Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When he woke up, he winced at the bright light filtering in through the window. Blinking blearily, he glanced around the room and took in his blurry surroundings. He was in the hospital. He knew it was a hospital, but not because he could remember being in one before. Through a searing headache, his gaze trailed from the pale walls to the TV screen and landed on the IV next to him. It wasn’t attached to him or anything, and he was a little disappointed. He wondered what it would feel like and almost wanted to try ripping it out and dashing out the halls. Didn't people in the movies do that? Something uneasy settled in the pit of his stomach as he fought the sense of anxiety that accompanied waking up alone in a hospital with no idea how he got there. Not knowing was making him fidget and he contemplated escaping the unfamiliar situation for a moment, blinking at the clear bag of liquid that hung. He didn’t move. 

There was a knock at the door that startled him out of his thoughts. He glanced up, sitting up in surprise and blinking away thoughts of needles and escaping hospitals. Nausea churned in his stomach as his body moved and he squeezed his eyes shut in response. An old woman with a narrow face and short blond, greying hair looked down at her clipboard as she walked through the door. She didn't seem to notice him as he blinked his eyes open and breathed through his nose. 

“Do you have a rubbish bin?”

"Oh! Oh, you gave me such a fright," She clutched her clipboard to her chest, "Sorry, dear, I wasn't expecting- um- I wasn't expecting you to be awake yet."

"Sorry," He gritted out, uncertainly. His throat constricted as the bile rose from his stomach. It wasn't as if he was doing anything other than sitting here. 

“Oh, yes- a rubbish bin!" She stuttered, "I-I can get that for you-" 

The moment she placed the small trash can on the bed, he was gripping the edges and gagging into it. The bin smelled of potent rubbing alcohol and wooden sticks and discarded gloves were thrown into it. He gagged harder. His stomach convulsed but all that he emptied into the bin was clear bile and spit. There was nothing to empty out of his stomach, but his head spun anyway. There was a warm hand between his shoulder blades, and he whimpered as he felt another roll of nausea with no means to relieve the sensation.

"It's alright, it's alright," The nurse was murmuring gentle encouraging words that didn't help much, but he appreciated anyway. When nausea finally ebbed, his whole body ached and sweat beaded on his skin. He panted and winced as a dribble of spit clung to his chin. 

With his face hovering over the bin he croaked, "Can I have a tissue?"

"Of course, dear," She said, and the warmth of her had retreated as she grabbed a cloth and took the bin from him. 

The cloth served more to hide from her as he cleaned his face. He asked, muffled through the cloth, "What happened?" 

"Well, you’ve hit your head pretty hard. You were found unconscious outside a donut shop,” The tension was falling from her shoulders, but she still sent glances to his face as if she was expecting him to start snarling like a wild animal. He almost wanted to if only to get rid of that wary expression on her face.  He  was the one who woke up in a hospital bed puking his guts out, not her. He reached up to touch his cheek self consciously and found the skin to be sensitive and raised under his touch. 

“Do you not remember what happened?”

He frowned. Thinking back, he tried to remember the events that led up to it but found nothing. In fact, the further the back he tried to go, the less he found. 

“I… I don’t…” He looked down, not knowing how to answer the question.

She said soothingly, “That’s alright, how about you tell us your name?”

He looked at her alarmed.

“Oh, dear. Don’t remember that either?”

“I…” He looked up and wet his dry lips. He should remember, shouldn’t he? Maybe he had too much to drink. People forgot things when they drank right? It would explain the nausea and the dizziness. He must have an enormous hangover. He debated telling her that, but he doubted telling a nurse he drank his brains out and forgot his own name didn’t seem like it would help his case. Did he even drink? Probably. Why else would he forget his own name?

She hummed and the distinct sound of a pen scraping against paper was heard, “It’s alright, hon. I’m going to ask you a couple of questions if that’s alright with you?”

“Sure,” He mumbled, not seeing another option. 

She started, “Can you tell me when you were born?”

“4004,” He immediately responded and then frowned.

“04,04? April Fourth?” She tried, and he nodded his head. 

Must be,  He thought. Why else would he say 4004?

She continued, “And what year?” 

Rapidly, he tried to guesstimate. How old was he? His body ached in a distinctive way that told him he wasn’t a teenager or young adult, but he didn’t feel like he was over sixty. Without a mirror, it was hard to tell, but he could do quick math, right?

“What year?” She repeated. 

“Give me a second,” He muttered and barely refrained from counting on his hands. After a couple minutes of studying the crease in the blanket with terrifying concentration, he blurted, “1580.”

“ What? ” She sounded flabbergasted, appalled, and slightly offended all at once. 

“Er-”  No, that wasn’t right,  “1850, then.”

“Are you pranking me, young man?” The nurse leveled him with an impressive glare as her previous hesitation slipped away entirely. 

“No, no!” He rushed to say, “Er, no. I just. No, that doesn’t make sense, does it? Sorry. Sorry.”

She looked at him suspiciously, “Okay… what year do you think it is?”

“Ah…” He tried with a smile, “Not 1580 or 1850?”

She said, “Yes, it’s not either of those years.”

“Um…” He had no idea, but he had to say  something.  All the dates were scrambling in his brain, and he knew that he hated the 1580s and that he liked the 1850s, and there weren’t TVs in either of those years. There was a TV on his wall and TVs definitely were not around in the 1580s or 1850s. When was TV invented? Flat-screen ones at that? The 60s? The 60s of  what? 

“You have no idea, do you?” She looked at him with something akin to pity. 

He grimaced, “It’s… it’s right there at the tip of my head. Er. No. That’s not right. Tip of my… iceberg. Tip of…”

“...Your tongue?”

“That’s it!” He pointed with less enthusiasm than he felt as his body dragged slowly behind him. She looked at him with even more sympathy. 

“Right… well, I’m going to ask you a few more questions, if that’s alright with you,” She looked down at her clipboard. 

“Sure,” He hummed. 

“Where do you live?” 

“…London?” He had no evidence to base this assumption except he had a British accent, and so did she. 

“Good,” She praised, “Where?”

“A house,” He responded, “I’m guessing.”

“Where are you now?”

He frowned, “A hospital.”

She gave him a pitying smile, “Can you tell me what it's called?”

“Oh,” He blinked, “No. I haven’t got a clue.” 

She looked down at her clipboard, “Can you tell me where it’s located?”

“…London?”

"Can you remember the address?"

He opened his mouth, trying so hard to remember. He must have a jingle or a song or something to help him remember. He had to remember. How else could he get home?

The nurse pressed her lips together and scribbled something down. He felt crestfallen at the action. 

She asked, “How did you get here?”

He drawled, “An ambulance, probably.” 

Her face twitched like she wanted to smile, “This isn’t a guessing game, hon. Just tell me if you don't know the answer.”

“Right,” He looked down, “What’s the next question?”

“What is the first event you can remember after your injury?”

“Er…” This confused him. He turned the question over in his mind a couple of times, but couldn’t decipher what it was asking him. He knew it was an easy question to answer, but the fact that he didn’t understand it frustrated him. After his injury?  What  injury? He couldn’t remember how he got it, much less  when  he got it. Was she asking him what he remembered  right now?  Why would she ask him that as they were having this conversation?

 “I don’t know!” He huffed, trying to hide the tension in his voice, “Right now, I guess?”

“Alright, it’s alright,” She soothed, “can you describe the last event you can recall  before  the incident, then?

“It’s- it’s hazy,” He furrowed his brows, “I think I’m on a horse?”

Maybe he had fallen from a horse and gotten a concussion. It would make sense. For some reason, he figured that horses didn’t like him all that much. He probably deserved it if he was riding one alone unsupervised.

“Mmm, might explain the injury, but not the location…” She muttered before looking up at him, “What day of the week is it?”

“Uhhhh,” He said, “Feels like a Monday.”

The nurse chuckled softly and asked, “What is the date?”

“Yeah, don’t know that one,” He said. At the current moment, he didn't even know what century it was.  

“I thought not,” She hummed checking another box before she looked up, “You're displaying symptoms of a concussion, and it seems that you also have amnesia, dear. Retrograde rather than anterograde.”

He blinked. So he wasn’t tits over arse drunk? A head injury was why his head was spinning instead of intoxication. He had to admit, he did think the nurse was giving him some sort of drug test. Did people get arrested for being drunk this century? 

“We’re going to get you scanned and give you a couple of tests to check, alright?”

He nodded numbly. 

“It should be temporary. I know you're confused and a bit banged up, but you should be right as rain in a couple of days.” 

He looked down at the clothes he was wearing, black skinny jeans and a grey v-neck long sleeve. His skinny jeans were smeared with dust and gravel and his knees were bruised and scraped up where the gravel ripped holes in his jeans. He was skinny with dotted freckles on his hands, but that was all he could decipher of his appearance. Damn. He couldn't even remember what he looked like. He looked around the room for something reflective to see his face and was startled when he saw his reflection in the window.

“What’s wrong with my eyes?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that. It startled me quite a bit earlier,” The nurse teetered, “I’ve never seen anything like it. Completely yellow with a slit down the middle.” 

“Don't remember why either...” He drawled with an air of lightness as he lifted his upper eyelid to get a better look.

His face was just as angular as the rest of him. Sharp, jutting jaw bone and long pointed nose. He had short spiked bright hair, and a snake tattooed on the side of his face. He had a bruise on his cheek, scraped with a thin layer of blood but was otherwise unmarked. The shocking thing was his eyes were just as the nurse said. Huh. That must have been why she was surprised. As far as he knew, people weren’t supposed to have eyes like this. The nurse certainly didn’t. She had round, brown eyes with a circular black dot in the center. How did his pupils become a slit anyway?

“It- it must be some sort of previous medical condition,” The nurse stuttered out, “Do you- um- does it hurt?"

“Huh?” He prodded at the skin under his eyes, “No, it doesn’t.”

“No aching, itching, swelling, burning sensation?”

“Uhh,” He thought about it, “No?”

“Well, that’s good,” She jotted something on her clipboard. He was beginning to hate that thing, “Unfortunately, we weren’t able to find any medical records to check, but we do have your driver's license and belongings.”

She handed him a wallet, a cracked smartphone, a broken watch, keys, and sunglasses with a splinter through the lens.

“We would have called someone but no file, no emergency contact,” She explained, “Maybe you can go through your contact information?”

“Thanks,” He took the pile from her numbly.

Firstly, he looked at the driver's license and found his name to be Anthony J. Crowley. His birthday was April 4th,  1977 , and he was somewhat proud of himself for guessing the month and day correctly even if he was a couple  centuries off.  No wonder she looked at him like he was crazy. For some reason, he wasn’t alarmed at his birth date or age. It made sense. It took him a few minutes of counting backward on his fingers to figure out the current year. Doing the math, his age was 44 and the year was 2021.

He held his phone up to check the date and his math. It was October 17th, 2021 and something about the date seemed  important.  He stared at the numbers on the screen and then swiped to open it. The numbers requesting a password mocked him and the screen politely told him that he needed to enter his passcode to unlock it after his phone reset.

“Oh, rats. No facial recognition?” The nurse seemed bummed on his behalf. It was nice that she cared, or at least was pretending to. The number grew blurry on the screen, and he felt his hands trembling as he held it.

“I’ll just- I’ll just go grab the doctor, and have him take a look at you, and see what we can do alright?”

“Okay,” Anthony said and squeezed the edges of the phone in his hand. He didn’t look up from the screen until the door closed, and he flipped over the phone so he couldn’t see it anymore. 

He really had no idea who he was. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to look like and apparently, he had a freakish eye condition. His head throbbed in the back of his skull, and he leaned back and closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. Something slid down his lap and Anthony looked down to see a piece of paper had slipped through his wallet. 

It read in a childish font that looked disturbingly close to blood splatter:

We will get you next time, Crawly. You can’t hide from us forever. 

Anthony’s blood ran cold as he read over the message again. There was no mistaking it. A threat. Before the ambulance picked him up, someone must have tried to hurt him. To possibly even kill him.  It could be a prank,  he rationalized,  I mean, who writes like that? In blood?  The most disturbing thing was that it actually smelled like blood. It was ridiculous, but Anthony couldn’t stop the chill of fear from rattling down his spine. Now, more than ever, Anthony was vulnerable. He had no memories to decipher who wanted him dead or why they would. Apparently, he had enemies who were willing to go as far as to give and send him messages written in blood. He didn’t know why someone would want him dead, who they were, or why they called him  Crawly  of all things. It sounded like an insult, but Anthony hoped they got the wrong person. How ever Anthony proceeded, he would have to be very careful.  

When he glanced back down at the letter, it dissolved into ash in his hands. The only evidence left of it was a pile of gray ash growing cold.  

Anthony stayed in the hospital for two more days and they discharged him on the morning of the 20th. He started calling himself Anthony and while the name fit, it also felt like trying on shoes you hadn’t broken in yet. The nurse encouraged him by repeating his name often as if he was a pet that was learning his name in a language he didn’t speak. 

His head ached often, a dull throbbing pain that spiked through Anthony's head at random intervals. The nausea and vomiting dulled, especially after he ate something. The food, although mediocre at best, helped ease the spinning in his head and the churning in his stomach. Mostly, Anthony drank as much water as he could and stumbled to the bathroom often on unbalanced legs. Even with amnesia, he was functioning as well as a concussed person could. He was steadily getting better physically, but Anthony couldn't say his emotional state had improved since he saw that note. Every time the nurse knocked o his door, Anthony's heart would leap up to his throat, and his eyes would dart around wildly for an escape. 

"It's just me, Susan," The nurse called gently as she cracked open the door and stepped inside. 

She could see his fear written plainly on his face and the hitched breaths he was taking. It wasn't his fault he was so jumpy. Someone was after him! They could find him any minute and track him down and finish the job! And here he'd be, a sitting duck just ripe for the picking. Or whatever the phrase was. 

"Take a deep breath for me, Anthony, can you do that?" Susan soothed, "Exhale through your mouth, dear, that's a doll. Now inhale through your nose, that's right. 2...3...4...Can you hold your breath for me? Hold your breath... and exhale...3...4...5...6...7...8..."

Susan helped, but Anthony still had no memory. He remembered  some  things, like a black horse that he remembered hurt his arse. He remembered a large garden, but he could only remember looking at one fruit tree. He knew random facts about the 1800’s men wear and had a distinct memory of tying a cravat around his neck.  

