Chapter Text
If you had asked him, Crowley would’ve said he was fine. He was perfectly fine stumbling through the days that seemed to drag on; days that seemed to mesh together endlessly. The only way he was able to differentiate each day from the others was when the bartender gave him a different number of ice cubes in his whiskey.
“Y’know, you've been in here everyday for over a year and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without those sunglasses on.” The bartender, Haley, pointed out, topping off her faithful patron’s glass with her strongest bottle of the stuff.
Crowley merely grunted out a laugh, his shoulders shaking as he rested his arms on the counter. When she finished with her pouring, Crowley snatched it up and drank.
You never will
Crowley never took off his glasses much. Not like he used with… him… But back then, he always felt safe, comfortable in that stuffy old bookshop. That familiar ache in his chest started creeping in, as close as he can come to a companion nowadays. It was lesser each day, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t an exorbitant agony still. Crowley had managed to live through some of Hell’s most creative of torture techniques and yet, that was child’s play compared to this.
“Ahem,” a person behind him politely announced their presence, ripping the demon out of his thoughts.
Refraining from rolling his eyes, Crowley turned around in his seat. What he wasn’t expecting to see was the very angel that had permeated all of his thoughts since before the beginning of time. Feeling his whole body tense, he swore under his breath and turned around so quickly he just about fell off the stool.
Crowley’s heart was racing inside of his chest, his hands and feet feeling as though they’d turned to static. What was he meant to do??? Right, the humans breathed when they got flooded with overwhelming amounts of emotion. He supposed that would be a better alternative rather than potentially burning the pub to the ground.
With as much willpower he was able to muster, he forced himself to calm down and remember why he shouldn’t break down and fall into the angel’s arms.
“Get bored of the bureaucracy up there, Angel?” Crowley bit with much more venom than was necessary, but he’d always been one to hold a grudge. It was part of what lumped him in with his old lot downstairs.
When Aziraphale went to speak, Crowley cut him off instantly.
“Don’t you dare try that recruitment shit on me. Heaven made it clear that I had ideas way above my station long ago. You’ve got some real nerve to try that on me again after-” Crowley’s throat suddenly went dry at the memory of the last time he’d been with Aziraphale, the ghost of his lips against the angel’s flooding his memory. Crowley took a lengthy sip of his whiskey he was brooding over in the pub near his new apartment.
“Ah, yes, well. I’m sorry for whatever I did-”
“You should be,” the demon hissed.
“-but…. Who… are you…?”
Turning around once more - albeit slower - Crowley allowed himself to take in the form of Aziraphale. He looked different. Well, he still wore the same face he had for millions of years, but this wasn’t the Aziraphale he’d been so acquainted with. For starters, he was dressed in garish clothes that projected loudly that he was “Heaven’s elite”. They were nothing like the comfortably worn vest Aziraphale had worn every day since 1827. But there was also something else that was off about him that Crowley just couldn’t put his finger on.
“Right. Funny joke, Angel. Too stuck up Heaven’s arse to give a shit about a lowly Fallen such as myself, huh? You used to be better than that, y’know.” The venom had not seeped out of Crowley’s tone in the slightest. But, after all, he was The Serpent. Y’know, the ultimate scapegoat and reason for humanity’s Fall from God’s wonderful graces.
“Oh, dear. I was afraid this might happen,” Aziraphale worried, his hands going to fiddle with the pocket watch chain dangling from his new vest.
Crowley tried not to think too hard on the fact that it was the pocket watch chain he had bought for Aziraphale as a gift close to 200 years ago now. He knew it was the same one because of the small snake intertwined with the links in the golden chain.
“This is not, as you put it, ‘a joke’,” the angel nervously laughed, his anxious smile jumping out, “I truly do not know who you are- or why I’m even here right now.”
Crowley, briefly glancing over the angel’s form one last time, sighed deeply and turned away from his old friend. Rubbing at the spot on his temple where he felt a migraine coming on, Crowley tipped his head back and downed the rest of the whiskey. Slamming the glass back down on the bar, he straightened his coat out and stood from his spot.
“Right. Best not to have this little reunion in a public place,” Crowley muttered quickly under his breath before linking his arm through Aziraphale’s and escorting him from the pub. Despite it all, Aziraphale still smelled the same, that familiar and comforting old parchment aroma.
It made Crowley’s chest ache.
