
His yellow eyes stared at the things. He suddenly hated them even more than before, their deep dark color mocking him louder, screaming at him how much of a failure he really is.
He tore at the feathers, ripping them out in tufts. Blood and feathers fell on the floor in pools, his hands covered in the deep red substance.
“All I ever did was ask questions!” Crowley wailed, letting his hands fall, worn out. “I just wanted to know why. Why create humanity just it destroy it? For amusement? For a reason to go to war? Why is it so bad to ask?”
Crowley fell to the floor, weak with exhaustion and anguish. He laid there for Satan knows how long, tears still streaming down his face, his self-hatred still burning in his ribcage, blood and feathers still littering the floor.
He heard the door open but didn’t dare get up.
Aziraphale stood at the door, gaping at the sight of Crowley. His heart immediately broke and his eyes widened in worry at the sight of him, covered in blood and feathers, crying.
The demon had missed their usual date, and the angel had gotten worried. He thought Crowley might have been too drunk to think straight, as he never missed a lunch date.
“Crowley!” The angel rushed toward the demon, kneeling next to him carefully.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley muttered, remembering the lunch date. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry--”
“My dear boy, what happened to you?”
Crowley closed his eyes, tears threatening to fall again. “I did, the Fall did...”
Aziraphale softly cradled Crowley’s head in his hands. He couldn’t miracle this away, he might do more harm than good.
“Oh, love. Let me help you.”
He gently lifted the demon, who hissed in pain. Aziraphale heart lurched at the sight of Crowley’s wings, wanting so badly to miracle the pain away.
“I don’ deserve you, angel. I’m sorry you have me, I’m sorry--”
Aziraphale quieted him softly. “Save your breath, dear.”
He laid him down in the tub, now miracled full with hot water. Crowley gasped as the water hit his fresh wounds. He gripped the edge of the tub in pain, closing his eyes. Aziraphale rubbed his arm. “I’m sorry, love. I have to clean these wounds.”
He grabbed a rag and gently ran it down the demon’s wings. Crowley hissed and yelped, arching his back.
Once the angel was done, he miracle bandages into his hand and wrapped Crowley’s wings up, the blood already starting to soak them.
“Alright, dear. Up you go.”
He helped the demon out of the tub and made him sit on the bed, laying on his stomach. His mutilated wings draped on each side of him, hanging heavily.
“Talk to me,” The angel said firmly.
Crowley shook his head. “S’stupid.”
“It’s not stupid if you’re doing this to yourself, Crowley!” Aziraphale insisted. “This is serious! I’m worried about you, dear.”
Crowley didn’t respond, but Aziraphale waited.
“A man came, at a bar I was at. Asked me if it hurt when I fell from Heaven,” His breath hitched. “It all just...came crashing down on me.”
The demon looked down. “I asked questions. Heaven didn’t like it. I didn’t deserve to fall. But I did anyway. It hurt, more than you can know.”
“I was cast out of the only home I’ve ever known, into another place where I didn’t really fit it. I didn’t fit well in heaven either, but it was all I knew.”
Aziraphale squeezed the demon’s hand, listening like he always did.
“I’ve...hated myself ever since. For asking too many questions. I don’ deserve someone like you, angel. I don’t deserve...this.”
Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s chin so the demon looked him in the eyes. “Crowley,” He began. “You are so in the wrong. You deserve everything you have here. You didn’t deserve to fall, to feel pain like that, love. But you do deserve happiness, content.”
“Who knows who I would’ve been without you, dear. You taught me to question, and we saved the world because of it. You care, Crowley. And that makes you deserving of what you have right now, and more. I would not be me without you, dear.”
Crowley was crying again. “How can you love me? A demon? Scum of the earth, Aziraphale? How can you think--”
“I don’t think, dear. I know. Crowley, it is I that don’t deserve you.”
Aziraphale kissed the demon on the lips, proving his words true in just a small touch, lip to lip.
“Please, promise me you won’t do this too yourself again.”
Crowley paused and nodded. “I won’t, angel.”
Aziraphale sighed deeply, laying down next to the demon.
And Crowley finally felt at peace.
!!! I hope this was okay. I really liked the prompt and was inspired to write more about Crowley’s fall, because I like thinking about different ways Crowley could have fallen. :) Anyway, thanks for reading!
