Ineffable Omens (Crowley x Aziraphale)

You Of All People Should Remember My Touch

"Get out?" Aziraphale said softly, his heart filling with pain. "This is my bookshop."

"Oh, yes. Right. Well then, goodbye. And don't bother me again. Whatever sham this is, you're a lousy liar."

"You can't admit even a little bit of it makes sense?" Aziraphale asked, frantically grasping for some way to make his demon remember him. 

"It makes no sense at all," Crowley spat. "Why would I be friends with an angel? Much less an angel like you. I mean, look at you—"

"This isn't what I look like, though! The eyes and everything ... that's just from the fall."

"That's not what I meant. You're all fidgety and uncomfortable and too proper and overwhelmingly british, and not in a good way."

Aziraphale tried not to take any of it personally. "I know you don't mean that. Just because you don't know me—"

"Exactly! I don't know you."

"Oh, but you do! You have to remember me. Dear boy, why can't you at least remember how you felt about me? That's not a memory the Almighty can erase. That's real. It's got to still be in there somewhere—"

"How I felt about you? You're a pathetic angel. What kind of feelings could I possibly have had other than disgust? It seems I just used you to do my dirty work while I was bored."

"That's not true," Aziraphale pouted, tears coming to his eyes. He wasn't giving up this easily. He needed Crowley more than anything, and he would make him remember. "If you didn't give a damn about me, why did you save those books for me in the church? Why did you time and time again go out of your way to make me happy? Why did you write your suicide note to me?"

"Suici—I didn't write a suicide note."

"You did, you just don't remember." Aziraphale's face lit up, and one could almost imagine an imaginary lightbulb over his head. The Almighty just erases memories. Aziraphale ran to his desk and opened the first drawer, finding Crowley's suicide note sitting on top. He prayed to God it wouldn't be blank, and for the first time, he opened it.

There it was. The note. Aziraphale was about to hand it over to Crowley, but he accidentally started reading and couldn't stop. It was rather lengthy, and by the time he was done, Aziraphale was in tears. He threw his arms around the protesting demon. "I'm s-so sorry, dear. I d-d-didn't know that you ... that you were hurting like that."

Crowley pushed him away and sneered. "Don't waste your tears on me, you pathetic waste of oxygen."

His words stung. "You know, Crowley. I always knew you were a demon—I never denied that. I knew you were mean, but you never were to me."

"I DON'T KNOW YOU!" Crowley snapped. "I don't know what the ever-loving fuck is going on here, but I need you gone."

"Just read it," Aziraphale said, brushing away tears and shoving the suicide note at him. 

Crowley begrudgingly read the note, and once he was done, set it down on the table, silent for a moment as he took in what he had read. "I ... loved you?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said, nodding his head. 

"I don't buy it," Crowley said, promptly tearing the note in half. "No way I could fall for a pansy like you. Demons don't love, dumbass."

Aziraphale looked at his demon, with tears in his eyes and disappointment on his face. "I expected better from you, Crowley. Is this how you treat everyone?"

"I don't have time for your fucking judgement," Crowley snapped. "You can come talk to me about being nice when you understand what it feels like to consider taking your life on the daily. Come to me then and see if you have the energy to be nice."

"Crowley—"

"No. Goodbye, angel."