The doctors gave him an MRI and CT scan as well as a couple of other tests to check for anomalies. Since his eyes were a known anomaly, they gave him eye tests that Anthony blundered his way through. It turned out his eyes were fine physically, but his eyesight was shit. Most things were blurry and he was apparently severely color blind. Which was great. They muttered something about being “dichromatic” which was extremely rare, in humans at least. They lent him a pair of square glasses that he would have to pay for in the future when he remembered who he was. Anthony hated them, but they did make the world easier to see. He could protect himself better if he could actually see what was in front of him. Susan patted his cheek and said he looked handsome in them.

Susan also insisted that someone would call him, but Anthony couldn’t bring himself to look at the phone again. Not to mention, he didn't know who his enemy was. It was likely that they were a former friend or acquaintance, and Anthony saved their number. He didn’t tell anyone about the note, worried they’d think he had hallucinations on top of amnesia. He had no proof of the threat and was starting to doubt its existence himself. The paranoia lingered even as he tried to rationalize away the threat on the piece of paper. 

After the scans and tests, they asked him the questionnaire every day. Anthony, for all he forgot, remembered short-term events. He remembered everything the nurse had told him the previous days and didn’t have any trouble telling them the correct answers the second and third go-around. Sometimes he temporarily forgot new information, but with gentle prodding, Anthony recalled new events.

“Are you sure we’re not in the fourteenth century?” Anthony hummed around his pudding, “I really don’t like the fourteen century.”

The nurse shot him an alarmed look, “ Kidding,  Susan, geez. I know it’s 2021, it just  feels  like the dark ages.”

Susan was a kind old lady who had a bit of a snarky attitude under the surface. For all her attitude, she was impossibly kind and patient with Anthony who tended to get frustrated about things he couldn’t remember. While he didn’t have any family around to support him, Susan was a good temporary substitute. 

Susan huffed, “You really ought to stop teasing. Doctor Harvell will take you seriously and keep you here longer.”

“Good thing I didn’t tell Dr. Harvell then,” Anthony quipped and she shot him a look. 

Susan rolled her eyes, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Anthony gave her a snarky grin and it felt normal; it felt like something he would do if he could remember what he was like. Just like that, Anthony remembered that he couldn’t remember anything, and his grin faltered. 

“Oh, hon,” Susan noticed, of course, “You’ll be out of this in no time. And you’ll remember, you’ll see.”

“Yeah,” Anthony tried to smile, “You’re right. Of course.”

“Well, I always am,” She said lightly before giving him a sad smile. 

There was no treatment for amnesia the hospital could give him, and he was high functioning for a person with a concussion. His bed was needed and Anthony was itching to get out of the room. 

Susan said the morning of the 20th, "I can transfer you over to a special facility-"

"No, no," Anthony said, "I don't want to do that." The thought sent shudders down his spine. For some unspeakable reason, he couldn't, he  wouldn't  go to a facility. He was sure they were perfectly professional and respectable, but Anthony felt sick to his stomach at the thought. He felt the burning need to go to the only place listed on his driver's license if only to surround himself with pieces of the life he forgot.  

"Anthony..." She started.

He looked away, "Let me just- check the address on my ID, yeah? See if it sparks any memories. If my keys fit in the lock then I'll know it's home."

"Dr. Harvell insisted that we follow protocol-" Susan said again and Anthony felt himself grow frustrated. 

"Come on, Susan- I don't want to go to some, some facility! Maybe I'll find my family at home, or, or a pet or something- I know you're not supposed to just let me out on the streets with no memory, but I promise I'll come back if there's nothing there." 

Anthony shivered as a sudden draft went through the room and goose bumps trailed down from his fingers. Susan stared at him silently, an odd glassy look in her eyes and Anthony shrank under it. 

"Susan?"

She blinked and the look went away, "Oh... fine. Let me call you an Uber."

She set up a payment plan for him since he did have his wallet and recommended insurances he could apply for since there was virtually nothing attached to his name other than the driver's license he held in his hand. The doctor explained to him the effects of a concussion and things he should and should not do in his concussed state. They helped him set up a physical therapy appointment despite Anthony’s grumbling. Cognitive rehabilitation would help him remember quicker, so they walked him through the process and how to get there. He had his first appointment in two days and Susan told him he better show up for it or be back at the hospital by then if there was no one at his address. Susan even gave him her number on a piece of paper, and Anthony fought back the welling tears in his eyes as he folded the note. 

“You’re a sweetheart, Anthony,” She took his hands, cool wrinkled ones cupping his own, “You call me if anything goes wrong, alright? You go to the phone booth. They're big and red, and you can't miss them-"

"Yeah-"

"And you put some change in them, those coins in your wallet, you've got," Susan explained, holding tightly to his hands, "You just dial the number and then you put the coins in. Don't lose the paper, love, alright?"

"Alright, alright," Anthony agreed, ducking his head. 

"Call me if you need  anything.  If you get scared or lost or-"

"I will! I will, I promise," Anthony assured her, "I won't take candy from strangers or do anything stupid. I'll be careful. And I'll call you if anything goes wrong." 

"You better," Susan huffed and patted his cheeks, "I know how scary it can be to be alone in the world.”

“Yeah,” Anthony cleared away the lump in his throat and looked away, “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will,” Susan smiled at him and waved to him as he pushed open the exit and headed for the elevator.

The Uber driver tried to make small talk, but Anthony decided that he couldn’t remember how to make small talk. He was constantly on edge, waiting for someone to pop out of the shadows and attack him. After he got to his flat, he was barely standing on his feet, and he trudged up to the place ready to fall into the bed he hoped belonged to him. His keys fit in the lock and Anthony breathed a sigh of relief. It  must  be his home. When he unlocked the door with his keys, all of his exhaustion leaped away in surprise. He stared at the doorway, letting the door creak open as he stared into a dark room. Everything was made out of cement, oddly, and he could just make out the shadows of walls and hallways. Despite its cold demeanor, a wave of warmth wafted towards him as he entered. He wandered in cautiously, not necessarily ready for an attack but tense and expecting one. His hands started to shake for no good reason and the headache behind his eyes throbbed worse than normal. He sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes as he gripped the nearest surface. The world swam underneath his eyes, and Anthony stayed there until it ebbed. 

When he opened his eyes, the walls were smooth enough to ease some of his paranoia, and Anthony ran a hand over the surface as he walked. There was a small sleek kitchen that he set his things down in as he explored, pocketing his phone. Everything was spotless, and Anthony wondered if he was a bit of a neat freak. The cleanliness was comforting as well as disorienting. It suited him and yet, Anthony hoped for something like a pile of scattered laundry on the floor, a pizza box left on the coffee table, or any sort of picture frame lining the walls. All he found were old pieces of art that were fascinating but didn’t give any information about his life other than he was extraordinarily rich. He peeked into the sitting room and found an ordinary chic sofa with modern shelves scaling up the wall. Immediately, he wandered over to the books to see what kind of reader he was. They were mostly picture things which made sense considering his eye condition. The Big Book of Astrology drew his attention, and Anthony opened it to flip through it mindlessly. He put it back when it didn’t spark any recognition, and the tiny words on the page made his eyes hurt even with the glasses. There was a large statue further down the hall of a bird and he spotted another one of two winged people having sex.

“Huh,” He said faintly and turned down another hallway. There was an office, or throne room maybe described it better, and Anthony resolved to dig through the drawers when he came back. 

He peeked into the bedroom and looked at the bed longingly, but there was nothing to explore in that room other than the softness of the mattress. Lastly, he found a room bursting with plants and wandered inside it. The plants were beautiful lush things that Anthony ran his fingers over to appreciate. They shook violently, and Anthony wondered if there was a draft in the room or if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Out of all the rooms, he liked this one the most and found a small corner to sit in. The large leaves draped over him, hiding him, and Anthony sank down against the wall. Almost as if the plants could sense his sadness, they stopped shaking, and one even brushed his cheek. He was sure it was just his imagination. 

“There’s no one here,” Anthony whispered, and finding his flat unoccupied only told him that he was alone. 

Hoping fervently that he was wrong, Anthony pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at it. As if by a miracle, the phone unlocked itself and Anthony jolted. The facial recognition must have worked this time. He glared at the screen, swiping through it as he tried to decipher which app would help him the most. He opened the app with a photo on the screen but he couldn't figure out how to see previous photos. He accidentally took six photos of his shoes and the concrete before closing the app in frustration. Hesitatingly, he opened the app with a phone and looked at the contacts. 

His contact list held odd names. Book Girl. Lizard Kid. Antichrist. Angel. Anthony either guessed he liked to joke around or he kept really weird company. They gave no clues as to who they were to him and there were no easy names like “mum” or “dad” or “husband”. Which was disappointing, but it was fine. At least his contact list wasn’t empty. 

His hand hovered over the most recent call, but something made Anthony hesitate. He reminded himself that he didn’t actually  know  any of these people. Maybe he did before, but he had no idea who they were to him. What if he called them, thinking they were friends, and they secretly hated him? What if the most recent call was the attempted killer threatening him? What if he called a relative that he avoided for the last ten years? Based on the fact that he didn’t have any parental contact, Anthony either suspected they were not on good terms, or they were dead. Both thoughts filled him with sadness. Sure, he had a couple of contacts on his phone, but right now, Anthony was truly alone. He didn’t trust what they might say if he contacted them. People were manipulative, and if Anthony told anyone he had temporary memory loss there was no telling what they might do. No, Anthony decided the best course of action was to pretend nothing had happened. If anyone called, everything was completely normal.

Anthony exhaled softly, “Well. That’s decided then.”

The plants gave him no response. 

The phone sat lightly in his lap, and Anthony fiddled with the ringer button, feeling paranoid. Someone would call eventually, right? It had been three days already. Maybe he was meant to be somewhere, and he didn’t show up. Maybe he had plans with a friend. Maybe he had some obligations or a job he accidentally missed. Anthony hoped he wouldn’t have to go to work. If his boss called him, Anthony would just call in sick and not tell them what the nature of his sickness was. If pressed, he’d say he was puking and having violent diarrhea. Neither was true, but he'd lie if he had to. 

His heart rate sped up as he continued to fiddle with his phone and nothing happened. No one was calling, no one was worried, and no one cared. Anthony had absolutely no obligations and the only thing he could say with certainty was that he spent a lot of time in his plant room and someone wanted to murder him. His flat didn’t look lived in, even if it felt comforting, and he was apparently rich enough to afford all this space for no one but himself. He had no family worth mentioning, and no friends that gave a shit about him, and  god  he had an awful headache. 

“I should call someone,” Anthony mumbled. 

At least then, he would know. It was worse sitting on the ground, waiting for someone to call. He would call someone and pretend to know what the fuck he was talking about and get information about his life that way. It was like playing detective, except he was playing detective on himself because his brain decided to make him forget who he was. If he happened to call his killer, Anthony was sure he would be able to tell and then the mystery would be solved, wouldn’t it? If he knew who they were, he could take better measures to avoid them and protect himself. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he was fumbling to hold the phone up to his face and scrolling through his contacts. He skipped ‘Lizard kid’. Never liked lizards. ‘Angel’ seemed like an obvious choice because whoever they were had called him the most recently, but something made him hesitate. The name was too confusing. Was it a first name? A last name? A nickname? Was it the murderer? Nothing clued him in on the answers so Anthony grew frustrated and kept looking. ‘Antichrist’ and ‘Beezelbub’ were both a dead no. If he was annoying enough to be nicknamed ‘Antichrist’ or the Prince of Hell then Crowley didn’t think he could handle him in a concussed state. The furthest down the line was ‘Dagon’ and ‘Ligur’ and ‘Hastur’ and Anthony simply did not like the way their names sounded, so they were not chosen. That left ‘Book Girl’. She couldn’t be that bad, right? She liked books, probably. Maybe she was a friend or a sister. Anthony warmed to the thought of her being a sister and thought that he would give his siblings silly nicknames like ‘Book Girl’ if they were close.

“Crowley,” Book girl greeted when the phone stopped dialing. 

She was calling him by his surname which wasn’t a good sign. She wasn’t a sibling, then. A friend maybe? Coworker? 

“Heyyy, book girl,” Anthony tried. He couldn’t be out of character if he named her that as his contact, right?

“I thought you might call today,” She said, a little ominously.

They kept in touch, it sounded like, so a better sign. Or she was the attempted murderer and she was expecting Anthony’s call as soon as he was released from the hospital. A 50/50 chance but Anthony couldn’t glean any information off her yet, so he kept talking.  

“Ha,” Anthony said, “You know me too well.”

It was awkward as he said it, but Anthony plastered a tentative smile on his face to encourage himself. He didn’t  think  she was the murderer. She didn’t sound angry, per se, or murderous. He imagined a failed attempt at murder would inspire stronger emotions that the flat detached tone she was speaking in.  

“As well as I can know a demon I guess,” She responded. 

Banter. Teasing, she was teasing. This was good. Maybe. Unless it was insulting? Anthony gave an awkward laugh, and it was a little funny. He guessed that he was a bit mischievous, a bit of trouble enough to warrant the nickname. On the other hand, Anthony had considered that he was in fact, an awful person who actually acted like an evil demon and deserved to be killed. Anthony thought,  What if I, I dunno, killed a kid… or something? Ruined hundreds of civilian lives with petty crime?  

“Right, so, I was just thinking,” Anthony started, speaking around his loud thoughts. He had to have a reason to call her right? He couldn’t make plans because at this point he knew next to nothing about her. Why else did friends call each other? Just to talk? How was he supposed to hold a conversation with someone he was supposed to know but didn’t? He really didn’t think this through, and the seconds were stretching on through the phone. He had to say something soon or at least keep the conversation going. He could ask a question. Questions were good. 

“Do you remember how we met?” He blurted and then winced. He was a real detective, wasn’t he?

“Um.” Book Girl said, and Anthony pressed his knuckles against his forehead. 

“Er. I guess I’m feeling, uh, nostalgic today, so. Uh-”

“It’s hard to forget when you hit me with your car,” She said sarcastically and saved him from the awkward backpedaling. 

Anthony blinked, “You probably hit me.”

It wasn’t as if he  knew  what actually happened, and if Anthony actually hit her with his car, that’s a motive right? She sounded amused, but she could be playing it off. Anthony wanted to believe he was a better driver than that, but he had no clue. Perks of having amnesia, he guessed. Plausible deniability.  