+++
“So….. you don’t remember…. Anything?” Crowley asked for the twentieth time. He just couldn’t believe it.
“Not as such, no. The only thing of substance I do remember is a name: Anthony J Crowley.”
Crowley’s chest ached at the innocent way his angel’s face scrunched up in confusion as he tried to remember. Maybe… maybe if he remembers Crowley’s name then maybe he didn’t forget all of-
“Is that my name? It seems awfully important to… well, I guess me,” Aziraphale asked with a soft smile, his head turned towards Crowley’s spot in the far corner of the room. It seemed wrong to be anywhere near his old friend.
It also seemed the angel really didn’t remember. All those years spent together…..
“Th-” Crowley started, the words getting tangled in his throat, “Crowley… that’s me.”
He’d known he was alone before. But losing Aziraphale like this…. It was hard the first time. But having him show up again after a year with absolutely no memory of Crowley? He’d only ever felt so alone once in his entire existence: when God had shunned him from the heavens, falling from grace simply because he asked a question.
“Oh! Phenomenal! You must be the one who will help me!” Aziraphale wore an excited smile on his face as he stood from his chair, arms extended. Crowley pressed himself against the wall, the last time they touched still painstakingly fresh.
And the worst part was - despite everything - Crowley was the one who would help Aziraphale. Because even though Aziraphale didn’t remember, Crowley definitely could.
“Right…” Crowley stated, still trying to press himself flat against the wall as the angel got closer. When he got within about five feet of Crowley, the demon slid along the wall and away from the attempted embrace from his angel.
Crowley swore he saw a glint of sadness in Aziraphale’s eyes at the rejection. But even if he did, that cheery disposition was back on his face instantaneously.
“Right,” Crowley repeated, clearing his throat as he searched the recesses of his mind on how Gabriel was able to reinstate his memory. Something about a fly and his old boss-
“What pretty eyes you have, Anthony J Crowley.”
That caused his train of thought to screech to a halt. Not only caused it to cease, but made it derail violently from its tracks. He stared dumbfounded at the angel - who managed to sneak up very close to him while he was lost in thought. Aziraphale was gazing in awe at Crowley’s serpentine eyes, marveling at them like they were God Herself’s greatest creation.
Crowley jumped at the proximity, bounding a yard or so away from his old companion. He’d always been able to let his guard down around Aziraphale. This time, it seemed to have happened without the demon’s knowledge. He’d always known that would get him into trouble one day.
“Uh-“ the demon swallowed thickly as Aziraphale made the steps to close the distance between the two, “just Crowley is fine.”
He regretted leaving his sunglasses by the front door.
“A-And thank you, I guess.” Crowley had lost his usual suave and devil-may-care attitude that seemed to be embedded in the very being of him the second his long lost angel friend strode up to his bar stool.
“You’re welcome, Just Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed with his usual sickeningly sweet tone. The smile that spread on Aziraphale’s face was brighter than Holy Light, his face scrunching up with how big and genuinely he was smiling. Crowley missed that.
What was he thinking?! He never missed that! Of course he didn’t! It wasn’t like that smile was the only thing that helped battle the agonies of the ninth circle’s torture after his “good deed” in 1827 with that body snatcher; knowing he’d be able to see it again once he’d survived that.
Aziraphale, thankfully, turned to walk towards a different part of the room. Crolwey deflated against the wall, feeling like a puppet having its strings cut.
“I remembered something!” Aziraphale excitedly stated, turning on his heel and flapping his hands wildly. Crowley definitely did not feel a stab of pain lance through his chest at the display.
Not having the strength to verbally answer, Crowley simply tilted his head exaggeratedly in the hopes Aziraphale would understand he was implying the angel elaborate. There was a strained smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
“My favorite color is yellow; the same shade as your eyes, in fact! Actually, it’s my favorite color because it reminds me of someone’s eyes… can’t remember whom, unfortunately.” With one final bright and carefree smile, Aziraphale finally left the room and by proxy, Crowley.
Burying his head in his hands, Crowley slumped onto the floor. He was in way over his head.
+++
Crolwey spent his night pacing the floors of his apartment. He felt the judgment and worry permeating from his beloved potted plants, but he was far too busy trying to sort through all of his emotions and put labels on them to really deal with the plants. He’d sent Aziraphale away to his bedroom so he could think uninterruptedly; really, it wasn’t like Crowley was going to get any sleep tonight, anyways.
