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Chapter Text

"The Fallen Angel" by Alexandre Cabanel

          In the history of the world, at least from My perspective, there have been very few true tragedies. The Oceangate implosion in 2023 was easily preventable and the ludicrosity of capitalism, and therefore not tragic. The Black Death was the fault of people shitting in buckets and throwing it out the window, despite plumbing being invented one-thousand years earlier, and therefore not tragic. Slavery, the World Wars, and Elvis's murder by the US Government were all tragedies because neither Heaven or Hell initiated them. But this story is about none of these events, at least directly. It is about a tragedy of a different kind, that is much more personal to Me.

After all, both individuals involved were once imbued with My grace. 

This is the story of the tragedy of Crowley and Aziraphale, the star-crossed, heaven (and hell) sent, ineffably planned lovers.

 Two Weeks Before The Tragedy, Mayfair.

Crowley was dreaming pleasantly of a particularly devious plan involving the new prime-minister Rishi Sunak, a new national holiday, and Hamilton references, when he woke suddenly to the sound of his phone ringing. He didn't get up, letting whoever was bothering him at the perfectly unacceptable hour of 11 A.M go to voicemail, grumbling all the while.

"Hi this is Anthony Crowley, you know what to do - do it with style." 

There was a huff over the line before a familiar voice rang from the phone. "I know perfectly well you're there, Crowley. Now get up from your nap and -"

Crowley jumped off the couch in a hurry, tripping as he raced to pick up the phone, biting back a wicked smile as he held the old phone up to his ear. "Aziraphale." He said, and his voice sounded almost fond.

"Ah, finally. Now, I don't suppose you have any plans for tonight?" Aziraphale, with masked hopefulness. He continued nonchalantly, "Because if you do, I can call up someone else..." Crowley knew this was a lie, and glanced at a sticky note on his desk telling him another temptation was due tonight. Well, he could always tempt on the car ride there. 

"Nope." He popped the "p", leaning against the desk with his arms crossed. "Schedule is completely empty. Not a thing." 

He could feel Aziraphale's smile across the line, almost humming with excitement. "Well then, I've happened on this delightful new collector's vinyl record. Queen. "A Day At The Races". A little bebop for my taste, but I thought perhaps you would be interested in hearing it - apparently Mercury left a demo of an unreleased song on it." Aziraphale didn't mention the fact that he had spent a good week asking around and searching for the record, wanting to find something Crowley would like to listen to. To say he "happened" on the vinyl would be like saying Elvis had "happened" to die. In reality, both were cleverly crafted plans.

"Well... it'd be a shame for that demo to go unlistened to. Especially since it's not to your taste." Crowley hesitated, not wanting to sound too willing. He wiped a pair of sunglasses on the front of his shirt, sounding nonchalant when he continued. "You're not going to make me, I dunno, dance or anything, right?" 

"Oh, certainly not. Not exactly the right style for a tango." Aziraphale tutted, sounding flustered at the prospect. He cleared his throat, before continuing. "Well, set your alarm and pop in at . . . say, six?" 

Crowley swallowed, waving a hand to miracle on an alarm - after living for six-thousand years time blindness was a big problem for him - and hummed in assent. "Yep. See you then, angel." He set the receiver on the carriage with a clean click, and sighed, rubbing his hands across his face. What to do for the few hours until six? Well, another nap wouldn't hurt...

The sound of 7 trumpets made Crowley's eyes snap open, the eerily familiar sound from his time in Jericho making him sit up fast. He snapped his fingers to end the heavenly sound, skin crawling slightly at the holiness. At least it was effective at waking him up. He couldn't miss his plans (date, really) with Aziraphale. Crowley sashayed through his apartment, changing his plain outfit to a neat turtleneck and blazer because-he-wanted-to-and-no-other-reason, and out into the bustling Mayfair streets. The Bentley sat patiently, door opening automatically at Crowley's approach. 

He slammed on the gas pedal, screeching through the London streets to the sound of "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy", narrowly missing a pedestrian crossing the street and ignoring all traffic laws as per usual. The way to Aziraphale's shop was as familiar to Crowley as the shining nebulae he created as an angel, and the Bentley seemed to make the turns of its own accord, the sound of Queen making the whole car shake and windows rattle. 