Book girl snorted, “You always say that-”  Oh thank God.  Not only was he relieved his comment was taken lightly, but he also perked up at the good-natured humor that started seeping through her detached voice. 

“-If Aziraphale wasn’t there, I bet you would have taken off after you hit me and claimed I did the damage,” Book Girl snarked. 

Another name! Anthony jolted at the mention of another person and grabbed a hold of it like a lifeline.  Aziraphale, Aziraphale,  He repeated in his head, stumbling over the syllabus as he forced his mind to remember it. What kind of a name was Aziraphale? How did he know Aziraphale? Was  he  the murderer?

Anthony laughed, “Right! Yeah, so, speaking of Aziraphael-”

He hesitated for a moment, internally trying to remember if he repeated the name correctly. It would be a dead giveaway if he said the name wrong if he knew the guy. 

Anthony continued, “Have you seen him? Recently, I mean?”

“Uh, not since I saw you two last at the cottage,” Book Girl said, suspicious again, “It was around two weeks ago, right?”

“Right,” Anthony confirmed even though he had no fucking clue.

So they visited Book Girl, together and were together when they met with her. Whoever this Aziraphale guy was, both Book Girl and Anthony knew him. That was a good sign, probably. Unless they both hated his guts and wanted to ship him off to the other side of the world given the chance. The threatening note had said ' we'  after all. If he let it slip that he had amnesia it was a very real possibility that the two of them would gang up after him and do something like run him over with his own car. 

“Why? Are you not with him? Are you having romantic troubles again?” She sighed, sounding put out, “Is that why you called me?”

Romantic?  Oh shit, they were a couple? Not knowing where he was was probably a dead giveaway. If she kept digging for information about Aziraphale then Anthony would be done for. He had absolutely no clue who the guy was or why they weren’t together at the current moment. In a moment of pure panic, Anthony knew he had to end the call before he gave away anything else.  

“Ngk! What? No. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, anyway, I gotta run. I’ll see you later- it was great chatting with you-”

“Wait-”

“Chow.”

Anthony hung up and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. That… was a lot of information to take in. So, he wasn’t all alone in the universe. He had a friend that he visited last week and she sounded cool, a little odd, but cool. There was a slight possibility that she hated him and wanted to gut him for parts. From first impressions, Book Girl seemed snarky, sarcastic, and honest. Her tone didn’t match the clear bloody threat written to him in the hospital,  but  she did call him a demon. It could have been a completely innocent statement, but something about it reminded him of the note. Damn. He needed more information. Anthony sort of expected her to start spitting curses and threats as soon as she called him ‘Crowley’. When they carried on a normal, albeit awkward conversation, Anthony was left fumbling and trying to act as ordinary as possible. He most definitely failed by bringing up Aziraphale, his supposed partner. Apparently, he visited her with him, like they were all friends or something. Friends who discussed his ‘romantic troubles’ with Aziraphale. God, was it a failing relationship? A  murderous  failing relationship? Did they take stabs at each other instead of breaking up like  normal  people? That was the worst-case scenario as Aziraphale might act normal, loving even, knowing full well they were having some sort of twisted ongoing game to see who could kill the other all while Anthony had no clue. 

He scrolled through his phone and looked for anything that resembled Aziraphale. The contact list was frustratingly unhelpful and short and Aziraphale was nowhere to be found. There was still that name ‘Angel’ that could very well be his boyfriend. Was he that cheesy? What if it was some co-worker or friend who's name was actually Angel? But what kind of boyfriend didn’t have his boyfriend's contact? Anthony wondered if he blocked him. Anthony wondered what sort of sick horror movie plot his life was that he had to worry about his partner trying to kill him with a case of amnesia. 

Panic welled up behind his eyes, and Anthony swallowed down the lump in his throat. He let out a frustrated sigh and blinked rapidly to make them go away. He wasn’t going to cry, he  wasn’t.  It was just a little concussion, a little amnesia, a little attempted murder. He would be fine. Soon enough anyway. Calling Book Girl just relieved how much danger he was in and how much more careful he would have to be. Now all he had to do was rest, lock the doors, and wait it out until he remembered who the fuck he was. Good. Great plan.

Chapter Text

Anthony woke to a loud shrill from his phone and groped blindly on his nightstand. His hand slapped his phone screen, and he cracked open an eye to read the screen. It was blurry when he tried. All he could make out was the date:  October 21st,  and some symbols he sure were words, and flames that looked like… hearts?

Without thinking, he answered, “Hello?”

“Crowley.”

Anthony immediately sat up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. His heartbeat increased from a slow sleep state to racing so rapidly that Anthony’s vision swam with headrush. 

“It’s me, Aziraphale,” The voice said, and Anthony ripped the phone away from his ear to see the contact information. 

It read:  Angel . Ha. His partner. The man he was ‘romantically involved’ with. Possibly a murderer.

“Hey,” Anthony croaked, “What’s up?”

Aziraphale had used his last name, so Anthony wasn’t about to assume they were on good terms. He braced himself for some sort of berating or disapproving tsk for his casual tone. 

Aziraphale started, “I just received a call from Anathema-”

“Who?” Anthony said without thinking and then clamped his mouth shut in horror. How could he be this awful at pretending?

Aziraphale only sighed, “I know you know her name. It’s not much more difficult than mine, Crowley! I know you call her ‘Book Girl’ but-”

“Oh! Book Girl! Right, right, yeah,” Anthony exclaimed and then winced. 

“Yes,  Book Girl,  honestly,” Aziraphale muttered and then continued, “I just got off the phone with her, and it was the strangest thing.”

Beats of sweat dewed on his nose, and he rapidly blinked away the sleep in his eyes, “Oh?”

“Yes, she called because she was concerned that you and I had a fight,” Aziraphale said, “She said you were acting strange.”

“Huh,” Anthony said, trying and failing to sound surprised, “She did?”

He had absolutely no idea how to respond. What if Aziraphale  knew  that Anthony  knew  that Aziraphale tried to kill him? What if they  were  fighting and Aziraphale was mad that Anthony talked to her while they were arguing? What if they  weren’t  fighting and now they  were  all because Anthony talked to her?  

“Yes, she did,” Aziraphale said, and his voice was very prim, “I’m just calling to… check up on you.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Anthony lied as the phone screen swam in his vision, “Yeah, I’m good. Nothing strange about me.”

“You’re…  good?”  Aziraphale emphasized that word heavily, and Anthony had no idea why. Was he upset that Anthony was seemingly fine after the attempted kill? Whether he was or not, Anthony refused to admit any information that might show how vulnerable he was. 

“Ah. Yup. Right as rain.”

“Crowley, have I done something to upset you?” Aziraphale asked bluntly.

“What?” Anthony jolted. 

He sounded, worried, offended, and… just as confused as Anthony was. Why would a murderer be worried about offending him? 

“If I’ve said something,” Aziraphale started, “or-or done something,  please  let me know-”

“No, no!” Anthony scrambled to assure, “You’ve done nothing wrong!”

He didn’t actually know if he had. He could be plotting to kill him for all he knew, emotionally manipulating him to give him a false sense of security. Anthony had no idea what the state of their relationship was before he got amnesia, but he told himself that reassuring Aziraphale was the smart thing to do. Playing the game. He could do that. Deep breaths.  

Aziraphale sighed and said, “Oh, thank goodness. I was worried.”

“Er, no reason to worry,” Anthony said, playing the part, “...angel.”

The word was said tentatively, but there was scarcely any reaction on Aziraphale’s side. 

“Yes, well, I am glad. I thought I’d just… check-in,” Aziraphale said breezily. 

Anthony felt his beating heart warm at the words and took a steadying breath. He had someone who just… checked in with him. There was a slight probability that he wasn’t going to take advantage of Anthony if he knew his current state of mind. If this wasn’t all one elaborate trick. Anthony kept his guard firmly up, but he felt his shoulders relaxing as he heard the genuine worry in his voice. It was impossible not to when Aziraphale’s voice held a ridiculous amount of warmth in a few simple words.

“Thanks, angel,” Anthony said a bit more confidently, a tentative smile creeping into his voice.  Play the part, play the part. 

“Do you think perhaps you could come over to the bookshop?” Aziraphale asked, “I would so love to see you, dear.”

He would  love  to see Anthony? ‘ So love’  to see him? His chest tightened, aching with want. No one had come to see him in the hospital, so Anthony assumed he had no one that cared for him. All he had were vague contacts and a threatening message, so to hear someone actually  want  to see him made the tips of his lips lift into a smile.

“Yeah, I- no!” Anthony nearly shouted and then clamped his hand over his mouth. The action had the phone tumbling from his hand and into the bedsheets.

“ No?  Why ever not?”

Anthony scrambled to grab the phone and hold it to his ear again, “Well, uh, you see, it’sss-”

There were multiple reasons why he could not go to the bookshop. Other than his potential involvement in his attempted murder, Anthony couldn’t trust him. Despite how warm, welcoming, and tempting Aziraphale sounded, this could very well be a trap. Aziraphale could be trying to lure Anthony back into the bookshop to finish the job. Even if he  wasn't,  Anthony had no idea how to get there. Pre-amnesia Anthony should probably know the route to 'The Bookshop', but Anthony scarcely had a clue. Was it Aziraphale’s bookshop? Did he live there? Was it one of their favorite spots? Even if it were any of those things, Anthony still couldn’t get there without an address or a car. Susan made it very clear he couldn’t drive with a concussion.  

He might be trying to kidnap you!  A voice hissed, and Anthony clutched the phone in his hand,  You can’t trust him!

“I can’t,” Anthony scrambled for what to say, “I’ve got-”

‘Diarrhea’  was on the tip of his tongue, but then Anthony caught a glimpse of his reflection on the black phone screen and blurted, “-an eye condition.”

“What?” Aziraphale sounded genuinely confused.

“Yeah,” Anthony winced his way through the conversation, “Had to see the doctors about it. ‘S where I was yesterday and um-”

“You went to the doctor?!” Aziraphale screeched, “Why? Oh, was it that bad? What happened? You never go to the doctor!”

Apparently not  if his nonexistent medical record had anything to say about it. Either Aziraphale genuinely didn’t know he was at the hospital, or he was an extremely good actor, or he hired a hitman to do it for him.  

Anthony frowned, “Yeah, but I’m fine-”

“I’m coming over,” Aziraphale said. 

“What?” This was the exact opposite of what Anthony wanted, “No, wait-”

“I shan’t be changing my mind,” Aziraphale said stubbornly, “I'll be over soon.”

No, no, no, no, no!

“Listen,” Anthony tried, “I don’t want you to see me like this!” 

“My dear, whatever is wrong, I’m sure we’ll be able to fix it. Now hold on, I’ll be there soon.”

“Aziraphale-”

The line went dead. Anthony swore.

This wasn’t good. Aziraphale was going to kill him, or kidnap him, or knock him unconscious and ship him to the Alps. Aziraphale could be abusive or a serial killer or emotionally manipulative. He was going to come in with a gun or a knife or a handkerchief with some potent chemical on it, and Anthony would be helpless. If Anthony ran, Aziraphale would know that Anthony knew it was him. After that, Anthony would most likely be pursued, alone, with no one to trust. On the other hand, if Aziraphale wasn’t the murderer, Anthony couldn’t let him know that he had amnesia. He could  still  be abusive or crazy or-  something.  So if he ran, Aziraphale would definitely know something was wrong, and it would blow Anthony’s cover. The two options tore inside Anthony. Running for his life would alert Aziraphale of his mistrust of him and possibly get him killed. Staying put and pretending everything was fine would also possibly get him killed. Even if Aziraphale was a good person, Anthony couldn’t let him know he had amnesia. He was treated differently with amnesia. The only person who treated him like a person was Susan. Even the doctor spoke condescendingly to him and not to mention someone was after him. Anthony may be paranoid, but he couldn’t afford to trust anyone right now. He couldn’t afford to give Aziraphale the benefit of the doubt.

On top of having retrograde amnesia, Anthony actually did have something wrong with his eyes. They looked like- like something, a creature, a monster, a cat, he didn’t know. They looked  wrong.  He hadn’t looked at himself in the mirror since he saw his reflection, and he didn’t want to. He saw the way Susan looked at him the first time she saw his eyes. If his partner saw them, he would be shocked, revolted, horrified. If they were a happy couple and Aziraphale saw him like this, it could ruin everything. He would think Anthony was some sort of monster and leave and Anthony refused to screw his life up further. No matter what happened, Anthony would still be alone and in danger. Leave and be left, run and be uncovered, hide and risk being found, stay and risk losing. The smart thing to do would be to run, to hide, to fight. Anthony’s body, heaving in panicked breaths as it shook violently, decided for him.

He darted out of his bed and stumbled through the wave of dizziness that threatened to pull him down. Ignoring the blur of double figures and the throbbing in his head, he made a beeline for the garden. He darted between the branches that offered to hide him away and slipped into the smallest shape he could make himself. His limbs felt wrong. Too sharp. Too constricting. He felt like he should be able to squeeze smaller, coil tighter into a ball. He felt like he should be smaller, smoother. Anthony pressed himself into the corner as far as he could go and tried to remember how to breathe. Did he stop breathing? He couldn’t remember how to do it. His lungs burned, and Anthony wanted to slam his head against the wall if only to rattle his memories back into place. Maybe he should call Susan, and tell her that he appreciated her before he met an untimely death. Susan would know what to do, probably. Maybe she'd say something nice to him before he died or- or- something happened to him. Before he could muster up the energy to pull out his phone with shaking hands, he heard the door open. 

“Crowley?” A voice called and his flat door clicked shut behind him. 

He had a key, he had a key, he had a key.  Nice,  his brain thought, and then a moment later,  Bad! This is very bad!  It seemed much too soon for Aziraphale to travel there, but Anthony must have lost track of time. His fingers were shaking and he was having trouble remembering to breathe much less to tell time. 

“Crowley, it’s alright,” Aziraphale called, “You don’t need to hide.”

His voice neared, and his steps clicked softly as he entered the garden room. How had he found him so fast? Anthony’s breath constricted in his chest and he tried to swallow them to make his breathing quieter. It was like he knew Anthony would be in the room, and of course, he did. He knew Anthony better than he knew himself right now.  All the better to kill you with, my dear,  Anthony thought deliriously. Red riding hood hiding from the big bad wolf, Anthony would have laughed if he could remember how to. He squeezed his eyes shut, and held his knees closer to his chest, praying to God, to Satan, to  someone  that he wasn’t about to get murdered in his plant room. Would his last thought before he died really be about red riding hood? What a way to go. 

