Forget Me Not

Early morning conversations

The wheels on the Bentley screech to a halt. Crowley, even without knowing that he's semi-immortal, drives like a daredevil. Once he pulls up, he's in less of a hurry to get where he's going. Crowley sits in the driver's seat and fidgets with his watch. Is this really a good idea? He thinks to himself.

Crowley takes a deep breath and studies the red hands on his analog watch. It's like 6:30 in the morning. I should come back later. A light comes on somewhere in the building that Crowley is parked in front of. He can't deny that someone is awake in there. He summons the courage he needs. Going in there is the best chance you have to find answers.

"Okay," Crowley says to himself, "let's go." His body doesn't listen to his mouth. He tries again, "come on. Here we go." He taps anxiously on the steering wheel before forcing his body to exit the car.

To Crowley's surprise, when he tried the door, it's unlocked. Fuck, he thinks. He slowly opens the door and pops his head in. "Hello," he says in a barely audible voice.

Crowley steps into the shop and calls again, "hello? Anyone home?" The shop is so warm and welcoming. Crowley runs his hand over a small circular table, awkwardly. He can hear movement in the back of the building. "Uh- sorry! I know it's early, but I- the light was on."

"Crowley?" A voice asks before it's owner rounds the corner. It's the man from his dream. "Wha- why are you here?"

Crowley sucks his cheek, "you said you knew me." His palms sweat but looking at the person in front of him soothes his nerves. Here in the privacy of this shop, Crowley feels he can trust him. "It's Aziraphale right?

The angel is conflicted on what to do in this situation. He answers, "yes, it's Aziraphale." It still hurts that Crowley doesn't know him.

Crowley's eyes bounce around the room, anywhere but Aziraphale's. "Okay," he twists the snake ring on his middle finger, "could- who am I?" Before Aziraphale can reply Crowley starts on a tangent, "cause- because you said you know and, really, I don't... I'm not sure who I am. Well, of course I know I'm Anthony J. Crowley but I don't know anything from before a few months ago, really. I- I can't remember who I was! I don't even know what the J stands for. I've been telling people it's James!" He pants and steps in close to Aziraphale, "you said you know who I am. I can't do it anymore. Please tell me."

Aziraphale thinks that if it hadn't been a tough decision before, it is now. He looks at Crowley's pleading expression but thinks of the last sentence of his letter. "Crowley, dear," his eyes sting, "I can't tell you."

"That's what you said last night," Crowley exclaims. It warrants a very confused look from the angel. Crowley just clears his throat, "I need to know. Please, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale turns away. He can't stand to look at his demon hurting, yet again. "You don't understand. It's better this way." He presses his lips together and blinks away tears. "You need to go and forget about all of this."

To that, Crowley reaches for Aziraphale's far wrist and pulls him frontward. This close Aziraphale can see through the sunglasses. Crowley's eyes hold desperation and a hint of anger. "You don't understand! I have forgotten! I think- I think I'm losing it," he says with a crazed laugh. He bends at the knees and clenches at Aziraphale's sleeve. "I can't ignore this hole inside of me anymore. I can't," his voice cracks as a tear escapes from behind the glasses. "Please. Help me."

Aziraphale can't turn him away. He can't leave him to hurt like this. "Okay," he cups his hand over Crowley's. "You should sit," he gestures to the chair. Crowley hesitates but complains.

The angel paces and taps his fingers together. He clicks his tongue as he thinks. "Well," he turns to Crowley, "you... are a demon. And I am an angel." He swallows a lump in his throat, "we're hereditary enemies, really. But we've formed a- a sort of alliance-"

"Wait, wait," Crowley interrupts, "I'm a demon? Like from the Bible?" Crowley scoffs, "okay, I guess I'm not the craziest person in the room."

Aziraphale scowls at this. "Yes, it seems unlikely but it is the truth."

Crowley cocks his head to the side. "Prove it," he dares.

"I- well, I don't have an identification card or anything of the sort," Aziraphale huffs. "But I am an angel. I wouldn't lie," he adds very unconvincingly.

"Hmm," he thinks back to his dream, "if you're really an angel wouldn't you have wings?"

Aziraphale looks around his shop, at how small the space is. He really doesn't want to make a mess but Crowley just leans back in his chair with a smug look. So Aziraphale takes a deep breath and summons his wings.

That look is wiped away when Aziraphale's 12 foot wingspan fills the room. Crowley jumps up into his chair.

His head moves left to right, looking at the length of the wings. Aziraphale tries his best to keep them tucked in and not knock anything over.

Crowley stammers to himself before collecting his cool. "Okay you're- you're an angel, I guess," he settles slowly back into his seat, eyes still wide. "That uh still doesn't explain why I don't remember anything."

The wings disappear as quickly as they appeared. Aziraphale looks down, so not to meet Crowley's eyes. "Well, you removed it all," he says cautiously.

"I-" Crowley points his pinky finger into his own chest, "removed them? Me?" Aziraphale nods his head without looking at the demon. Crowley blinks fast and readjusted in his seat. "I don't- why would I do that?"

Aziraphale swallows hard. Guilt floods over him. "Well," he says in a voice higher than his normal tone, "you were... upset."

Neither the angel or the demon are looking right at each other. "What about?" Crowley asks while starring past Aziraphale.

Aziraphale's breathing feels constricted. Me. Us, he thinks but he doesn't want to say that. "Uh- it was... well we've always been close. Very- very good... friends." Aziraphale wants to kick himself for that. Crowley is still looking at the opposite wall. It's a lot to take in. Aziraphale goes on, clumsily, "and we had a disagreement, of sorts." He's back to pacing, "a big disagreement and I had to leave."

Aziraphale isn't sure that Crowley is actually listening. The demon sits there with a pensive look on his face. After what feels like full minutes he finally says, "so we got into such a big fight that I erased my memories? What happened?" He finally looks at Aziraphale.

The flood wall breaks and Aziraphale's guilt overflows, "oh, I do need to apologize! I need you to know, even before you learn, that I never wanted to leave! I was bewitched, but- but still, I'm sorry." Aziraphale looks right into Crowley's glasses and Crowley gazes back, reading the desperation on the angel's face. He goes on, "and when you get your memories back, you have every right to be angry with me. I-"

"Get my memories back?" Crowley interrupts, sitting up in his seat, "that's an option?"

Aziraphale blinks away the tears that have started to form. This is a roller coaster of emotions for both of them. An hour ago, Aziraphale was convinced he'd never see Crowley again and now they're here, together, almost like old times.

"Yes, you stashed them away," Aziraphale sucks in air as he pulls a slip of paper from his pocket.

The crinkle of parchment catches Crowley's attention. He stands and asks, "what's that?"

Even though it is Crowley's, Aziraphale doesn't want to show. He's embarrassed by the intimate nature of the letter. He ignores the question and reads the last paragraph quickly. "Your memories are in the black bullets. Whatever that means." He promptly folds the letter while Crowley is still trying to get a look.

When the paper goes back into the angel's pocket, Crowley leans away, a bit tisked. "Black bullets? Like the candies?"

***

Hi guys! I'm sorry if the chapters start coming out slower. It's taking me more time to write them but I'm going to try to get 1 or 2 out every week. Thank you for reading!