Chapter Text
Aziraphale and Crowley knew each other basically all their life. Despite their obvious differences, the two did share a lot of views. Neither of them were fully good or evil, they were more likely a bit of both, somewhere in the middle. Their parents were enemies since they were rivals on the market, but they lived next to each other in the good neighbourhood of the city.
The summer of Aziraphale`s and Crowley`s first university year came to an end and Crowley missed his best friend whom he didn’t have a chance to see at all in those free weeks. He didn’t exactly know where Aziraphale went, but he certainly didn’t expect him to return like that. When the once so bubbly and bright young man returned on the first day of the semester, looking all down and being quiet, it is an understatement to say that Crowley was worried. Aziraphale came not only way to late to the first lecture, he didn’t turn up for the second at all. The only thing indicating he noticed Crowley, was a short glance and a nod with a weak smile when he came into the room, he left just as quickly as he came in. Crowley didn’t even have the chance to call out his name because Aziraphale already left. Any texts he sent him were ignored. Every call he attempted was declined. After a whole week of this behaviour Crowley`s worry slowly turned into anger. What was wrong with his Angel. Why was he gone all summer and now came back with such strange behaviour. Why can’t he just reply to his texts. It makes him feel so rejected and hurt, he had no other chance then to pay him a visit, when he didn’t show up on the next Monday at all.
Crowley rang the bell of Fell Manor and was nicely led in by a maid. He made his way up the stairs to Aziraphale`s room, knocking gently on his door.
“Angel? It’s me, Crowley. Can I come in?”
Silence.
“Hey, I don’t know what is the matter with you and why you are acting all strange since summer, but I tell you that i certainly am hurt. Why didn’t you tell me you wouldn’t be home all summer? Why did I only got informed through a maid when i wanted to visit you? Why are you acting all strange?”, Crowley sighs. “I’m worried Aziraphale. I am deeply worried and hurt. I can clearly see something is wrong, but it hurts that you wont let me in and talk to me. Just bloody talk to me!” Crowley hits the door with his fist and takes a few breaths. “Can i come in?”
Silence.
Crowley anger rises and he balls his fist. “Answer me”, he hisses. “Fucking answer me!”, he yells now, taking heavy breaths in and out.
“Leave”
Crowley´s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
“I said leave!” Aziraphales screams from behind the door.
Crowley hits the door again with his fist. “Fine”, he hisses. “But don’t wonder if there is no one left, when you push everyone away.”
He stomps away, going back home and slamming his door to his room, before he throws himself onto his bed and screams into his pillow. He is just so frustrated. He wants to scream and cry and he wants to…he wants to hug his best friend tightly and tell him that he missed him. He wants to cup his cheeks and take in his scent. He wants to see those damn beautiful eyes with the sparkle in them. Putting his arm over his face, Crowley begins to cry. Why does he have to miss him so much. Why does it hurt so much.
That day Crowley cried himself to sleep.
——————————————————————
The summer wasn’t entirely joyful for Aziraphale. His actual intention was to spend as much time as possible with Crowley -beautiful, kind and smart Crowley- but his father had apparently other plans. So when he woke up to a packed bag and an angry father on the first day of the summer break, he was really confused.
His father acted strange since the death of his mother three years ago. He rarely talked to Aziraphale anymore, not that they have talked much before, but it still reduced a significant amount. Most days he was ignored and sometimes he was insulted. Aziraphale blamed the alcohol to whom his father turned to a lot more than usual. His father always had addiction problems, but ever since his mother´s death it got way worse.
His father wanted him to go to his aunt for two weeks without any reasons, so he went, without any questions. Aziraphale was never someone who questioned his fathers orders, always scared of punishment or being disappointing.
The two weeks weren’t really exciting. His aunt was rarely home so he was left mostly alone. Nothing new. He was always alone. Always. Except for when he was with Crowley. That was the best time. He deeply wanted to talk or chat with his best friend, but strangely enough his aunts home didn’t have any internet or telephone at all. So he was alone with his thoughts and the strange art books that belonged to his aunt. He tried to read them, but they were really eccentric and erotic in a way. Nothing Aziraphale really enjoyed so he preferred to think or write his own texts, mostly in his diary. But there wasn’t much he could write down since nothing happened so it left him only being alone with his thoughts.
It was never good for him to be alone with his thoughts. They mostly dragged him down and he ended up doing things he doesn’t like talking about. Things like hurting himself or not eating. The bitter sweet feeling of pain at least made him feel something. It felt in a way good like he had a purpose and it kept him and his thoughts occupied when he wanted to get rid of the lonely feeling. It sort of exited him, the blood, the hiding, everything. Aziraphale knew it was wrong so he swore to himself to never tell a breathing soul, but it felt so good. Each single time. He didn’t feel regret after it, it was just relieve and a short period of joy. And since no one would see him naked or some sort he could do whatever he wanted to.
The eating was something else though. Some days he just could not stop eating, other days he wanted to vomit just at the mere thought of food. His food choices weren’t really healthy as well. Cooking was too exhausting and grocery shopping was a sensory and socially hell. He could ask the family’s maids to cook him something, but he didn’t like asking for things because it felt like he was needy therefore he relied mainly on fast food on the days he ate. Different from the self harm, he felt an incredible amount after every time he ate something. Aziraphale had to pull all his strength together to not make himself vomit after each and every meal.
All in all the two weeks with his artistic aunt led Aziraphale to make art of his own body. He saw himself as a kind of canvas on which he painted with red, sometimes blue or purple and occasionally yellow. He also lost quiet an amount of weight. Not that he cared though.
He looked eagerly forward to come back home so he could finally see Crowley and talk to him. He just missed him so much and couldn’t wait to call him when he got home.