He didn't even bother parking the car before he cracked the door open, having found a miraculously free parking space right outside of A.Z Fell and Co. Crowley couldn't help the small smile dusting his features at the familiar sounds and smells of Aziraphale's shop, the shop bell jingling lightly as he stepped inside. He could remember the moment Aziraphale confessed he had specifically written into the wards that Crowley was allowed in at any time. Aziraphale had been insistent that it wasn't that much work, but Crowley knew the effort that ward-making took, even without personalizing the "Allowed Entities" section. The angel had accepted no thanks, so instead Crowley offered an impressive of Jane Austen originals - original bank and museum architectural designs that is, as well as the ending of "Sanditon". All had been gifts from Austen's will, as thanks for Crowley's help in a particularly tricky diamond heist.

"Aziraphale!" He called out, sauntering deeper into the shop, glancing around. He jumped when the angel tapped his shoulder, crossing his arms. Aziraphale greeted him with a smile, and shoved an aged-looking vinyl into Crowley's hands. 

"Welcome in. Come, come." Aziraphale beckoned the startled demon to his desk and the classic-looking record player. 

Crowley coughed awkwardly, and placed the record on the turntable, miracling another chair to sit next to Aziraphale as they listened. Despite the record being a gift, Crowley barely heard a single note, spending most of the 23-minute session secretly staring at Aziraphale from behind his sunglasses as the angel delightedly tapped his foot along to the music. He swallowed dryly each time Aziraphale gasped softly in delight at the start of each new song, leaning back in his chair, trying not to imagine all the ways he could replicate those sounds again. Unconsciously, he stored each new laugh and hum in the back of his mind to never forget it. 

As the album came to a close with a final ringing note, Aziraphale exhaled sharply and clapped for a moment. "That was lovely, hmm?" He caught the demon's gaze, and tilted his head in questioning. 

"Oh - I mean, er," Crowley stumbled over his words as he sat up again and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, Freddie always did good work. Thank- hmm" He growled slightly, pursing his lips. "Thank you, angel. For the record." 

Aziraphale tsked lightly, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks, and he looked away. "Oh, don't bother. My pleasure. And it was hardly even difficult." He lied, and Crowley rolled his eyes. The angel threaded his fingers together, and turned to Crowley again. "You know, listening to that made me a tad peckish." He spoke casually, but kept fiery eye contact as he made the non-verbal invitation. 

"How about the Ritz? My treat." Crowley offered, staring back as he let the glasses slip down his nose to reveal his unrelenting gaze. Aziraphale looked away suddenly with a cough. He tugged nervously at his lapels, and made a sort of strangled noise in agreement. 

"Ah yes. Shall we?" He rose, brushing invisible dust off of himself, and offering an arm to Crowley. The demon rose with a smirk, shaking his head as he sauntered past Aziraphale without taking his arm. He didn't want to explode. Or anything equally embarrassing. Despite his refusal for physical contact, he opened the car door for Aziraphale before taking his own seat and flooring it. The angel turned a little green, and let out a delightful little high-pitched noise as Crowley neared 90 in downtown London. Crowley was quite pleased with himself, as Aziraphale made almost nonsensical complaints about "safety" and "the law" and "PEDESTRIAN". Typically a ten-minute drive, they got there in less than three. Aziraphale subtlety waved a hand to ensure that they could be seated immediately as Crowley walked around the car to open the angel's door, feeling strangely domestic as he did. 

"Why thank you. You really are a gentleman." Aziraphale beamed as they walked towards their table. Crowley let out a growl, scowling dirtily. 

"Am not." he complained, although he was slightly pleased with the compliment.

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Yes you are."

"Nuh uh." 

Aziraphale couldn't argue with that, so they sat silently and miraculously were delivered the five-course experience without even asking. Crowley wasn't fond of digestion, but was fond of watching Aziraphale enjoy the food. Even more, he liked to listen to Aziraphale enjoy the food, many times having to quickly down his never-ending glass of 1990 Château d’Yquem to hide his smug grin for knowing exactly which dish Aziraphale would like best.

Finally, heartbreakingly, Aziraphale dabbed elegantly at the corner of his lips, and swirled the last bits of wine in a circle around his cup. The sun had long since set, and the sound of a Nightingale could be distantly heard - Crowley's treat. The angel smiled contentedly, and the demon did as well, although he hid it behind another sip of wine. They were both quite tipsy now, and giggling over this and that memory in the cool evening air. 

"No no, the king wouldn't have acted in such a way." Aziraphale giggled weakly. 