Footsteps clicked on the cement and entered the room as Anthony’s breath stopped in his chest. The room constricted and the distance between Aziraphale and Anthony’s hiding place seemed to shrink. He should have found a better hiding spot. Maybe under the bed? In a random closet? He should have run, that’s what, out of the building and hidden in the trees. At least then, he’d have a chance. At least then, he wouldn’t be a meal offered on a shiny platter. Two brown shoes stop in front of him, just breaching the leaf shield that protected him and Anthony’s eyes darted open to stare at them, awaiting the blow. Would it hurt for long? Dragged out long, like torture? Would he knock him unconscious first and then Anthony would wake to his limbs sewed on backward? Aziraphale kneeled, pushing the leaves away and Anthony glanced up quickly. Hands, hands were reaching out to strike him, to strangle him, to hurt him. Anthony closed his eyes as if the action would somehow ease the unavoidable pain.  

Aziraphale cupped Anthony’s face and Anthony went rigid, flinching as awaited the blow. He jerked minutely and Aziraphale tutted, coaxing him to snap open his eyes. He immediately noticed his hands were empty of any weapons and Anthony halted his breathing to prevent any poison Aziraphale might be trying to smother him with. 

A tense moment passed as Anthony stared helplessly at the new face as he held his breath. He was nothing like he expected and yet everything made sense. Aziraphale had curling blond hair that almost seemed to shine as the light glowed behind him. His eyes were a grayish blue that wanted to turn green with the influence of the leaves. He was soft to look at, a curving nose, a smooth chin. Blood rushed to his cheeks under the strain of holding his breath and the intensity of his stare. He searched his face for malice, contempt, rage, or hate, and found nothing but gentle concern. He must be phenomenal at acting, right? Right?

“What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”

But Aziraphale’s palms were cradling him softly and his thumb softly brushed under the skin of his eyes. His fingers were soft. Surely, a man with soft hands and a gentle caress wasn’t going to hurt him? 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale urged.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Anthony exhaled the words in one breath and his lungs automatically expanded and welcomed the air in against his will. 

Anthony’s shoulders sagged as the adrenaline ebbed and Aziraphale was deemed non-threatening. He certainly didn’t seem the type to be a serial killer, not with his cherubic looks and soft hands. Looks could be deceiving, Anthony knew, but something about the man exuded safety. Unconsciously, Anthony felt himself relaxing and his panic flowing away. His breathing evened and a lightheaded, cloudy feeling coated his brain. Susan said he would experience some disorientation and confusion, and Anthony hated that he could recognize the fog but was helpless to swim out of it. He tried futilely to appear less vulnerable, if he couldn’t appear intimidating and uncurled out of his protective ball.   

“No?” Aziraphale pulled back, “Well, they look fine to me. Why did you go to the doctors?”

“They look fine?” Anthony heard himself ask incredulously and then looked up to see Aziraphale’s confused expression. 

He didn’t seem at all bothered with the state of them. Aziraphale was steadily staring into his eyes, switching his gaze from one to the other as if scanning for something amiss in them. Anthony felt naked under his stare and looked away. Susan said it might have been a previous condition, and Anthony realized that if Aziraphale was looking at him like nothing was wrong, then nothing probably was. Desperately, he wanted to ask why they looked like this, but if he wanted to act like Anthony, then Anthony already knew why.    

“Oh,” Aziraphale said knowingly, “Is it one of those days?”

“What days?” Anthony didn’t like the sound of that. Wary of anything Aziraphale knew about Anthony that he didn’t know about himself, Anthony shrank with unease. 

Aziraphale’s gaze softened, “You know I don’t mind your eyes, my dear. I think they look lovely.”

Anthony blinked in shock and glanced down, heat flaring over his cheeks. Aziraphale thought Anthony fubbed an excuse about going to the doctors and having an eye condition and was having a panic attack on the floor because he hated his eyes. He thought Anthony needed reassurance because he thought his eyes were the problem. In some small way, they were. His eyes were on a list of growing problems that Anthony was facing. His ploy to direct his attention away from his amnesia sort of worked as Aziraphale made assumptions on his own. It sucked that Aziraphale’s assumptions included believing Anthony needed praise like some sort of lost puppy. 

“Would your sunglasses make you feel better?” Aziraphale asked gently and oh, he couldn’t be the murderer, could he? 

Aziraphale didn’t seem the type at all to attempt murder and then write a bloodied threatening note when he failed. In fact, Anthony had the sneaking suspicion that if Aziraphale wanted him dead, he would be already. It could be that Aziraphale was genuinely crazy. Those types that claimed they loved someone and then crafted an elaborate plan to kill them in expression of that love. Anthony’s traitorous hope trapped in his chest craved the idea that Aziraphale was innocent in all of this. 

Anthony nodded, and the next thing he knew, his sunglasses were in Aziraphale’s hands, and he was gifting them to Anthony. As he put them on, Anthony guessed that he trusted Aziraphale enough to lend him a pair. It was the only explanation because Anthony knew his sunglasses had a crack in them. Either way, the sentiment was appreciated, and Anthony couldn’t help but find the small gesture as an indication of trust between them. 

Anthony mumbled, “Sorry about that.”

Aziraphale glanced at him oddly, but said, “Think nothing of it.”

Even if Aziraphale wasn’t the murderer, he couldn’t spend time around him. It was too dangerous without knowing his true intentions or his past. He was trying to scramble up an excuse to make Aziraphale leave when the man stood.  

“Well!” He brushed his hands on his legs and held out one for Anthony to take, “Why don’t we take our minds off it and grab some lunch? Make a day out of it?”

‘No’  was on the tip of his tongue, but Anthony looked up at Aziraphale’s hopeful face, at the slight puppy dog look he gave Anthony. Anthony felt himself nod and took his hand to stand. Was he drugged? He might be drugged. One look and a nice smile and Anthony’s plan suddenly shot out the window. Everyone was a suspect! Anthony couldn’t afford to trust anyone at all! 

Even as he told himself this, Anthony knew, quietly, privately, that he did not want to be left alone. At least with Aziraphale present, he could see the threat instead of wondering when it would pop out of the shadows. There was some relief in that. Besides, it would be safer than staying alone in his flat, right? If they were out in public, Anthony might be safer. They were already completely alone, and Aziraphale could have killed him any second earlier while he was vulnerable. It was unlikely that he would try to hurt him in a public space then, right? 

Aziraphale didn’t let go of his hand while they walked through the rooms and headed for the front door. Anthony thought about taking the glasses he needed to see but hesitated when he thought of the reaction Aziraphale might have. He actually did get them from the doctors, so Aziraphale might suspect there was something wrong other than his eye insecurities. Instead, he grabbed his wallet and his keys and paused at the door. It was left slightly ajar as if Aziraphale had rushed in to get to Anthony. The train of thought led him to think of how Aziraphale seemed to appear in a matter of seconds rather than minutes as Anthony hid. How  did  Aziraphale get here so fast? 

“What are we taking?” Anthony found his voice as they started down the hall, trying to phrase it innocently. Aziraphale stopped to look at him oddly. 

“The Bentley? You always drive, my dear,” Aziraphale was getting a furrow between his brow again. 

“I know,” Anthony rushed to say, “I just- um- what did  you  take? To get here, I mean?”

Aziraphale stilled, “Oh. I. I-uh.”

Anthony stared suspiciously as Aziraphale fumbled. 

“Well, well, I walked. Of course. Obviously,” Aziraphale said defensively. 

“Right,” Anthony said and Aziraphale’s face grew flushed. 

Oh,  Anthony thought,  He’s a terrible liar.  There was no way he walked here. He knew that it took more than a couple of seconds to walk from a random bookshop to his flat. It took a couple of minutes just to get up the elevator! It was a mystery, yes, but this wasn’t what floored Anthony. It was a simple lie, almost innocent, and something Aziraphale had no reason to lie about. The lie itself made Anthony suspicious, but it was  how  he lied that told Anthony what he needed to know. Aziraphale couldn’t lie  well.  Meaning there was a lower chance of Aziraphale lying about caring about Anthony. Maybe… he really wasn’t going to hurt Anthony. 

“It’s a nice day for a walk,” Anthony shrugged, his nonchalance contrasting with the weight of his revelation.

Aziraphale blinked and then glanced down at their intertwined hands. Slowly, a smile twitched at his lips and he said, “I suppose it would be nice.”

Anthony nodded jerkily and breathed out a sigh of relief. For all of Anthony's fears and mistrust… a walk in public with Aziraphale couldn’t hurt. The murderer (if not Aziraphale) would probably know his home location so it might be good for him to stay in public for as long as he possibly could. On top of that, he definitely should not be driving right now. He didn’t even know if he could remember how to drive in this state, anyway. 

They strolled on with Aziraphale leading the way, and Anthony gladly let him take the reins. An odd sense of calm washed over him- an emotion he hadn’t felt since he could remember. Neither of their hands got sweaty as they held them, and Anthony wondered if it was because of the nice weather. The sky was dotted with small shapely clouds and a brisk wind brushed them ever so often to cool them from the sun's rays. Anthony felt himself soaking up the sun and tilted his head this way and that to revel in the feel of it against his skin. 

“Oh, you old snake,” Aziraphale said when he noticed, “Always sunbathing.”

Anthony blinked, surprised at the affection in his voice. A slow smile crept onto his face, tentative, shy, new. He said with a shrug, “You know me.”

“We should get a sun lamp, don’t you think? For the book shop,” Aziraphale said, “It would be nice.”

Anthony wondered what a sun lamp had to do with him appreciating the sun. Maybe there were plants in the shop and He agreed, “Sure. That would be nice.”

They made it to lunch around an hour later, and Anthony walked feeling safer than he had even at the hospital. Aziraphale rambled all the while and Anthony had a hard time paying attention to his words. He could hear them clearly, but as soon as they drifted past the ear canal and into his brain, the words seemed to dissipate. It was that damned fog. The very same fog that was keeping him from planning an escape or telling himself all the ways Aziraphale could hurt him. Every time he started to form a logical thought it’d just… slip away. When they reached the place, Anthony tried hard to concentrate on acting ‘normal’. 

Aziraphale sighed happily when they entered the air-conditioned room, “That was splendid, dear. We should walk more often.”

They entered a nice brunch restaurant that immediately welcomed them in despite the long wait. They gave Aziraphale one look before they ushered him in with a, “Welcome, Mister Fell! We saved a seat for you.”

Immediately, Anthony tensed as the host led them to a small secluded table and Anthony’s fears ran rampant again. Did he make a reservation? When? It took them at least 30 minutes to walk here. He couldn't have made the reservation earlier. Anthony was in the hospital for the past three days and he had not once gotten a call from Aziraphale confirming plans. It was obvious Aziraphale held some sort of influence and power that allowed him to bypass hour-long waits and be referred to with that much respect. It was unlikely that he was going to kill him here, right? Maybe he would just try to intimidate him? Threaten him? If so, Anthony held fast to the hope that maybe he could talk his way out of the situation. Aziraphale seemed like a reasonable man. If he could figure out what Aziraphale wanted from him, he could barter for his life.  

Anthony watched him carefully as they sat and Aziraphale situated himself in the booth, wiggling to get comfortable. He watched him carefully, noticing his movements and trying to tie them to his personality. Any information about Aziraphale he gathered, the better. Anthony told himself it was because he needed to prove him guilty, not because he was starting to find this man interesting. Aziraphale adjusted himself in his seat until he was comfortable and then straightened the menu left on the table. Without a minute to waste, he scanned the document reading it from top to bottom, systematically. While he read, he murmured softly, “Oh, I haven’t tried this before,” and “Perhaps they can add more sauce on this entrée,” and “Crowley, do you think it’s fried or grilled?”  

Anthony answered even when it wasn’t said directly to him and completely ignored his own menu. Tense with nerves, he didn’t feel very hungry. In fact, he hadn’t eaten anything since he came home from the hospital. That probably wasn’t healthy. At the hospital, he snacked on the pudding, but the meals really weren’t to his taste, and Susan made sure to scold him for it. With Susan’s scolding in mind, he hummed and flicked through his own menu, skipping around until something caught his eye. Anthony would need the strength, he figured. He was just debating whether he should get the salmon sandwich or the chicken one when he noticed Aziraphale’s gaze on him. 

He looked up questioningly and Aziraphale responded to the expression, “Hm? What? Oh, nothing. I just- noticed you’re eating today, is all.”

Eating today?  Anthony frowned. It was said carefully, and Aziraphale immediately started chattering to pull the spotlight away from what might be a sore spot. Did… did Anthony have an eating disorder? He  was  skinny, now that he thought about it, but surely he ate lunch? He thought back to his cold flat and lone bed and clean kitchen. Did Anthony do anything other than tend to his plants and warrant the anger of a killer? Was he depressed? Could someone still be depressed after getting amnesia? Would his body let him eat anything or would he just throw it back up?

He was spiraling into his thoughts when the waiter came up to them. Aziraphale ordered, and Anthony forgot to pay attention. 

“And for you sir?”

Anthony glanced up and then away quickly, “I- uh- I’m. I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

Aziraphale frowned, and Anthony almost shrank under the weight of his small disappointment. He shouldn’t care about this man’s opinion of him, really. He shouldn’t. He didn’t know this man. The disappointment stung anyway. He was thinking of how he could remove that disappointment when Aziraphale spoke up.

“So,” He fiddled with his cup of tea, “About what Anathema said.”

Anthony glanced up, unblinking as his mind caught up with what he said. He felt unbearably slow. Like his head was underwater, and he was struggling to see through stinging eyes. Panic, he was supposed to feel panic. Aziraphale was bringing up the conversation carefully, an argument brewing in the tense line of his throat.  

“What about it?”

“Well, it’s just,” Aziraphale said, “I don’t recall you and her being close.”

“Oh,” Anthony deflated even further. So even  she  wasn’t his friend? She was the most recent call other than Angel. Did no one else call him? 

Aziraphale seemed to notice his expression and hastened to fix it, “That- that is- what I meant to say is-“

“It’s fine,” Anthony cut in, “We’re not close.”