That never happened.
The first thing that happened when he took his first step at home, was a yelling fit of his father.
“Why are you here?! Who allowed you to come back you little shit?!” His father slurred and pointed an angry finger at Aziraphale. Aziraphale gulped and tried to walk upstairs, hoping that ignoring his father would help. Wrong choice.
His father grabbed him harshly by the arm and yanked him back. The grip hurt and the pull as well. His heart felt like it wanted to break out of his body, his breath hitched. He tried to be as still as possible to not provoke his father any further.
“Who do you thunk you are?! Strutting down the hall as if you are better than everyone else.”, he spat on the floor. “You are nothing”
Aziraphale takes in a shaky breath.
“I…I´m sorry. I…I didn’t intend to offend you. I…I…”
“I..I…What the fuck is wrong with you.?!” His fathers grip tightens on his arm and the other hand slaps him hard across the face. “You can’t even speak properly”, he huffs “You little fuck up. You are nothing and you will never be anything. Can’t even bring a girl back home”, he laughs cruelly and shoves him to ground hard.
Aziraphale freezes and fights the urge to crawl into a ball, fearing that any wrong move could provoke his father even more. He doesn’t look into his fathers eyes, trying to hold back the incoming tears.
“Look at me when I am talking to you, you ungrateful brat!”
Aziraphale looks up with red eyes.
His father laughs again. “Tut, Tut. Does the little baby have to cry now? Oh you poor little boy, run to your mama…” His fathers face darkens “Oh right, she is dead. She is fucking dead. And do you know who’s fault it is?” He kneels down and pulls Aziraphale up bis his collar.
“It’s my fault” Aziraphale croaks out and looks down again.
“Yes it is.” The first punch comes down, striking his face. The second goes into his stomach. The third into his jaw. Aziraphale lost count after that and just let it happen. He accepted his faith. He came back to realisation hours after it. His father already collapsed into bed and the sky was dark.
Aziraphale shakily stands up. His knees wobble as he tries to drag himself up to his room. Everything hurts, everything bleeds, everything is too much.
When he reached his room he collapsed on the floor, just laying down and staring into the void. He doesn’t even have the energy to cry anymore. He lies and wait for the darkness to get him. It doesn’t take long and he is asleep.
He didn’t call Crowley that night.
The next day wasn’t much better. Aziraphale woked up on the cold floor, feeling every muscle and every injury on his body. His nose must be broken, his rips must be severely bruised if not broken and most of his cuts must have opened last night. His head throbs with pain as he tries to stand up. Everything is blurry for a few seconds and he thought he will just collapse again, but he didn’t. He sat down on bed and tried to pull of his blood-soaked trouser. He quickly pulls it of, opening all the deep gashes and cuts on his thighs which opened the prior night and dried together with the cloths of his trouser.
Azuiraphale hissed and watched the blood running down his leg. He quickly cleaned them and put a bandage on each thigh. He put on a loose jogger.
His upper body was a whole different story. Everything just hurt so much, he couldn’t even get out of his shirt and waistcoat. Therefore he began to clean the blood of his face and took a short glance at his nose which gladly did not look like it would heal in a strange angle. He sighed and cautiously laid down in his bed. He did not leave his room that day. He did not eat that day. He did not call Crowley that day.
The following weeks weren’t much different. If his father did not hurt him, it was Aziraphale who did. His wounds healed quickly but the pain was omnipresent. At least he felt something, he thought.
The days went by in a blur. Azirapahle was not really present anymore. Nothing seemed real and everything was so distant. He did not even have the energy to text Crowley anymore. Not like he could. His father smashed his phone when Aziraphale used it on one of the rare nights they had dinner together. He spent most days just being in bed and staring into the void.
When one day a maid came to inform him that a worried Crowley waited outside, he dismissed her, telling her to say Crowley he wasn’t home. The same thing happened three days later and a weeks later and three weeks later. Eventually Crowley gave up. So did Aziraphale.
Aziraphale stopped everything. He stopped eating altogether. He stopped talking and he stopped standing up from bed, expect for the occasional meeting with a razor blade. Everything was dull and gray and nothing mattered anymore. He wanted to die. He really did. So he went down in the big living room where once again his drunk and high father was and said:
“Kill me”
His father turned to look at him with a furious look.
“Oh you want me to kill you? Because you can’t do it yourself…” His father laughed once again. “You don’t deserve to die. You deserve to live and experience all that pain that you caused. You deserve to feel every ounce of regret and you deserve every pain you receive.”
That night Aziraphale was beaten unconsciously. He was one week at the hospital. He did not contact Crowley.
The rest of the summer break wasn’t very different.
On his first day of Uni Aziraphale slept in. He fell asleep shortly before his alarm and didn’t hear it.
When he saw Crowley his heart went into his stomach. He wanted to cry and run to him. He wanted Crowley to hug him and tell him everything is alright. He wanted to smell his scent and hear his soothing voice, but he just couldn’t. He knew if he looked too long, he would break down, so he shot him a short glance, nodded briefly in acknowledgement and fled the lecture right when it ended. Aziraphale did not return for the second lecture, afraid of facing Crowley.
The next days weren’t much different. The weekend was once again hell. His father was in a particular bad mood. Apparently he was on withdrawal of morphine and drunk so there was that. Aziraphale did not know that being choked could feel so…threatening. He did not return on Monday or Tuesday or for the rest of the week, not wanting to let everyone see the bruises on his neck. When Crowley came by to visit him, Aziraphale had to pull every ounce of strength in him together, to send him away. Oh how he wished to talk to Crowley. His Crowley.
Aziraphale cried himself to sleep that night.