Crowley spread his hands earnestly. "He did, I swear. He said to me-" Crowley hiccuped and the two men wheezed with laughter. Their waiter in the corner pinched the bridge of his nose, and glanced down at his watch again. "He said: 'Crowletta -" Aziraphale choked on his final sip of wine. "It's me and you, Crowletta. You're the love of my life.' And I looked at him, and I said -" Crowley took another sip of wine for bravery, "Henry. Dearest. I can't conceive." 

Aziraphale heaved with angelic laughter, dishes rattling as his head hit the table as he wheezed, and gasped for breath. Crowley himself wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye as he laughed wickedly, head tilted back. Aziraphale's breath caught in his throat at the sight, eyes tracing up the line of his neck, finding the movement of Crowley's pulse just under his jaw. He swallowed, and then sighed with a small smile. Crowley took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a moment, soaking in the joy he could feel in the air. Something else lingered, under the surface. Bubbly and warm, like champagne on a hot summer's day, another emotion lurking just below the surface. He brushed it off. 

"You never told me that before. I always thought you had been his wives' obstetrician, not actually one of his suitors." Aziraphale said softly. 

Crowley shook his head. "Oh no, no. My passion for obstetrics ended with Bildad the Shuhite." He rose his glass as if to prove his point, before sighing. 

Aziraphale miracled the dishes away (feeling guilty for keeping the waiter there so long), and started to stand. "I think I've best return home." He hesitated, glancing nervously at Crowley. 

"Ride home?" The demon asked, knowing the angel well enough to understand the unspoken question. Aziraphale nodded with a beaming smile. Crowley pinched his nose, and the bottle of wind filled back up as he sobered up. "All right." He glanced at the waiter, who was standing, gaping. "Don't drink at drive, kids." He gave the waiter a curt nod, before following Aziraphale out the door, and into the rumbling Bentley.

If Aziraphale somehow convinced Crowley to stay and listen to the Queen vinyl again (and thrice more), it was because the music was so good. No other reason.

Chapter Text

1966 - Outside Gary, Indiana, US

Crowley hadn't been fully present when he invited Aziraphale for a picnic. The last time he'd seen the angel was over twenty years prior, when he had fired a gun at the angel's head for a magic trick. As much as Crowley had tried to play down his panic during the trick, the next day, he considered what might have happened if he had missed. If he had shot Aziraphale in the head. The thought of a world without the angel, his angel, had left him retching over a toilet for an hour. He was too attached, he told himself. He had to stay away. 

So he had. He'd spent the last twenty years being a token demon, completing temptation after temptation and taking credit for human's bad ideas. He'd been particularly fond of weather satellites, since they provided terribly inaccurate weather predictions. He didn't have to do a thing.

Halfway through 1968, he'd heard a rumor that the growing industrial town, Gary, was going to be taken by hell as a base of operations. They were planning to implant a malignant and creeping sense of unease, and maybe a bit of ineffable sadness, to hopefully turn it into a little demon vacation spot. Although not famous for its sights, the forest and hills were lovely in the summer, and Crowley couldn't help but feel the slightest guilt for ruining such a lovely little spot. He had gone there once, alone, and couldn't help but think of Aziraphale when he saw the unexceptional yet beautiful landscape. Crowley remembered how much the angel loved finding intrigue in the mundane, and wanted to show him this place before it was too late.

So he broke his oat, and called the angel late at night, and asked him to meet him there. Aziraphale had been delighted, and started planning a whole picnic. Although Croley protested, he was secretly excited at the idea.

So there they were. Sitting on some too-long grass in an unexceptional town in Indiana, watching the clouds pass overhead, and listening to the birds only native to the United States. 

"There's nothing you can do?" Aziraphale asked, speaking softly and without looking at Crowley. 

Crowley shook his head. "Not a thing. It's not my territory." Aziraphale sighed. He'd fallen in love with this little piece of the Earth. There was something about the way the trees shook in the wind, or the shadows of the leaves left patterns on the backs of his hands. Secretly, he wondered if it was just that Crowley was there. 

The demon brushed a hand over the grass, but sat up quickly when Aziraphale rose to his feet. "Angel? Where are you -" Crowley smiled in amazement as Aziraphale walked off barefoot into the trees. Crowley huffed, and sat up to watch the angel. He looked to his right, and saw an imprint in the grass where Aziraphale had been laying, and laughed at the book he'd been reading. "Of Mice and Men", the classic American tale. He couldn't help how his hand moved across it, tracing the shape of his torso and legs, and wondered for a moment, if there was truly anything he could do to save this place. 