And they probably weren’t, were they? If his own partner thought they were distant then they probably were. She could hate him, really, and Anthony simply would not know. As far as Anthony knew, he lived alone, slept alone, and didn’t eat at all. The only thing he seemed to have going for him was his bank account and Aziraphale. That is, if whatever this thing between them was lasted through his untimely amnesia. 

“She, ah,” Aziraphale tried to continue the conversation, “She seemed to think we were fighting?”

When he looked at Aziraphale, he saw uncertainty in his voice. His expression was nervous as he glanced down to straighten his napkin for the third time. Maybe Aziraphale wanted a secluded table for privacy, not intimidation. He was odd, really, odder the longer he paid attention to him, but Anthony could feel himself excusing away all the little things that didn’t make sense. If Aziraphale was uncertain, Anthony figured they weren’t fighting at all. Anthony was only acting strange because he didn’t know how else to act, and it was causing all sorts of problems. It didn’t help that Anthony had someone who was trying to hurt him, someone whose attempt had put him in the hospital and given him amnesia. His mistrust was reasonable, but Anthony was starting to think Aziraphale didn’t deserve his mistrust. He was starting to think Aziraphale might even earn his trust.  

“No,” Anthony shook his head, “I don’t think we are?” 

Aziraphale sighed in relief, and it was all Anthony needed to know, “Good. Yes. Me neither.”

Their food came, and Anthony watched the waiter place his bowl in front of him with interest. The spices wafted up into his face and Anthony realized with sudden clarity that he was hungry. He could feel the emptiness of his stomach and a knot formed in his lower abdomen, cramping in hunger. Immediately, he grabbed his spoon and scooped it full of soup. He watched the contents swirl around on the metal ladle before he sipped it into his mouth. It was warm as it slid down his throat, and the taste was soothing as it seeped into his tongue. 

Anthony sighed and sipped more soup into his mouth, determined to fill his empty stomach. Already his headache was starting to recede now that he was consuming something. Anthony was just chewing on a bit of chicken in the soup when he noticed Aziraphale’s gaze on him. 

Aziraphale was watching him, jaw slack with surprise and his spoon halfway to his mouth as if he forgot it was there. His eyes were wide, and Anthony immediately shrank under the attention. 

“Er, good choice, Azira- angel,” He said, remembering to tack on the endearment. 

Anthony ducked his head and sipped at his soup again. 

“What? Oh, yes,” Aziraphale jerked and the soup spilled back into the bowl with a  plop,  “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Anthony hummed around a bite and closed his eyes to savor it, “It’s good.”

When he opened his eyes he was faced with the full force of Aziraphale’s beaming smile.

“ Wonderful,”  Aziraphale gushed and it was enough to turn Anthony's cheeks pink.

He smiled down at his bowl and took another tentative sip. Aziraphale looked proud of him? It was good, wasn’t it? People who wanted to kill you usually weren’t happy when you were eating. The big bad wolf popped into his head to counter that, and Anthony wondered if maybe he was thinking of the wrong story. Did the big bad wolf overfeed little red riding hood or was that some other twisted fairy tale? Anthony dismissed the thought with a shake of his head and continued to eat. Even if Anthony didn’t eat regularly, at least he was eating something now. It was okay to be happy for himself now even if he did make poor decisions normally. Anthony resolved quietly to eat more. His stomach was warming pleasantly under the light but substantial food, and if it made Aziraphale smile like that, how could he not? 

When Aziraphale began to focus on his own food, Anthony found himself distracted. He hummed loudly as he swallowed and shimmied in his seat as the warmth of the soup ran down his throat. Anthony glanced up surprised and a little embarrassed when Aziraphale let out a moan around a particularly good bite. Sure, Anthony savored the soup, but he didn’t  moan  about it. All the same, Anthony still found himself watching Aziraphale, noticing his odd little quirks and expressions. No wonder Aziraphale was happy Anthony was eating when he seemed to enjoy food this much. 

Aziraphale finished his soup and Anthony got down to about half before he had to stop. His stomach felt bloated even though Anthony hadn’t eaten that much anyway.

Aziraphale was smiling at him, warm and full, and asked, “So, any plans for this evening?”

“Ah…” Anthony hummed, “No, I can’t think of any.”

After his words registered, Anthony froze. What was wrong with him? He needed to get away from Aziraphale, not get himself invited to his house! There could be traps there or- or  worse  Anthony would have to pretend to know how to act there. What if Aziraphale wanted him to sleep over? What if he was expected to do things he couldn’t remember how to do? Aziraphale's tone practically insinuated that the next thing said was going to be an invitation for a romantic evening Anthony could not afford to risk. Because of this line of thought, Anthony was very confused when Aziraphale’s face dropped. 

“Oh. Yes, ah, of course,” He looked down, his bottom lip tugging up into the saddest pout Anthony had ever seen, “I… no, silly me, never mind.”

…What? Did Anthony miss something? Aziraphale definitely insinuated he wanted to be with Anthony, so it wasn’t like he wanted Anthony to have plans without him. Maybe Aziraphale expected him to have plans for something else.

“I shouldn’t have expected anything,” Aziraphale mumbled softly, “It’s hardly worth mentioning anyway…”

Oh, no. What if it was an important date? Like a birthday, or worse, an  anniversary ? Aziraphale was trying and failing not to look disappointed as he fumbled his way through, and Anthony made a huge gamble before his brain could scramble up the sense not to.  

“Angel,” Anthony said, “Don’t look like that.”

Aziraphale glanced up, eyebrows pinched with sadness, “Hm?”

“Of course, I didn’t forget,” Anthony lied, “I just… wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Oh!” It was like someone turned up a million-megawatt lightbulb directly in his face, “Oh, I  was  worried!”

“Course I didn’t forget,” Anthony scoffed, “You never can wait for your surprises, can you?”

“You know how I feel about surprises, Crowley,” Aziraphale said primly, his tone indicating he  didn’t  like them, but his expression betraying his pleased look. 

Right on the money, then. Anniversary, he guessed. Aziraphale wasn’t wearing the air of someone who thought the day was all about him. No, this day was about  them.  Not that Anthony knew why, but he wasn’t an idiot. Now that Anthony knew something was up, he could see it. The way Aziraphale was confused at his casual dismissal, his insistence on coming over, the almost too-casual request for lunch, the romantic stroll to get there. It even made sense that Aziraphale booked a reservation beforehand. He was relieved to have additional evidence suggesting Aziraphale wasn’t going to hurt him, but this was still going to be a disaster. The stars had aligned to fuck up his life and give him amnesia on his anniversary day, and now Anthony had to figure out how he was going to pull this off. 

“Right, well, now that it’s no longer a surprise,” Anthony tried to say teasingly, “Can I finish up a few things about it? Didn’t, uh, get around to it this morning. ”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said amicably, “Just don’t take too long.”

Anthony stood, heading for the door, “Alright. I’ll be back in a sec.”

He nearly ran through the door, and cursed loudly when it swung closed behind him, “ Shit!”

For a minute or two, Anthony paced. He had to think of something. Apparently, he should already have something planned, and Anthony had no idea if his pre-amnesia self was an asshole or not. Desperately, he hoped that he had planned  something.  Anthony ripped his phone out of his tight jean pockets with a grunt and switched through the apps. Should he call Anathema? Would she snitch on him again? Maybe he should start looking up expensive restaurants, but there was no way that he’d find one with an open reservation  tonight.  Fuck. Anthony was starting to sweat in the sun, and he dug through his photos hoping for a snapshot of a reservation or appointment or  something  when a notification popped up on his phone. It was an email, and Anthony instantly clicked it. He scanned it quickly and all the tension emptied out of him. 

“Thank you, past me,” Anthony muttered and tapped his phone against his forehead in relief.

There was a notification reminding him of the appointment he had scheduled for six tonight. Apparently, it was some fancy dinner place, like he suspected, but it was also a garden. When he googled the place to look at pictures, he saw it was outrageously expensive, romantic, and booked through the next couple of months. Anthony must have pulled some strings to get them in on their anniversary date at six pm. He looked at the address and memorized it before plugging it into his GPS. It took him a couple of minutes of frustrating fiddling to get it to tell him what he needed to know. He was trying to memorize the route on a completely unfamiliar map when Aziraphale stepped behind him. 

“Everything alright, dear?” He placed a hand on his shoulder, and Anthony shut his phone off to hide the screen. 

“Yup! Yeah, it’s great,” Anthony said in a rush, “Everything’s set. We just ah, we just have to be ready to go by five.”

“Lovely,” Aziraphale smiled warmly at him, “No problems, then?”

Anthony shook his head, “Nope. I just had to double-check the reservation.”

Aziraphale’s eyes glowed, “You made a reservation?”

“Yes, and that’s all I'm telling you,” Anthony tried to tease, “Don’t try to get any more information out of me.”  Because I know literally nothing. 

Aziraphale pressed his lips together to stop his grin, “My lips are sealed.”

Anthony wanted to kiss him. It was an almost shocking thing to want, considering Anthony had been terrified of him in scattered moments throughout the day. His blood didn’t know whether to pound from fear or throb with affection around Aziraphale. His odd mannerisms and small lies and hidden tellings roused suspicion, but it was impossible to fake that much genuine kindness, wasn’t it? Aziraphale didn’t act like he hated Anthony at all, and Anthony felt like he would recognize when someone hated him. It was the love that was screwing with his head. It was too tricky to decipher, love, and Anthony couldn’t remember if it was a thing he was used to or not. 

“We should walk back then?” Aziraphale offered his hand, and Anthony took it.

Chapter Text

Anthony wasn’t panicking. He wasn’t. Everything was fine. He knew how to drive. Honestly, how hard could it be? They were sitting inside a car now as Anthony worked up the nerve to turn on the engine. That unfortunately was the extent of his knowledge on how to work the thing. It didn’t help that the car was absolutely stunning and vintage and the only thing Anthony drove. Anthony glanced at Aziraphale and wondered if he could coerce him into driving. 

You always drive, my dear,  Aziraphale had said so that was probably a no-go. Briefly, he wondered if he should just spill the truth and come clean since he was already screwing this up. Aziraphale could ship him off with his limbs dismembered, and he probably deserved it all things considered. 

“Everything alright, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked gently, and Anthony took a deep breath. 

“Right as rain,” He breathed and started the engine. 

It was just like flying, wasn’t it? You didn’t do it all the time but as soon as you started, it would come back to you. Now, wait a minute. That wasn’t the expression. Just like walking, then? Walking was easy and Anthony definitely didn’t know how to fly a jet or anything otherwise. What  was  the expression? 

As he puzzled over it, he didn’t realize the car was already working. She pulled out of the garage smoothly and into the road like it was nothing, and Anthony figured he had to steer the wheel to make it go where he wanted. He was about halfway down the street before he realized that he hadn’t touched the pedals. It was probably something automatic, or how else would it go? It didn’t make sense since the car was very old, but maybe he made some adjustments to it. 

He kept glancing down at his phone to make sure they were going the right way   and Aziraphale yelped, “Watch the road!”

“I am!” Anthony yelped back even though he very much wasn’t and had to swerve into the next lane to avoid ramming into the back of a car. A car horn honked loudly, and Anthony’s chest constricted with anxiety. Anthony was rapidly running through the road rules that he knew as Aziraphale started fiddling with the stereo. Anthony didn’t dare attempt to mess with it with amnesia. You were supposed to know how to handle your car’s radio, he figured. 

“Music always helps,” Aziraphale was muttering as pressed a couple more buttons and slipped a cd in. 

Anthony kept his eyes safely glued to the road and prayed his GPS turn wasn’t up soon. Some sweet tune peeled out of the radio with guitar and soft piano. Anthony startled violently when the soft words suddenly bellowed:  Save me! Save me! Save me!

“Gosh,” Aziraphale placed a hand on his chest, “Your Freddie Merkley does always surprise me!”

Anthony chuckled nervously and pretended that he wasn’t just as startled as Aziraphale was. 

The slate will soon be clean 

I’ll erase the memories

Huh. Well, sort of on point, wasn’t it?

To start again with somebody new

Was it all wasted 

All that love?

Just what was the car trying to tell him? Sure, he was lying about his amnesia, but he couldn’t have said anything. Especially not on their apparent Anniversary. It would ruin the whole day, and Anthony didn’t want to do that to Aziraphale. Tomorrow, after the fancy dinner, Anthony would tell him. From what Anthony had seen, it was unlikely that Aziraphale was going to hurt him. Er. No, that didn't seem quite right. At least, Anthony didn’t believe that Azirpahale left the note in the hospital. The thought was both relieving and frightening as Anthony was now back to knowing nothing about the state of danger he was in. If Aziraphale wasn’t the killer, Anthony figured he was safer to be around him rather than being alone. If they stuck to public places, the killer wouldn’t strike, right? Anthony’s skin crawled with the thought of danger interrupting their date. 

If Aziraphale was innocent, he didn’t want to drag him into this mess. But… but Anthony didn’t want to be alone. He was a coward, he knew, but being with someone who actually cared, someone who wanted to spend time with him, someone who wanted Anthony safe and well- it was impossible to walk away from. The foolish part of his heart insisted that Aziraphale could protect him while the only working brain cell that hadn’t been compromised by the concussion told him to leave the country and Aziraphale until he remembered everything. 

In addition to all of that, he was worried about not screwing up Aziraphale’s anniversary and living long enough to come clean. If he was honest from the get-go this might not be happening right now, but Anthony couldn’t find himself regretting it. He was protecting himself. He had no idea what lies people might tell him while he was unsure and lost, and he wasn’t sure he’d believe them anyway. While he was stumbling through the dark this way, at least he knew the truth. Aziraphale wasn’t putting up an act or withholding any information from him just because he temporarily forgot. He treated him normally, and Anthony needed something normal when he felt so alienated. Tonight he’d take some ibuprofen for the concussion, not tell his Susan about his little stunt or the fact that he’s driving, and then he’d wait it out until he remembered everything. It wasn’t the best plan, but Anthony was going through the motions. He couldn’t think about the future now when he was just concerned with making it through the day. Thinking past anything longer than the next four hours was a key way to make him spiral back into his thoughts. 

“Watch out, fucker!”

Someone honked their horn at Anthony and he heard himself yelling, “Oh, FUCK you too!” in his frustration. His hands were trembling and his lips were pulled into a snarl as he drove on. They accelerated far faster than normal, probably, and Anthony huffed loudly to himself as he glanced down to check the directions again. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale scolded lightly, and Anthony’s lips tightened.

