Stormy Love, Thunderous Hate
The demon Anthony J. Crowley has always had a love-hate relationship with storms.
He enjoyed it when the rain came down slowly and steadily, those all-day storms that turned the streets into an uncomfortable place to be while making the fireplace seem nicer than when the sun was out. He enjoyed spending those grey, groggy days with his angel curled up in front of fireplace with his angel, the sound of the flames crackling mixing with the steady rhythm of the rain falling on the window pane.
On the other hand, he absolutely hated thunderstorms. Hated how the thunder shook the room with a giant boom. He hated it because it reminded him too much of when he Fell: falling millions of miles downward, him possibly screaming in pain and fear though he wouldn't know it as the wind roared too loudly in his ear, the sonic boom that shook his entire being as he hit the earth, still falling through, only stopping when his skin and wings were seared by the boiling sulfur that made up most of Hell.
And while Crowley wasn't one to shirk from his fears, only hide behind his snark and sass (and alcohol when it was within arm's reach), violent thunderstorms usually had him curled up in a corner in his Mayfair flat, his wings drawn tightly around himself as he fought to keep himself centered in the present. He would clutch the closest plant like an anchor, shivering violently in time with the leaves as thunder boomed and rolled far into the day and sometimes into the night.
Crowley had the fortune of never being in the same vicinity as any massive storms, except on a few times when his luck ran out.
This story is about one of those times.
He had been hanging out with Aziraphale, as the two had been doing since the failed Armageddon, when the storm hit.
There hadn't been any warning, the sky being bright blue and clear for a majority of the day. But it had started to get a little windy and cloudy a little bit after the clock had struck noon. Pretty quickly, too quickly for Crowley, the sun was gone, hidden by the thick dark clouds. The thunder rolled in a little bit after that.
The demon, who had been laying bonelessly on Aziraphale's couch while the angel was reclined comfortably, his nose stuck in a book, sat straight up at the first rumble of thunder.
His breath caught in his throat as he struggled to maintain his chill façade. Azriaphale glanced up at the sound of thunder and towards the window. The white-blond haired angel hummed as he placed a bookmark in his book before standing. Crowley watched as his angel walked calmly to the window, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. His hands curled up tightly into a ball, his long fingernails digging into his palm, hoping that the pain would keep him grounded just a little longer.
"Looks like we've got quite a storm coming." Aziraphale muttered. The angel had removed his reading glasses from so he could see the gathering clouds a bit better. Crowley, still trying to get his fear under control, just nodded silently. Aziraphale winced a bit when a huge rumble of thunder, powerful enough to shake the room just a bit, while Crowley curled in on himself, barely able to clamp down on a whimper.
"Hmm." His angel hummed as the rain started to come down. "Seems that you'll be staying…...here."
Crowley, in fear of another rumble of thunder, had silently launched himself from the couch and scooting into a corner. He assumed the position, curling into a ball, bringing his wings out into the material world and bringing them to tightly around his body like a cocoon. The corner he had chosen was a hidden one, with a bookshelf half-hiding it. It was filled with dust-bunnies and spiderwebs, but Crowley didn't care.
He felt safe.
And that was all that mattered at the moment.
"Crowley?" Aziraphale called. The Principality was confused to say the least. For one moment, he had turned his back, curious to the nature of the storm that loomed over London's Soho, only to turn back and to see the couch that was once occupied by a wily demon empty.
At first, fear that Hell had come and kidnapped Crowley while his back was turned filled him. But that fear was quickly dismissed almost as soon as it had come up seeing how there were sigils around the bookshop set up specifically to keep any ethereal or occult beings out, other than Crowley and himself of course.
And in that moment, there had been no feeling that they were triggered in the few moments that his back was turn.
So, where did he go?
There was a flash of lighting followed by a ginormous BOOOOM! that shook the building and rattled the bookshelves startled Aziraphale enough for the angel to jump a bit. But as the thunder died down, the Principality heard a distinct sound of whimpering. His ears perked up as he started to scour the shadows hidden by the bookshelves.
Another rumble of thunder rolled over London, the rain coming down harder until it was almost impossible to see the other side of the street.
There was more whimpering, added with a choked sob that helped Aziraphale track his demon down to an undisturbed corner of the bookshop. He stumbled a bit to see Crowley, the most confident and suave being he had ever known, curled up with his wings pulled tightly around himself. Aziraphale could see the demon's shoulders shaking as he whimpered and sniffled, as though trying to keep from sobbing.
Seeing Anthony in such a state tugged at Aziraphale's heart. Softly and quietly, the angel knelt down, ignoring the dirt and dust that would no doubt stain the leg of his pants but not really caring as he wrapped his arms around Crowley comforting. The demon tensed, then in one fluid motion, was returning the angel's embrace. Crowley's lovely obsidian wings relaxed for a moment before wrapping around the two's midsection. Aziraphale removed his wings from the ethereal plane and into the material world before wrapping them around the upper half of the demon's half.
That's how the two spent the next hour and a half as the storm passed over London: kneeling on the floor in an embrace with their wings curled protectively around each other. Every time a rumble of thunder or a flash of lightning happened, Crowley would flinch, crying out and burrowing deeper and deeper into his angel's shoulder, sobbing as fear overtook him.
The demon didn't feel embarrassed. His fear, at least at that moment, overrode his embarrassment. He cried as the storm raged, jumping and sobbing even louder when large rumbles of thunder shook the building
He couldn't keep his mind from going back to a time long since passed, a time before even humans roamed the earth.
A time when he was the Creator of the Stars.
Crowley's fingers curled around Aziraphale's waistcoat as memories of him Falling, plummeting miles and miles and miles down, his once white wings burning black filled him.
His eyes, once a golden amber, would now turn a sickly yellow and slit like a snake.
His Grace and Divinity ripped away, leaving him with an empty feeling that he would look to fill with malice and hate.
Him slamming into the earth with a loud BAAANG that coincided with one final burst of thunder as the storm outside died a bit.
Crowley didn't know he was full-on sobbing until he felt Aziraphale's arms tightened around him a little bit more and his grip on the angel's waistcoat tore the seams just a little.
There wasn't a single complaint from the angel.
After a few minutes of complete silence, the last of the rain still falling in a steady beat and Crowley's sniffling were the only sounds to be heard in the bookshop. Aziraphale shifted a bit as he removed his wings to get a better look at the , his eyes glancing out the windows. He smiled when he saw the last of the storm clouds dissipate, allowing the sun to finally break through.
"Crowley, dear?" Aziraphale whispered. The demon was nodding off a bit, having cried himself almost to sleep. But he stirred at Aziraphale's soft, comforting whispering.
"The storm's over." Aziraphale shifted as the demon glanced up, the snake eyes swollen a bit from all the crying. Crowley blinked at the sight of the sun creeping through the glass, before snuggling right back into Aziraphale's shoulder. "What-"
"Just hold me a little longer?" Crowley's question was muffled by the fabric of the waistcoat, but Aziraphale heard it plain as day. The angel smiled softly, more than happy to oblige.
"Of course, dear."
A/N: not really liking how this ended, but whatta gonna to do? Hope everyone had a good start to the New Year.