Aziraphale had loved it so much. He'd gasped when Crowley had driven up to the park, cooing at the wildflowers and small animals that populated the land. Maybe he could protect part of it. Leave a little piece of goodness behind to protect it from Hell. Maybe they could make a little cabin here, and live in America. Crowley could transfer to the American division, and they could explore the cities and towns around Gary, forcing any demons that settled there off the land, and preserving wildlife together. A.Z Fell and Co. could be a chain. Maybe -

Crowley tore his eyes away from the outline, pulling his hand towards his body as if it had burned him. Best not to dwell on the impossible. 

"Aziraphale!" He called into the thick trees and brush, standing slowly. "Where'd you pop off to?" He muttered, walking into the woods. He glanced around the trees, scoffing angrily as bushes pricked at him, hands flailing as he tried to wade through the greenery. He called the angel's name as he walked, growing increasingly concerned as no sign of him appeared. There wasn't even a beaten-down trail from where he walked. "Azira- oof!"

A body slammed into him, tackling him to the forest floor, and screeching excitedly. Crowley went to shove the person off, a snarl etched into his features, but coughed out a laugh when he saw it was Aziraphale laying over him, panting and smiling wide as Crowley's limbs pressed awkwardly onto the forest floor. 

"See? I could take any demons that tried to take this place." Aziraphale stated simply, still holding Crowley's shoulders down against the leaves. The demon's lips twitched, since he was not at all resisting. 

"Oh yes. You've incapacitated me, angel." He shoved lightly at him, as if to prove how fruitless Aziraphale's attack would be. Aziraphale just pushed Crowley's hands off him, rolled to the side with a thud, and looked up at the leaves dancing above their heads. 

Aziraphale loved the world dearly, even this little mid-western town in the middle of America (Gabriel's favorite country). To see such a beautiful little forest, and the innocent people that live near it become miserable at the hands of demons, was close to the worst thing that could happen to him. 

"I just wish..." He trails off, frustrated at his limited influence.

"I know, Aziraphale. I know. Me too." 

And he truly meant it.

1927 - Soho, London

"Hop in, angel."

Aziraphale gaped at the demon, who had pulled up haphazardly next to his shop in a shiny new 1926 Bentley. His mouth opened and closed fruitlessly, and he sputtered. "Why - I've - How did you afford-" 

Crowley smirks, and lifted a hand up to snap his fingers, opening the passenger door for Aziraphale. "I got lucky in the horse races." 

Aziraphale barely had time to close his door before the Bentley was careening down the London streets, and towards an unknown destination. He tuts, disproving of Crowley's use of miracles to make money. "You really oughtn't. It just isn't right." He sighed unhappily, growing slightly woozy as the Bentley speeds around another corner. 

"Well..." Crowley let his sunglasses slip down his nose. "I am a demon, after all." He flicks his yellow eyes towards Aziraphale, who huffed, and looked out the window. "So... ready for Bathgate, Scotland?" 

Aziraphale let out a small laugh. "Why there?" He hesitates. "And please don't sing Flower of -"

Crowley broke out in a grin, already belting out the song he wrote years ago, "OHHH FLOWER OF SCOTLAND, WHEN WILL WE SEE -" Miraculously, the air got caught in his throat, and he choked, coughing uncontrollably.

He shot a glare at the angel, who was looking quite proud of himself. "Fine, fine. No singing. And I dunno why. Just felt right, you know? Like a good place to start off some wild ride." When he said this, he patted the dash of the car gently, smiling fondly at it. "Isn't she a beauty?" He grinned, glancing at Aziraphale, who was looking at him with an incredulous expression.

"Yes, I suppose." Aziraphale smiled sadly, "I don't think I've ever heard you call anything beautiful before. Not since -" The words died in his throat, and they both looked out the window, a penetrating silence filling the car. They didn't know how to start again, so Aziraphale rolled the window down, and let his hand hang outside the car. The wind rushed into the car, buffeting their hair, as the angel reached and tilted his hand to catch the wind. The rolling hills of Scotland are just appearing on the horizon, and Crowley can't help the small grin that breaks out at Aziraphale's almost naive-feeling joy.