He didn’t  mean  to be aggressive to the random driver, but his nerves felt like a live wire. At any moment something would catch fire and sparks would spray onto a puddle of gasoline. He was uncertain, nearly completely in the dark, and  stubborn.  He could ask Aziraphale for help. He had shown he was willing to lend a hand for Anthony’s sake, but Anthony wouldn’t. Anthony felt with a small certainty that it would be no small disaster if he asked for help now. Driving was a thing Anthony did, making reservations was a thing he did, dating Aziraphale was a thing he did, and  surviving  was a thing he did. He felt with no small certainty that Anthony had to claw and fight his way through life. Of course, Anthony couldn’t remember anything to support the feeling, but he knew that his inability to trust anything even with amnesia must have stemmed from something. Like it was hardwired into him to have his walls up at all times. Anthony couldn’t afford to screw up. He couldn’t. He couldn’t go back to his dark empty flat alone.

If he got this date right, Anthony would hopefully be spending the night in Aziraphale’s bed. He was willing to face that uncertainty if it meant Anthony wouldn’t be alone in the morning with no memories to keep him company. Maybe Anthony was used to being alone, but right now, he had no way of knowing that. His one tie to his old life was Aziraphale, and he was going to do everything he could to keep him until he remembered his life enough on his own. It was unsafe and selfish to drag Aziraphale into this entire mess, but he had a feeling there was something about Anthony that made him worthy of attempted murder. Maybe this was it. Dragging other people down with him in an attempt to save himself. Ducks in a bucket. Or was it ducks? Ducks couldn’t fit in buckets, could they? What  was  that expression again? 

For twenty long and very stressful minutes of checking his phone and remembering how to drive whilst driving, Anthony and Aziraphale rode in relative silence. The music was good, but he couldn’t enjoy it with the nagging feeling that the car was trying to tell him something, and it made him sound crazy the more he thought about it. He couldn’t even trust his own car, apparently.

He pulled into the parking lot with the world record for worst parking jobs. Shamefully, he turned off the ignition and plunged them into silence. For a second Anthony stayed like that, posed with his hands pinched around the key and staring mindlessly at the radio. 

“My dear…?”

Anthony said tightly, “What?”

“Is everything…?” Aziraphale started and then trailed off. 

“What?” Anthony prodded.

“Nevermind,” Aziraphale folded his hands together, “Lead the way, dear boy.”

“Right,” Anthony slipped out of the car, fumbling with the old handle before nearly sprinting to the other side of the car door. 

Aziraphale was startled when he opened his door for him and offered his hand. His efforts were rewarded with a brilliant smile and a soft hand in his. Anthony didn’t drop his hand and squeezed it as he led them towards the obvious entrance. 

“Reservation for Anthony J. Crowley, please,” Anthony said to the host as confidently as he could, and Aziraphale shot him a coy smile for some reason or another. He hated that he couldn’t decipher the individual meanings of each look Aziraphale gave him. 

The host led them through the typical expensive restaurant but motioned them to walk forward as they reached the back. The host held open white beaded curtains and Anthony stepped through with Aziraphale on his arm. When they entered, a large fan tussled their hair and Aziraphale chuckled at the sudden onslaught of air. They were hit with a wave of warmth that prickled on his skin and between the gaps of their palms. Green burst, brighter than any color Anthony could see. It seemed to glow in the large room as the large tropical leaves framed the walkway and waved gently in greeting. Anthony reached out to thumb a thick sheen leaf as they walked forward, led by the host. Everything was healthy, not a spot or blemish in place, and Anthony felt something both stir in his chest and settle at the sight. Reading the email explaining the unique process of a greenhouse and restaurant didn’t prepare him for the sense of warmth and comfort he would feel surrounded by plants that climbed higher than the windows. Anthony exhaled his sigh through his nose and inhaled the moisture and earthy smell. The host chatted to them as they walked, but Anthony’s mind drifted to a blurry memory that hung in the back of his mind since he woke. The place, where it was, shone impossibly with color. Colors that Anthony knew were not green but couldn’t distinguish differently. There was an apple tree, bright with hanging apples that shone against the green of their leaves, distinguishable even to Anthony. The memory stopped there, a fragment of something larger that whispered in the edges of his mind:  important. This was important. 

Delighted, Aziraphale gasped and looked for all the world as if Anthony had shown him the stars instead of a greenhouse. They walked through until the host led them to a small table that was surrounded by luscious plants. This was Aziraphale’s favorite part, it seemed, as he beamed at the sight of the white wooden seats and table. Anthony darted ahead to pull out his seat because he figured Aziraphale was the type to appreciate the gesture. He warmed under the bashful smile Aziraphale shot him and the pleased, “Thank you, dear.”

The host left and was quickly replaced by a waiter who excitedly told them all the features that came with the reservation Anthony booked. There was a time slot of two hours where they could eat and wander around the garden whenever they pleased. The waiter gave them a small electric device that they could press to buzz for the waiter whenever they needed it. He said something about ‘not disturbing the romantic atmosphere’ and winked at Anthony as he said it. Anthony grimaced in embarrassment but didn’t refute the comment. Aziraphale graciously thanked him and asked for his best wine. Anthony raised his eyebrows a bit at the price the waiter told them, and Aziraphale shot him a daring smile. Sure. Yeah. He could pay for all this. Totally. What else was he going to spend it on? Physical therapy? If all things went right tonight, Anthony knew he wouldn’t make it to the 10 a.m. appointment.  

“Crowley, this is wonderful,” Aziraphale beamed at him, “Where did you find such a place?”

“Oh, you know,” Anthony said dismissively, “Around. Saw it was disgustingly romantic and thought of you.”

He winced at the sarcastic reply until Aziraphale gave him another one of his smiles and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Do you like it?” Anthony asked, a little pathetically. 

“Well,” Aziraphale picked up the menu, “We’ll see how the food tastes, shall we?”

Anthony barked out a surprised laugh at the bastard streak Aziraphale was displaying. It wasn’t as much of a bastard to be a suspect of attempted murder, but just enough to keep things interesting. Reevaluating first impressions, Anthony figured Aziraphale was genuinely kind, fussy, and happy. He was delighted to see he had a bit of a teasing streak on him. It was probably why they got along. 

The wine showed up not too much later, and Anthony hesitated. Drinking with a concussion was probably very bad for his healing brain. Killing off brain cells would likely hinder the process of any remembering, but if he  didn’t  drink, that might seem abnormal, right? Well, a little bit couldn’t hurt, right? He had to drive back anyway. Anthony was sure he would need a clear head for the drive back. 

Anthony took a tentative sip and savored the taste. Aziraphale appeared to be savoring it as well when he said, “Oh. That is good. It brings me back to 05 was it?”

Anthony stiffened and muttered, “Nnyeah.” 2005? Probably?

“They had the best wine, didn’t they? In that little pub you found in the middle of nowhere,” Aziraphale laughed, “I didn’t believe you when you said it was in Din Eidyn. You know how I felt about middle-age Scotland.”

Right. Complete and utter gibberish to Anthony. He laughed along anyway. 

“Oh, yeah,” He said like he remembered, “I’d forgotten about that.”

Technically true. Anthony winced through the half-lie and listened to Aziraphale chatter about middle-aged wine that they somehow got a hold of by raiding an old castle basement. Anthony was lost from the beginning of the story, but he could tell that they went on some rebellious adventures when they were younger. The story inspired a bit more confidence that they  knew  each other, for all Anthony forgot. Though, raiding a historical site of its preserved wine seemed like much more fun than sitting in a greenhouse restaurant. Anthony let a little frown pull down his lips, but it lifted when Aziraphale’s eyes dropped down to meet his again. He tended to look away when he rambled as if he could feel the weight of Anthony’s stare, and his hands fluttered as he spoke. Thankfully, Anthony only had to contribute in small sentences that were mostly him confirming Aziraphale’s memory. He hoped his partner had a better memory than he did. 

To avoid his previous disappointment, Anthony ordered something that sounded good for himself and ordered Aziraphale’s meal for him once he discussed what he wanted. This seemed to amuse Aziraphale if his twitching lips had anything to say about it, but he didn’t comment on it.

About halfway through the wait, Aziraphale pursed his lips and asked, “Everything alright, dear? You haven’t said much.”

Anthony straightened, “Hm? Oh, well, uh, you know. I just.”

Aziraphale waited for him, his gray-green eyes soft and patient. His soft light coat and waistcoat didn’t look like they fit inside a tropical greenhouse, but against the flora, Anthony thought he belonged there. Like a renaissance painting. The large leaves framed him perfectly and the flowers seemed to curl around him like they wanted to pepper his skin with kisses. 

“I like listening to you,” Anthony finished as soft as he felt his insides giving under the weight of his fondness. How was it possible to feel so fond of someone you couldn’t remember? 

It was true Anthony didn’t remember Aziraphale. He couldn’t tell you how they met or what the wine tasted like in Din Eidyn, but there was something about Aziraphale and him. Some pull towards him, something hard-wired in his brain that categorized his every move. Anthony wasn’t bored while he spoke because his mind was working, taking in the new information and learning his ways all over again. He knew next to nothing about Aziraphale, but it felt more familiar than he could explain. All Anthony knew was that he wanted to be right there by his side, basking in the glow that he gave off, for as long as he was allowed to live. He just hoped it wouldn’t be taken away from him.   

Aziraphale’s expression grew sappy, softening even further if that were possible. His eyes twinkled in delight, and Anthony swore his breath caught.

“Well,” How did his lips curve like that, that smile that he was fighting to hold back? “I’m glad my rambles don’t bore you.”

“They never could, angel,” Anthony shook his head lightly, and pillowed his cheek on his palm. 

That was the ticket. The “angel's” cheeks darkened in a blush, and he smiled at his lap bashfully. Anthony watched it happen, happy to add his pleased flush to the list of expressions he tried to wring out of him. The waiter appeared as Anthony continued to stare, and Aziraphale fiddled with the table sheet happily. The food looked as expensive as it advertised, and Anthony was pleased to find his meat cooked well and the spices evenly coating the meal. Aziraphale loved his meal if his sounds of delight were anything to go by. Anthony categorized those too. 

Not much talking was done with their meals. Anthony ate half of his meal and then pushed it around with his fork as he waited for Aziraphale to finish his plate. 

“What would you say to a little look around?” Anthony asked after the last noise faded away into pleasant silence. 

“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale looked at him warmly as Anthony stood and offered his arm. 

Aziraphale settled into his side as they walked, and Anthony basked in the warmth he gave off. He felt content and sleepy. His mind was hazy with fog that felt as thick as the moisture in the greenhouse and his stomach was pleasantly full. 

“This really has been a lovely day, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Mmhm,” Anthony hummed, glancing down at the soft curls of Aziraphale’s head. They looked inviting and he had to resist leaning his head against them. 

“I didn’t think you would remember,” Aziraphale said.

“Mn,” He hummed again, pleasantly. 

“It was such a long time ago,” Aziraphale went on, “I can barely believe humanity’s made it this far.”

Okay, a little odd, but not unreasonable. They have lived through a lot of stuff, probably. Anthony wouldn’t know, but he figured the state of the world wasn’t always or even currently pleasant.  

“And to think it’s all because of you,” Aziraphale beamed up at him.

“Me?” That startled Anthony. 

Aziraphale chuckled, “Well, of course. Without the apple, there would never have been any of this. It’s wonderfully ironic, dear, this garden. You are very clever having us dine here.”

They stopped in front of an apple tree, and Anthony’s head throbbed as he stared at Aziraphale standing in front of it. It was  important,  he knew, and Anthony tried to remember why Aziraphale standing at the trunk of an apple tree was so  familiar  he almost ached with it. 

“Right,” Anthony said, a little unsure. He thought he was following, but he supposed it was one of those inside jokes and events that no one would get unless you’ve been there, “Yeah, no problem, angel.”

“I didn’t know if you’d want to celebrate it honestly,” Aziraphale stopped and smiled up at an apple tree that lined the path they were walking, “But I do think it’s worth celebrating.”

Anthony scoffed, “Of course it is.”

“I don’t know who I’d be if I hadn’t met you,” Aziraphale turned to meet his eyes, “In some dusty bookshop I’m sure, but… not where I need to be. With you, here, anywhere, really.”

Aziraphale started to take his hands, and his thumbs gently stroked the top of his knuckles. Anthony sucked in a breath and glanced from his hands to Aziraphale’s face. He swallowed the lump that tried to form in his throat. 

“Yeah,” He croaked, “Me neither, angel. I don't... I don’t know where I’d be without you. Probably alone somewhere, but… alone.”

It was embarrassingly true though it was vague, but Anthony found he didn’t want to lie anymore to Aziraphale. This man had been nothing but kind and gentle to him. He deserved to know. 

“You don’t have to be alone, Crowley,” Aziraphale squeezed his hands and the incremental movement brought Anthony swaying closer, "Our side, remember?"

He wet his lips to speak, to confess, but his gaze landed on Aziraphale’s imploring eyes, the soft curve of his lips that pulled dimples and wrinkles onto his face. Aziraphale looked at Anthony like he wanted him to kiss him. So he did. The confession could wait. If nothing else, this night would be perfect for him. 

His lips were soft and surprised. Leave it to Aziraphale to give him  kiss me!  eyes and then be surprised when Anthony kissed him. Anthony cupped his face gently, intending to keep it light and chaste, but Aziraphale’s grip on his arm tightened, and he was melting into his hold. He tilted his head just so, and the warm heat of him grew hotter. Anthony exhaled shakily through his nose, and then he was holding his breath. Aziraphale quite literally had stolen his breath. He counted the seconds that felt much too long and pulled away when his lungs protested. His face was flaming as he evaluated Aziraphale's expression. He would be mortified if he got it wrong, and his cover would be blown. Anthony couldn't exactly remember how to kiss properly. Aziraphale's eyes fluttered open, a smile twitching at the edges of his lips as if he couldn't quite believe it. Anthony opened his mouth to blurt an apology or an excuse or anything stupid in his panic when Aziraphale closed the gap again. He kissed him like he was showing him the way, gently coaxing Anthony from his anxious state into a mind-numbing sensation. Anthony didn’t know kissing could be like this. Granted, he didn’t remember any previous kisses he had, but if they all felt like this, why hadn’t he done this sooner? 