A few hours into his pacing, he ceased all steps, hearing the echo of his boot heel reverberating off the walls of his office. Aziraphale would call it “a study”, the prim bastard, but Crowley was too laid back for that.
Yeah, so laid back you’re practically choking your plants out with the amount of nervousness wafting off you
With that helpful thought, Crowley scrubbed a hand down his face as he just stopped for a moment. He’d been running on high since he saw the angel in that bar hours ago and he was feeling himself start to crash. He hadn’t felt this anxious since… well, the last time he was in that bookshop with Aziraphale.
He wanted to cry.
No. No he didn’t. Demons don’t cry. Especially not over angels. He didn’t cry a year ago and he wouldn’t cry now.
“Are you enjoying yourself up there, God? Having a nice little giggle with your favorite demon doll and his stupid angel?” Crowley lamented whilst tipping his head back to speak towards the ceiling. The hand that was on his face slipped down to hang loosely around his neck, his other absently twirling his sunglasses between his fingers.
Crowley was sure that She was smugly smirking while watching him suffer.
“This is payback for Eden, isn’t it?”
Crowley didn’t know why he paused for a response. He wasn’t expecting an answer. He never ever expected an answer from The Almighty. He learned his lesson long, long ago that She would never answer the questions of the lowly snake. But despite being punished for it, he never stopped asking.
Sighing deeply, Crowley hung his head, gazing forlornly at the glasses in his fingers. He tossed them onto his desk, the metal making a clack against the wood.
“Right, this isn’t about me.”
No matter what his feelings were about the angel now, that didn’t take away from the fact that he was clearly in distress and needed help. And he’ll be damned if he wasn’t going to help his angel.
The demon chuckled humorlessly to himself at the irony. “Doesn’t really have the same gusto when I use it, huh?”
But, back to the matter at hand: Aziraphale. The poor lad lost his memory and now it was Crowley’s job to help him get it back. As much as he hated it, he felt a deep sympathy for Aziraphale. He’d been in that same situation himself about 6,000 years ago, give or take a few decades. Right after God decreed he had ideas above his station as an angel, it was also decreed that he had far too much knowledge on the inner workings of Heaven to be cast to Hell with all that bouncing around in his brain.
Crowley tried his best to ignore the way his gut churned at the idea that his identity as a demon was solely crafted by the word of Satan. His role as The Snake was all Lord Lucifer’s idea. He trusted Lucifer then. He was the only face he really recognized down in the pit. If only he’d had someone like Aziraphale there for him to remember who he was. Not like it would’ve mattered, anyway. He was damned no matter what.
Wait
The idea struck him like a bolt of lightning.
What if he showed Aziraphale who he used to be? Showing him his time on earth that Crowley himself remembered. He hasn’t tried time travel before and he’s only heard of high ranking demons other than himself pulling it off. Might as well give it a test now so the only life he was risking was his own.
Concentrating, Crowley decided that he ought to try going about a few minutes in the past so in the event that he can’t return, he wouldn’t be stuck in Ancient Rome or anything. Bracing himself for possible discorporation and checking his watch, he held his breath and snapped his fingers.
Prying open his eyes, Crowley looked around his apartment, checking his watch. It was ten minutes in the past. He didn’t feel any different and he was definitely still in his corporeal form. So, at least he was able to time travel without killing himself. Now, the trick was to get back to his place in time. Because if he could get the two of them back to Shakespeare and not back, it would be a waste. Checking his watch once more, he snapped his fingers again. He was back in his original place in time.
So he could do it.
It was possible. He could time travel. So, theoretically, he was able to take Aziraphale through time in order to try and jog his memory.
But… did he want to? He’d tried for over a year to avoid going through his memories of Aziraphale and now he was about to see them all over again in technicolor.
“I truly do not know who you are- or why I’m even here right now.”
Crowley couldn’t remove the innocent and utterly confused look on Aziraphale’s face from his mind.
His feelings be damned, he had to save Aziraphale. After all, it’s what Crowley did for Aziraphale.
But that would have to wait until morning. Crowley was exhausted having experienced every emotion ever in the span of a handful of hours. Keeping in mind that the very source of his distress was laying in his bed, Crolwey curled up on his couch and decided to try and sleep there. In the morning, he’d have to face some of his most painful memories. But for now, he only had to deal with his painful sleeping position.