"I thought you'd like it. Since you love human inventions and all that." The words are somber, something else lingering under the surface. A wave of unidentifiable emotion passes over him. "For him. Show him." A small voice seems to whisper in the back of his mind, but he just cleared his throat, pushing the sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose, and covering his eyes once again.

"Thank you. I do like it." Aziraphale's voice was small, barely audible over the loud hum of the engine. 

"This is my first time driving, you know." Crowley said suddenly, and Aziraphale noticed for the first time how white the demon's knuckles are, clutching the steering wheel tightly.

"Excuse me?" Aziraphale spat out, head whirling to stare with wide eyes at the demon. 

Crowley shrugged, lips twitching. "I wanted you to see the Bentley first. And I thought you'd like the Scottish scenery and all that." While his words were joking, they were truthful. He had picked up the Bentley from a car shop just hours before, and driven (once he figured out how to) straight to Soho. 

Aziraphale spluttered, hands flailing, trying to find something to hold onto. "Yes, that's very nice, of course, but you've never driven before." He is almost panting, eyes wide. "And Scotland has CLIFFS." 

Crowley scoffed. "Don't worry. I'm a great driver." The car clunks as they stray from their lane for a moment, and Aziraphale squeaked desperately. "And I wouldn't risk scratching the Bentley." He reached a hand out to pat the dash lovingly. 

"How comforting." Aziraphale sulked, sounding slightly . . . jealous? No. Couldn't be. 

"Oh, piss off. You trust me, right?" Crowley's throat was suddenly very dry.

"Yes. Of course I trust you." Aziraphale hesitated, as if he was going to say more, but before he could, they drifted onto the grass again. "Just follow the white lines, Crowley! Follow them." He panted, staring hard at the demon.

So he did. Despite the illicit speeds he drove at, the poor family of raccoons he orphaned, and Aziraphale's mental well-being, Crowley turned out to be an excellent driver. Aziraphale eventually relaxed enough to roll a window down, and let the Scottish air buffet them from inside the Bentley. The angel let his hand rest out the window, tilting it, as if to grasp and take control of the wind. 

"What a lovely place!" Aziraphale exclaimed, and let the wind pull at his hand and control it for a moment. "Isn't it perfect?"

Crowley found it hard to talk. "Yeah. It's quite nice, isn't it." He let his eyes wander from the road to the hills and barrows dotting the landscape. He wants to see it as Aziraphale does - perfection in the mostly mundane landscape, and he can catch a glimpse of it - something in the little fences, or stone houses dotted across it does make him consider it fantastic. 

But honestly, he could care less about the nature surrounding him, with Aziraphale smiling wide next to him, as he tries to grasp the wind. How could he consider the world perfect, when there's something even greater sitting right next to him?

Crowley pursed his lips, and blinked rapidly. Best not to linger on those thoughts. Instead, he jerked the wheel, changing lanes at a startling pace as he doesn't slow to drive through the small town. "We're here." He says suddenly, nodding as they pass an aged "Welcome to Bathgate!" sign. 

Aziraphale looked out the window, peering curiously at the little shops that line the main road. "Oh look - Crowley! Do slow down a minute," Aziraphale said suddenly, pointing excitedly at a little cafe tucked in between a little brown house, and a furniture shop. "A cafe! With cakes!" He beamed happily, and Crowley slowed down, despite his misgivings about Aziraphale's love for human food. 

"You want a cake that bad just miracle one..." He grumbled, although he jerked the wheel again to pull into a parking spot. 

"Oh, you don't have to-" Aziraphale started, but Crowley held up a hand.

"I've parked now. It's too late." He opened the door quickly when he saw Aziraphale's features start to soften in that way they do right before he says something stupid and mushy, and speed walked across the street to the cafe.

The shop bell jangled pleasantly when they entered, and the two beings were met with a wave of warm air, with the smell of coffee and cakes permeating their senses. Aziraphale positively beamed from joy when he walks in, unconsciously reaching to tug lightly on the sleeve of Crowley's blazer. "Look! They have angel food cake!" 

Crowley's lips twitched, and he sauntered towards the counter, getting in queue behind an elderly man. "I'd like it better if they had some alcohol." He grumbled, arms crossing over his chest. 

"Oh you're being silly." Aziraphale chided, "You can't drink and drive." 