As if hearing his thoughts Aziraphale breathed, “Why didn’t you do that sooner?”

It made Anthony laugh, clear and bright, and it made it harder for Aziraphale to kiss him through his laughter. 

“Oh, you…” Aziraphale pulled back with a huff, hands still cupping his cheeks as he smiled so wide it hurt. 

His lips wobbled in amusement and soon, Aziraphale was laughing softly with him, resting his forehead against Anthony’s collarbone to chuckle against his skin. Anthony’s breath puttered out of him in a happy exhale and his stomach stopped spasming with tickles of amusement. To think he thought this silly man was trying to kill him, and now he was laughing for the first time since he could remember. Anthony decided he liked laughter. 

“Right, well-” Anthony began. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale interrupted with a cry, “My coat!”

He swiveled around to peer at his shoulder which had been brushed with pollen from a nearby flower. The cream coat had a smear of nauseating yellow and Aziraphale turned to show Anthony. He frowned, inspecting the small dusting as Aziraphale looked up at him with imploring eyes. Did… did he want him to fix it?” 

“Hmm,” Anthony stepped closer, “Well, pollen stains usually come out pretty easily. I can throw it in the wash for you if you like.”

Aziraphale looked appalled, “ Throw  it in the  wash?” 

“Or we could take it someplace,” Anthony shrugged, “if you want it done professionally.”

“I don’t want it ‘done professionally’!” Aziraphale cried, “I want-!”

Anthony blinked in confusion, “What?”

“Well, I just- I thought  you  would fix it,” Aziraphale now was giving him the same wide-eyed look, but it now looked hurt.

“I can’t just-I mean, Aziraphale, I’m doing my best here,” Anthony sputtered, “I could try to wipe it off with my jacket  now  if you want, but it might just smear-”

“No! That’s not what I want at all, Crowley!”

Anthony exasperated, “Well, what  do  you want? I can’t just-just- snap my fingers and miracle it away!”

“Yes! You can!” Aziraphale looked at him as if  Anthony  was the one out of his mind and not the other way around.

Anthony gaped at him, “No, I can’t!”

Out of all the things he predicted they might fight about, this was the last thing on his list. He didn’t think his partner would expect him to work  miracles.  Sure, he expected Aziraphale to be a little pushy, a little bossy, a little ‘you do it for me’ kind of partner. But Anthony didn’t mind spoiling him, especially when he reacted so wonderfully. He never expected Aziraphale to expect him to do the impossible and then grow erratic when Anthony said he couldn’t do it.

“Yes, you can! I don’t know why you’re being so irrational about this Crowley!” Aziraphale said, and Anthony, for the life of him, could not tell if he was being serious or not. 

" I'm  the one being irrational?"

Aziraphale huffed, "Crowley-"

“It’s  Anthony,”  He exclaimed, “ Anthony!  I don't know why you’re calling me that!”

Aziraphale looked at him with wide shocked eyes, "What- what the hell is the matter with you? You've been acting odd all day and now - now you won't even-?"

“Fine, you know what? Is this what you want me to do? Snap my fingers and-” Anthony snapped his fingers harshly in front of Aziraphale’s face to mock the whole ridiculous conversation. And then he felt it. Like a shiver running down his spine. Like a bell that barely makes a sound. Like the hiss of a garden snake. Like a trickle of blood rushing down his fingers. Anthony stared in shock as the pollen that had been so pointedly there moments before disappeared. 

Aziraphale huffed loudly, “See? Now, was that so hard-”

Anthony snapped again. 

The pollen reappeared. 

Aziraphale’s gasp was outraged, “Crowley!”

Anthony snapped again and it was gone. 

“Really, now-!”

One more snap and the pollen was back. Anthony reached out and smeared his fingers against the stain until the yellow dust was sitting on his fingers. With his other hand, Anthony snapped and the pollen vanished into the thin air. He touched his fingers to prove that the pollen was gone and found them clean. 

“...Crowley?”

Anthony’s eyes snapped to his face, “Did you see that?”

His eyebrows narrowed, “Yes, of course, I saw it. You were teasing me!”

Anthony prodded his fingers again, “Did you do that?”

“I think it was quite obviously  you.  Don’t try to turn it around on me-”

“Where did it go?” He looked around, searching for any source. Maybe the wind picked it up and his snapping happened to be in sync with it. 

“Really, Crowley…”

Anthony backed up and glanced around the greenhouse, eyes wide behind his dark glasses. He ripped them off without a thought and Aziraphale gave a surprised noise at his action. Anthony spotted a flower with a yellow pollen center and started towards it. He plucked it off the petals and rolled the stamen between his fingers. Aziraphale grew silent behind him, watching as Anthony lifted his other hand shakily and snapped. 

The entire pollen stamen disappeared. 

“Did you see that?!” Anthony wiped his head over to Aziraphale, “You saw that! You saw that, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Crowley,” Aziraphale was suddenly looking at him with wary and mistrustful eyes, “I saw it.”

“Hoooollyyy fuck,” Anthony said. 

He just made something disappear. Every time he snapped he felt some sort of shot of electricity through his fingers, but there was no physical manifestation of it. He could just feel it. Just like he could feel it was attached to something inside him, like a power source of sorts. Just potential energy lying dormant until he decided to use it. It was so suddenly brought to his attention that it felt overwhelming like it might spill out of him any second if he didn't do something. 

His trembling hands pressed against his thighs to wipe the sweat from them as he felt the power thrum around his beating heart. He was overflowing with it now, there was so much energy thrumming beneath his skin that it almost felt too tight with it. Anthony looked around almost wildly before his eyes settled on an apple tree, fingers poised to snap. 

“Wait-”

He didn’t really think about what he was going to do with all this energy, but he just knew it'd have to be a bit bigger than a snap, so instead, he clapped his hands together and instantly the ground shook. 

Aziraphale stumbled over to him as the ground rumbled, “Crowley!”

Roots started spilling through the earth, pushing the stones out of their way and curling around anything unmoveable. The branches climbed higher, the fruit grew larger, the trunk grew thicker, pushing up and outwards. Aziraphale gripped his arm almost painfully tight, but all Anthony could do was stare in awe as the apple tree pushed up into the glass and started breaking its panes. 

A couple of apples tumbled down, shaking loose and Anthony muttered, “Oops.”

“Oops? Oops! What do you mean- Crowley- what’s going  on?”

“What’s going on?” Anthony repeated, “I don’t have one solid fuck what’s going on.”

“What?!” Aziraphale cried and then whispered, “Are you drunk?”

“Sober as can be, angel,” Anthony stared at the tree as it stopped thrashing and finally stilled. It was true. He only had a couple of sips of wine. 

“Then, what the Heaven is wrong with you!” Aziraphale demanded and Anthony, for all his patience, for all his methodical planning, for all he tried, snapped. He pushed away from Aziraphale, wrapping his arms tightly around his middle as he burst. 

“What’s wrong with me? I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me!” Anthony yelled, “I wake up alone with the eyes of the monster and no one to tell me what the fuck is going on! And when it turns out I'm not alone, the one person who cares about me wants me to work miracles and now I’m  hallucinating!”

Aziraphale's eyes darted quickly about his face, assessing him as he said, “You’re not hallucinating, Crowley.”

“Oh? I’m not? Just every time I snap my fingers things magically disappear?”

“Well…” Aziraphale said slowly, “That’s not all you can do. Obviously.”

“Obviously, right. Did just make a tree grow twice its size.”

Aziraphale pointed out, “An  apple  tree.” 

“Who cares?” Anthony asked irritably, “Who cares if it’s an apple tree or an orange one?”

“You don’t remember,” Aziraphale blurted suddenly and Anthony froze, “You don’t remember anything.”

He opened his mouth to say something to confirm or possibly deny it, but he was too busy staring at the goddamn apple tree. 

“Oh, god,” Aziraphale said, “You don’t remember anything. 6000 years- 6000  years  and you don’t remember.”

“Hold on,” Anthony whirled around, “Did you say-”

“How did this happen?” Aziraphale’s hands were covering his mouth and he looked for all the world like his worst nightmare had come true.

Anthony’s shoulders slumped at the horrid look on his face, “I… don’t know.”

He turned away, hand still covering his mouth in his state of shock, “Of course, it all makes sense now…”

Anthony grunted uncomfortably. 

“That’s why you were acting so strange! I  knew  something was off, but I just chalked it up to you being nervous-” Aziraphale gasped suddenly, “You kissed me!”

He pointed a finger, accusing and Anthony gaped. 

“You wanted me to!”

“That was before I knew you lost your memory!” 

“Oh, please,” Anthony rolled his eyes “Don’t act like it’s a huge deal, I’m sure we-”

“The first time,” Aziraphale whispered.

“What?”

“The first,” He gulped, “That was our first.”

“What?”  Anthony nearly screeched, “You mean to tell me that in,  what , six thousand  years  we have not  once  kissed each other?”

Aziraphale shrank, “Well, unless you count kisses on cheeks and hands-”

“No, no, no, wait,” Anthony put his hands up, “I thought we were a couple.”

“You thought-” Aziraphale’s face broke, “you thought we were a couple?”

“Well, yeah! We- you touched my face!”

Aziraphale blushed, “You worried me!”

“And- we- held hands and took a romantic stroll-”

“I just thought you were being bolder!”

“I thought I was acting natural!” Anthony placed his arms over his hand and sank into a crouch. 

“Oh… Crowley-”

“I was going to tell you,” He gritted out, “I just- I didn’t-”

He sighed into his hands, “I didn’t want to ruin the day.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale crouched too, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Before you knew about the day?”

“Guess I was obvious, huh?” He scoffed.

“Yes, well, I am very good at reading you, dear. I decided just to let it slide and let you miracle your way in making it up to me,” Aziraphale muttered. 

“But I didn’t-!” Anthony insisted, “I already booked the reservation for here. I didn’t use a- I just couldn’t remember I booked it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier, then? That you couldn’t remember.”

His voice was so gentle it eased the truth out of him, “I… I was afraid.” It wasn’t the whole truth, no, but something held him back. Something made him hesitate. Just moments ago, Anthony had been willing to tell Aziraphale everything- the amnesia, the attempted murder- but now… This changed everything. 

“Oh, love,” Aziraphale said, expression creasing into sympathy. 

His shoulders bristled defensively, “I didn’t have any medical records or emergency contact or- or  parents  and there was something  wrong  with me and I didn’t know what. I did have any real names on my contacts and didn’t know who to trust. You all could have hated me for all I knew. Or-or-”  tried to kill me.  Anthony didn’t dare voice the accusation aloud, now worried about the apparent magical factor in their lives that Anthony missed. 

Aziraphale nodded, “So that's why you called Anathema.”

“I just wanted to figure some stuff out,” Anthony said, “I didn’t intend to… to… do all this.”

“You don’t have an eye condition,” Aziraphale said, suddenly. 

“What?”

“I said, you don't have anything wrong with you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “Your eyes are just as they should be, and they are lovely.”

“Yeah, that clears things up,” Anthony snorted. 

“Well, my dear, I think if I began explaining everything now, it just might be confusing and overwhelming.”

“Yeah, probably,” Anthony conceded. 

“Perhaps we can go back home, and we’ll see what we can do about this whole mess?”

“You don’t want to leave?”

Aziraphale blinked, “I do. We should go back to the bookshop and-”

“No, I mean…” Anthony looked up, “you don’t want to leave… me?”

“Oh, dearest,” he said, “I would never want to leave you.”

Chapter Text

There was a warm cup of tea in his hands and a fuzzy tartan blanket around his shoulders. His glasses were off, but the dimness of the bookshop didn’t hurt his eyes. He blinked slowly, trying and failing to comprehend all that had happened. The sofa he was sitting on was soft and he sank into it, almost disappearing with all this smothering. Aziraphale came around the corner of a book stack with another mug decorated with angel wings and made his way over to his own chair. He was posed halfway to sit into it when he paused, stood, and sat next to Anthony instead. 

Aziraphale started, “I suppose you’re quite confused, dear.”

“That’s one word for it,” Anthony mumbled, placing the warm lip of his mug against his mouth but not drinking it. 

“Well, how about you explain to me all that you know, and I’ll explain all that I know, and we can both figure out a solution together?” Aziraphale tried to smile encouragingly, but Anthony could see the frown wedged between his eyebrows. 

It did sound like a good plan, and Aziraphale was being awfully gentle towards someone who just lied to him for an entire day. It could be a trick, all this kindness, all this pampering. If he wasn’t going to dismember him before, now Aziraphale had a reason to. He might even do it with the powers he probably had. The second Anthony revealed what he knew, Aziraphale would treat him differently, or kick him out, or reveal he’d been lying all along too. 

“Crow- Anthony,” Aziraphale asked, “I know this is all very frightening, but I assure you, I do intend to help.”

“How should I know?” Anthony mumbled.

“What was that?”

“How do I know your intentions?” Anthony said louder, “You could- you could tell me anything, and I wouldn’t know whether to believe you or not. I just- I wouldn’t know, and you know everything.”

Aziraphale frowned thoughtfully, “I see.”

Anthony looked away, staring at a random book spine in front of him and refusing to let the panic build. He could see Aziraphale was trying, but Anthony couldn’t shake the feeling that he wouldn’t tell the whole truth either. Aziraphale said they’ve been around for six thousand years, what did that even mean? What did that make Anthony? What did that make   Aziraphale,  more importantly? The situation was much more dangerous now that Anthony discovered this side of his life, and still, he had someone trying to kill him. What if they had been around for six thousand years too? What then? Anthony could make a tree grow, sure, but he didn’t know if he would win in a fight against another magical being. Just thinking of it made his head spin, and he winced as a vein in his head throbbed. Anthony still felt the residual magic at his fingertips, though he felt exhausted. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the mental strain or physical one. Anthony sat, stewing over his thoughts until finally, his curiosity won out. 

“Why can I… do those things?” Anthony murmured, breaking the silence. 

“Hm?” Aziraphale leaned closer to hear him, “Oh, well, that is… we’re not… exactly human, my dear.”

“You too?”

Aziraphale nodded. 

“So, what are we?”

Aziraphale hesitated, “Er… supernatural entities, I suppose. Ethereal and… and occult beings.”

“Occult,” Anthony said, “So, what? Like devils and witches?”

