Chapter Text
"Are you sure about this? I don't know if I'll ever be able to fix this if you change your mind-"
"Good. I don't want to think about him ever again. Even if he comes back begging on his knees, I'd never be able to forgive him." Crowley spoke determinedly as he laid down on the couch of the Device-Pulsifer's living room. Anathema's hands hovered over the demon's head as she looked cautiously over at her spellbook laid out on the floor. Newton sat on the loveseat across from them with an equally unsure look on his face. In fairness, all magic left him unsure. But this left the former witch hunter even more unsettled than usual.
The newly wed couple had been living in a relatively quaint domesticity since their marriage the month prior with no supernatural threat of any kind. A bit of a relief if you asked Newton. A spot of boredom if you asked Anathema. But as long as they were together, the two were more than content. It was a cool Thursday afternoon when there was a pounding on their front door. Anathema looked up from her book and over at the clock with confusion. It was almost eight at night and they weren't expecting guests. She was surprised to open the door and see a vaguely familiar face. It had been almost a year now since the Not-a-Pocalypse, but she could recall certain things with clarity. Namely, the red-haired man (or demon named Crowley as she found out later) who hit her with his car. But there was something off about him.
His aura was dark. It almost pressed a visible weight on his shoulders. Crowley looked worse for wear as he looked down at the woman with a look so desperate that she could see it, even from behind the sunglasses.
"I need your help."
This was how Anathema found herself kneeling over the strange man, hesitant to do what he asked. Aziraphale, his angel, had broken Crowley's heart and the demon wanted every memory of him completely removed. Anathema was a practical witch being asked to do impractical magic. Crowley told her they'd known each other for centuries, making the angel and integral part of Crowley's personhood...demonhood?...either way, the consequences of doing such magic could be devastating. Or nothing at all. Either way, it wasn't a chance Anathema would usually take. But the look in the demon's sad wide eyes compelled her to try. Plus, he was technically part of the reason the world hadn't ended, so it felt like she owed him something.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Crowley asked, snapping the young witch out of her thoughts.
"Oh, um, right. There's just a lot here." She wasn't lying. A quick glance through the demon's mind showed years upon years of memories.
"Oh yeah, don't worry. You can skip a couple of centuries. I napped through some of the more boring ones."
"Right." Anathema agreed as if he wasn't making an absurd situation even more absurd. Napping through entire centuries was probably something completely normal for someone of Crowley's demonic persuasion. Anathema placed a hand on his forehead and began she to read the book's incantation aloud, not knowing what the end result would be.