The elderly man stepped forward to the employee at the counter, a young man who positively looked dead on his feet. Crowley barely paid mind as he began to order, instead looking back out the window to the mostly empty street. He tilted his head slightly, to see where the sun was in the sky. They had to get to a good cliff before sunset - it was part of his master plan. 

"Well, I've never been treated such in my life-" The old, apparently American, man's voice was raising, and the employee (Crowley saw he had a name tag marked Alan) looked almost fearful at the confrontation, stuttering as he tried to explain that, "no, they did not serve cookies. They didn't even serve biscuits, and -"

Crowley stepped forward as Aziraphale made a discontented noise, not wanting the angel to have to deal with it. "Is there a problem, sir?" Crowley asked, flashing the old bastard a cold smile, and tilting his head down just slightly enough to reveal his startling yellow snake eyes. 

The man stuttered, backing away from him. "No, I mean- What in the devil -" 

Crowley's smile widened at the phrase. "I thought so." He waved a hand, and the loud, familiar noise of a car alarm started to sound from outside the shop. "Now... that wouldn't be your car being stolen, would it?" He nodded towards the window, where two young teenagers were driving a Model T down the street. 

The old man whipped around, racing out of the store, and yelling as he gave chase. Crowley pushed his glasses up higher, and turned back towards the employee, who was gaping at him. Alan swallowed, and not-so-subtlety trailed his eyes down Crowley's front. 

 "That was - wow. How did you -?" The boy stopped himself with a shake of his head. "Sorry. What can I get for you?"

Crowley beckoned the angel forward, and they ordered two angel food cakes, and six shots of espresso in a single cup (although the barista looked positively horrified at the prospect. When Aziraphale went to pass the money to Alan, he just waved a hand as if to stop him. 

"On the house. It's the least I can do." He glanced at Crowley again, with a shy smile. Aziraphale protested, and Crowley shoved a hundred pound bill in the tip jar before Alan could protest, grabbed the food and Aziraphale, and sprinted out of the shop towards the Bentley. 

"That was rather nice of -" Aziraphale started, looking a little amazed as they drove off. 

"Not a word, angel. Not a fucking word." Crowley glowered good-naturedly at Aziraphale, who looked much more pleased than should ever be allowed. 

A cliff wasn't far off, it being Scotland and all, and Crowley pulled up to the grassy peak, flicked the radio to light music, and leaned his seat back.

"What are we doing?" Aziraphale asked, taking another bite of his cake. Crowley had chugged the concerning amount of coffee in ten seconds flat and was now diligently trying not to burst into literal flames. He pointed a shaky finger at the view in front of them.

"Sunset. Thought it'd be nice. Since you love nature and all." Since I love you. 

"Oh." 

They sat in silence for a while, watching the orange and purple rays wash across the Scottish landscape. The sound of crickets slowly crept up in volume, so slowly to be barely noticeable until it seemed to be everywhere around them all at once. That's what Aziraphale was admiring, anyways. Crowley had leaned back, sitting just so to appear disinterested when in reality his gaze was locked onto Aziraphale. 

He couldn't tear his eyes away - not that he tried. Crowley let his eyes flick across the angel's features, down to admire his clothing, and back up to trace the curve of his lips. They had barely changed over the years, but yet... the sight felt new. Crowley's hand reached up, to his own lips, and he let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. Aziraphale glanced at him, quirking an eyebrow.

"Lovely. One of Heaven's best." 

"Yes, you are," Crowley murmured tenderly, before sitting up straighter. "I mean, the sunset is." 

Aziraphale didn't seem to notice. Why did he feel disappointed by that? "I do love the world." He just sighs. 

Crowley couldn't help the weird jealousy that creeps up. He wonders, distantly, if he's part of that? If he's part of Aziraphale's world. If Aziraphale loves him like he loves the sunset. Maybe he loves him like - like something else. He tries so hard to be good enough. Not because he wants to be good, although he surely doesn't mind it like most demons. But the look on Aziraphale's face, when he had tipped Alan and caused the old man's car to be stolen was his reason. He loves the world through Aziraphale's eyes. 

He's not got much of an eye for beauty. Human, objective, beauty he understood. You fit this ratio, you show this much skin, and you smile this way, everyone fawns over you. But this? The beauty in the mundane? He relied on Aziraphale to point it out, and appreciate it.

And when he did, and the angel seemed strangely compelled to always share the things he loved, Crowley would protect it. Fiercely.