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Memories of before his Fall are few and far between. That's not to say that they don't exist, more so that he refuses to let them surface. They don't, if they know what's good for them. He doesn't need them; what's the point? He was an angel. So what?
He Fell.
Being cast out of the warm embrace of God's light meant there wasn't much light left for those angelic memories anyways.
He keeps the stars, of course. Those memories he likes. Their names, their shapes, most things about them really. Beautiful things, stars, and he helped make them! Helped plant them right there in the sky and everything. It really is a pity that the Humans can't see them the way he could see them once.
Though now, with their gadgets and tools, they have much better eyes for the stars than him. That's partly why he holds these memories so close. Part of his punishment had been eyes that could barely see all the beauty he once created.
Other than the stars, the only thing he lets himself recall is Aziraphale.
All the splendor of Heaven, all the streets of gold, the warmth, the light, even his stars, nothing is quite so wonderful as his angel.
Their very first meeting wasn't in Heaven, surprisingly. It was Before The Beginning, and Crowley was working on his stars, as usual. He was building a beautiful nebula to be precise. And, of course, it wouldn't be a job if he hadn't run into a bit of a snag. How could he hold the book and crank the gears all at once?
Luckily, he hadn't been alone for long.
One of his fondest memories, really, a bright glow of light that shifted into the lovely form of Aziraphale.
Admittedly, Crowley was a bit distracted at the time trying to finish up his project, but he remembers the other angel perfectly. The wild white hair, the brilliant light of his wings, the sparkle of warm brown eyes… The way he said Crowley's stars were pretty with a smile even prettier…
It was as easy as anything to raise one of his own wings to shelter the other angel from a shower of stars. A perfect excuse to be closer as well. Crowley took it.
"Oh," Aziraphale had said once he felt their fingers touch. He was surprised but he never moved away. Crowley just smiled.
Unfortunately, their Heavenly memories aren't as abundant as Crowley might wish. He could have spent a millenia just watching the stars with Aziraphale. All good things come to an end though.
Sometimes, he does regret going off with Lucifer and the gang that day. If only because seeing the look on his angel's face in the crowd is something he wishes he could forget. He forces that particular memory as far down as it can possibly go.
He can't regret that day entirely though. Even now, even after some of the worst pain in his existence, he doesn't believe he'd done anything wrong. Why couldn't he ask questions? Why did they have to stay in a line with a destination they had no choice in? Why couldn't Free Will exist for the angels as much as it existed for humanity?
The punishment far exceeded the crime to be honest. Being ripped from God's grace and diving into boiling sulfur was only the tip of the iceberg.
The Fall itself was the easy part. No control over his wings, feathers burnt to black, heat so intense it was like standing inside the core of a massive sun. The blazing trails that they left behind as they hurtled down from Heaven were actually what was collected and repurposed as Hellfire. Nasty stuff, but nothing really that could compare to the feel of free-falling.
For beings created to soar through the Heavens, there wasn't much worse than having that flight taken away in a sudden, painful rip.
The terror of going down, down, down with no way to catch yourself…
That's another memory that's best left forgotten. Luckily, once they finally reached as low as they could go, they would eventually discover that they could fly again, but that wouldn't be until much later.
They had to finish Falling first.
See, it wasn't just that initial descent from Heaven. Again, that was just the easy part.
The boiling pits of sulfur were next. Excruciating and horrific, a sudden and jarring shock from the free-falling. Every bone in his corporeal form felt like it had broken. Shattered, even. He screamed but no sound came out; boiling sulfur rushed in. He tried to right himself, to pull himself above the surface, to get out, but he must have been under for what felt like an eternity. It's hard to say how he got out of that pit, to be honest.
Someone must have pulled him free because the next thing he knows is breathing in deep breaths of hot, sulfuric air. Every part of him hurts to move but he eventually crawls through ash and muck to find his bearings.
His eyes sting from the fumes and the side of his face feels like it's on fire. It isn't until much later that he learns it's actually his infernal Change, another step in their Fall.
All around him other angels are still boiling. He wants to help but the sound of their screams and his own pain keep him incapacitated on the ground. It's all so much, he's relieved when everything blacks out around him.
After a while, once Hell actually gets up and running, they take stock of what happened. What they went through.
Boiling in the sulfur pits was meant to change them. To separate them further from their angel counterparts. Beelzebub became Lord of the Flies for example. Crowley learned that his own eyes had been changed to those of a snake. He'd been given a new name, Crawley. The mark of his new form was branded into the skin of his cheek.
The worst part of it all wasn't the Fall. It wasn't the boiling sulfur. He could even get used to the eyes of a snake. With some specially made glasses his eyesight wasn't too bad at all. He might not be able to look up at the stars and see what he once could, but he has his memories. He has Aziraphale, far prettier and superior to any star anyways.
But therein lies the harshest part of his punishment, the most cruel. He didn't even realize until The Beginning, standing there atop the wall of Eden with Aziraphale, that his punishment was far from over.
They were watching Adam and Eve trek through the desert when the rain hit. In a mirror of their first meeting, Aziraphale shielded Crawley from the storm. They drifted closer together. Only, this time, when their fingers brushed, there were no smiles. It was such a simple touch, barely a second, but it was more than enough to feel excruciating. Even with the pain of Falling so fresh, it hurt. He could have cried. From the pain, from the unfairness of it all.
But he didn't. He didn't want his angel to know.
Aziraphale still doesn't know, even now. And he never will. He doesn't need to know that the final piece of Crowley's punishment is a forbiddenness to touch anything that's holy. Sure, he knows that it's a struggle for Crowley to walk on Hallowed ground, that Holy Water is an instant death. But he, himself, being an object of torture against a demon? He has no idea.
Six thousand years is a long time. Crowley prides himself on building up a sort of immunity to the pain. It hurts. By Satan, it hurts. Every touch is as glaring and excruciating as that very first brush of their fingers, but after so long it's just gotten easier to push through. To hold Aziraphale's hand without a flinch. To kiss Aziraphale's lips without a grimace.
It always hurts so much that for just a second, he thinks about letting go. He thinks about coming clean, about just telling his angel what it's like when they touch. But he doesn't.
If he tells Aziraphale, then he knows that it will all stop. He knows that his angel wouldn't want to hurt him; he'll keep them apart for Crowley's own good. Crowley won't have that.
He can't.
He knows, with every ounce of his being, deep in his very essence, that no matter how much it hurts to touch his angel, not being able to will be ten times worse. Just the thought of never being able to hold Aziraphale's hand again is enough to make him wish he could just be erased from the Book of Life. If he can't hold his angel in his arms then what's the point of existing? Every star in the sky could burn away to ash and he wouldn't care as long as Azirphale was there holding his hand.
So he ignores the pain. He fights it with sheer force of will. It's another war he refuses to lose. He won't give up the feeling of Aziraphale's fingers brushing through his hair. He won't give up lacing their fingers together in the park as they feed the ducks. He won't even give up those random silly days where the Amazing Mister Fell is pulling him up onto a makeshift stage in the bookshop to try and amaze a group of bored children.
No matter how much it hurts.
It's worth it.
He's worth it.