“Not, witches, no, but we do know a witch,” Aziraphale said, “Anathema- well I suppose you might know her as-”

“Book Girl!” Anthony finished, finding some small satisfaction in his memory.  

Aziraphale rambled, “Yes, though I’m not sure if she’s the traditional witch or if she even knows it, but, it runs in the family, I suppose.”

Anthony prodded, “Right, so what does that make me and you then?” 

Again, Aziraphale hesitated, and this was exactly what Anthony was afraid of. Whatever came out of Aziraphale’s mouth would be some version of the truth, but not the complete story. Even if he did have the best intentions, Anthony just needed to  know. 

“How about I show you?” Aziraphale asked, surprising him.

Anthony eyed him warily, eyes full of mistrust. 

“It’s completely safe, I assure you,” Aziraphale saw his suspicion, “Just a simple manifestation.”

“...Alright,” Anthony conceded, spine stiffening in apprehension. 

“Right,” Aziraphale sat up straighter and rolled his shoulders, “Well, then. Here I go.”

Nothing happened for a moment, and Anthony began to wonder if this was all one elaborate prank. Witches and magic and supernatural entities? Come on, who was he kidding-

Bright white wings burst from Aziraphale’s back and nearly knocked over the towers of books surrounding them. He gave two small flaps that ruffled multiple pages and Anthony’s hair. He sat up, the blanket dropped from his shoulders, and he stared wide-eyed at Aziraphale’s large pristine wings. 

“An angel!” Anthony shouted, “Oh my god!”

Aziraphale’s eyes shot open and he started, “Now, there’s no reason to be afraid-”

“I can’t  believe  I literally call you  angel!”  Anthony sputtered, “What kind of- cheesy- lame- oh my  God! ”

Aziraphale prickled, “I’ll have you know that it used to be used as a title until the two of us became friends. Because that is, indeed, what I am.”

“Right,” Anthony said dubiously.

Aziraphale shifted, “It was the humans that started using it as a… as a term of endearment.”

Anthony let out a disbelieving laugh, “No wonder I thought we were a couple!”

“Yes, I do wonder about it sometimes but…” Aziraphale’s face crumpled, “But I suppose it doesn’t really matter right now.”

Anthony frowned, “Susan said I should have my memories back soon.”

“Who’s Susan?”

“Oh, she’s a nurse I met at the hospital,” Anthony explained, “I have retrograde amnesia, so I can’t remember my past.”

He watched Aziraphale’s facial expression carefully, searching for any signs of anger or deceptiveness. Aziraphale’s frown only deepened as his worry became more apparent.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale worried his lip.

“They said there’s no medicine to bring them all back, but once I heal from my concussion I hope I get them back-”

“You have a concussion!” Aziraphale looked at him alarmed, “How?”

“I don’t really remember,” Anthony shrugged, “I think I fell off a horse?”

Aziraphale said immediately, “Why were you on a horse? You hate horses.” 

“I thought so…” Anthony murmured, “ I have some flashes. Mostly, confusing ones. I woke up and thought I was born in the 14th century.”

This startled a laugh out of Aziraphale, “Oh, good lord! You hate the 14th century!”

“That’s what I thought too!” Anthony said, “But I got the day and month right.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, amused, “Oh?”

“April fourth,” Anthony said confidently, “It says so on my license.” 

“04, 04,” Aziraphale hummed, “you know, Crowley, you’re not exactly wrong, but I think you registered that as your birth date for a lark.”

“What?”

“See, the Earth was created in 4004 B.C, October 21st at 9:13 in the morning,” Aziraphale explained. 

“That… doesn’t make any sense,” Anthony frowned. 

“And, you see, we were both there for the beginning,” Aziraphale continued, “But we were obviously created before the Earth-”

“Obviously,” Anthony said sarcastically. 

“-and therefore, before the beginning of time.  I  think that you thought it was funny to say you were born on April the Fourth because it’s-”

“-4004 reversed,” Anthony finished, “you know, I did remember thinking I was born in 4004 at first, but it didn’t make sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, I assure you,” Aziraphale said proudly, “We celebrate the creation of the universe, actually. Every year.” 

“Right, and how do I know you’re not lying?”

Aziraphale gestured to the enormous wings at his back tartly, “You’re welcome to see for yourself if they are real or not, if you’re so skeptical.”

Sheepishly, Anthony reached out and petted the soft feathers closest to him. They were neat and soft as he touched them, and they flexed slightly under his touch in response. His fingers trailed up the feather's spines, finding where they were connected. There was no way it was fake, and Anthony touched them more firmly to confirm.  

“How do I know they’re angel wings?” Anthony stroked the feathers and Aziraphale stiffened, “Maybe you were grown in a lab. With science.”

“Oh, please,” Aziraphale said stiffly, “We can perform miracles, for Heaven’s sake.”

“So we’re both angels then?” Anthony murmured, brushing his fingers through the longest feathers.

 Aziraphale cleared his throat, a pink tint splashed across his cheeks, “Ah… not exactly. Retired angel, for me.”

Anthony let out a surprised chuckle and pulled away, “Retired angel? What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Aziraphale tucked his wings behind him primly, “that I no longer answer to my former employers.”

Anthony’s eyes widened, “God?”

“No,” Aziraphale answered quickly, “I still am an angel, so I will always answer to my creator. I’m speaking of Heaven.”

“Oh, wow,” Anthony looked up, “so Heaven and Hell, huh? The whole shebang?”

“More or less,” Aziraphale muttered. 

“So you’ve really talked to God?” Anthony looked at him, “What’s he like?”

“ She , and yes,” Aziraphale sniffed, “But only once or twice. She is very loving and… distant.”

Anthony snorted, “That sounds about right. So if you’re a retired angel, what am I?”

Aziraphale fiddled with his hands nervously, “That would be, um, a fallen angel.”

“Oh,” Anthony’s smile dropped.

“Retired as well!” Aziraphale rushed to assure, “We’re both retired.”

Anthony said, “So my former boss…?”

“Hell,” Aziraphale nodded. 

“I’m a demon then,” Anthony said, “It explains the eyes, I guess.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered awkwardly, “Are you… upset?”

“I mean, it’s a lot to take in,” Anthony admitted, “I thought there was something wrong with me, or maybe I was some sort of monster, but I guess they’re both true.”

“No!” Aziraphale cried, jumping to action and taking Anthony’s hands in his, “That’s not true!”

Anthony looked away, but didn’t let go of his hands, “Easy for you to say. Your eyes are normal.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call them normal, my dear,” Aziraphale admitted, “I don’t want to scare you by bringing them out, but I promise that several hundred eyes aren’t exactly the norm.”

Anthony’s eyes widened, “Oh.”

They fell silent as Aziraphale stroked his thumb gently over Anthony’s hand, and Anthony tried to get rid of the sinking disappointment he felt. Demons were cool, right? They were bad, obviously, and evil, probably, but they would be more fun than angels, he supposed. Anthony didn’t think he liked following the rules anyway, so the demon life probably worked for him. By all accounts, he should be relieved he wasn’t an angel. It was only… he hoped, deep down, that maybe he was a  good  person. 

“My dear,” Aziraphale began, “I think it might be better if I tried to heal you, if you’ll let me.” 

“You can do that?” Anthony raised his eyebrows and then said, “Yeah, angels, healing. Makes sense. Why didn’t you do it sooner?”

Aziraphale bristled, “I had no idea what was going on! I thought you were doing one of your mischievous ‘wiles’ and I was the unfortunate victim!”

Anthony intended 'sooner' to mean as soon as he found out Anthony had a concussion, but he didn't correct Aziraphale. A laugh startled from his lips, “Wiles?”

“Yes! You- you wiley serpent!” Aziraphale huffed loudly and looked away, “Besides, I don’t think you’d be very receptive to me healing you. You didn’t trust me.”

Anthony looked away, “...sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, it isn’t like you,” Aziraphale said and then remediated, “Ah, I mean- I don’t mind, dear. I understand.”

“So… this healing stuff,” Anthony said awkwardly, “Would it hurt?”

“Not sure,” Aziraphale admitted, “I’ve never healed a demon before.”

Anthony muttered, “That’s reassuring.”

“I'm sure it will be fine. I’m an angel,” Aziraphale shifted closer, his weight sinking into the cushion and causing Anthony to lean into it. 

“I thought you said ‘retired’, ” Anthony snarked, not unkindly, as Aziraphale’s gaze landed on him with far more fondness than Anthony deserved.

“May I?” Aziraphale’s hands hovered around his face, far enough that Anthony could duck away from his touch if he wanted. He searched his eyes and the worried furrowed in his brow. It wasn’t the face of someone who hated Anthony or wanted to hurt him. So far, he hadn’t done anything to misplace his trust. Nothing made sense, before or after the whole greenhouse fiasco, but maybe… if Anthony took this risk, it would all make sense again. 

He nodded and two hands sank into his hair, gently caressing him as he searched for the wound. His fingertips brushed through short hairs and Anthony looked at the lines of Aziraphale’s face blurring. He blinked slowly, wincing as his finger touched the tender spot. 

“There?”

“Yeah,” Crowley tried to say over the cotton in his ears. His limbs felt heavy and he stared at the blurred colors of white, blue, and beige until they faded into black.

Crowley was stressed, to say the least. The anniversary of the Creation of the Earth was three days away, and Crowley was ready to throw his whole plan out and start from scratch. He booked a reservation for a new restaurant, but that wasn’t  enough . This was Aziraphale! Mr. Let’s-Dine-At-The-Ritz-For-Our-First-Date. The restaurant idea was a bust, obviously. Never mind that it was actually inspired by his imagination and Crowley had basically accidentally invented it. While Crowley was dreaming of taking Aziraphale to a place like it, the restaurant appeared a couple of days later. A woman by the name of Natasha was suddenly inspired to put her two favorite hobbies to good use. Crowley stumbled upon it with a powerful surge of deja-vu and decided to use a miracle to make it grow to be financially equivalent to something Aziraphale would deem appropriate to dine in. Fussy angel. Crowley was strolling through the garden now, sneering at the greenery that simply was no match to the original Garden. Even the Apple tree centerpiece was a dull echo of the magnificent Apple Tree Crowley tempted Eve to partake of. Apple trees just didn’t grow like they used to anymore. Crowley tsked and waltzed out of the greenhouse, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

That day had to be perfect, even if Aziraphale didn’t remember the occasion. Of course, they hadn’t talked about it. They didn’t talk about a lot of things, but if Crowley was reading Aziraphale right,  things…  were afoot. A couple of years had passed since the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, and Aziraphale and he had steadily grown closer. Someone else might have seen it as painstakingly slow considering they have been waiting for six thousand years, but Crowley knew his angel. What was a couple of years compared to six thousand? He could wait. He  would  wait, because that was how pathetic he was. Even if this day didn’t go as Crowley planned, he’d wait longer and try again later in maybe three, four years. He tried not to get his hopes up, but he thought if he played his cards  just right  maybe, maybe they take a step closer. Crowley thought perhaps holding hands was in the cards for him.  

They hadn’t held hands since the night on the bus, and the day they swapped faces, but Crowley was sure he had waited long enough to try again. Aziraphale was showing him all the signs of interest, and for every small step Crowley took, Aziraphale seemed to look the other way deliberately. Some might see it as ignoring his advances, but Crowley knew it to mean that Aziraphale was very aware of what he was doing and wanted to let Crowley continue. Aziraphale would stay in the same spot he always did while Crowley would advance, like he always did. This time, he hoped Aziraphale wouldn’t push him back to an arm's length. 

Love me like there’s no tomorrow 

Hold me in your arms, tell me you mean it

This is our last goodbye and very soon it will be over 

But today just love me like there’s no tomorrow

“That’s not very reassuring, Bentley,” Crowley quipped, “You trying to set me up to fail, or what?”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel as the radio continued to sing of separation and tragic goodbyes. Trying to ignore it, he accelerated and cut even more close corners than he usually did. His car usually reflected his feelings through, tragically, Queen songs, so Crowley tried not to let it get to him. It wouldn’t fail. It wouldn’t. It was just- just hanging out with Aziraphale. Treating him like he always did. Holding hands wasn’t some monumental shift, right? They did it during the Apocalypse and since then they’ve grown even closer. It wouldn’t be too fast, would it? Surely, the anniversary of the day The Earth Was Created was a suitable day to try to take things a step further? 

All Crowley wanted,  all  he wanted was to love Aziraphale. As horribly cheesy, lame, sappy, and tragic as it was, it was all Crowley wanted. With the world saved and his car safe, Crowley had all the material objects he needed. He even has some people who he loosely called friends. (Ranting to Anathema about his love life or lack thereof counted as friendship, right?) Crowley had everything that he could possibly want, and of course it wasn’t enough for his stupid heart. He had to go and push for more than he deserved. 

“That settles it then,” Crowley declared, “We’re going to the donut shop instead.”

Immediately the tune changed and belted:

You win, you lose!

It's a chance you have to take with love!

“Nope!” Crowley argued, “It’s too risky. We’re going to the donut place and it will be a casual  friend  thing like it always is.”

How it hurts (yeah) Deep inside (oh yeah)

When your love has cut you down to size

Life is tough on your own!

Now I’m waiting for something to fall from the skies

I’m waiting for love!

Crowley swerved into the parking lot with a snarl and turned off the ignition as the radio belted the word ‘love’. Sure, Crowley was in love with his best friend, but Bentley didn’t have to  say it . Let him live in eternal denial for heaven’s sake. Jeez. Can’t a guy hopelessly pine in private? Even Anathema was on his tail about “communication” and “being honest” and “not torturing himself”. Yeah, any healthy human relationship required those things, but they weren’t human, were they? They were an angel and a demon who finally had the free agency to do whatever they wanted. A couple of years getting used to that wasn’t going to break Crowley’s heart. He was giving Aziraphale some time, taking it slow, being careful. Everything was new and Aziraphale took a while to adjust to new things. Even if everything in him and everyone around him was screaming at him to ‘ go faster! Take some risks! Open up!’  Crowley  knew  his angel and he wasn’t willing to risk going back to how it was before. Yes, Crowley was in love, yes, he wanted more, yes, he would wait as long as it took. It was just a thing that happened. It just was a thing that was. Aziraphale was an angel. The world was round. Crowley was in love with Aziraphale.

Crowley wretched open the door and snapped his fingers to close it as he sauntered towards a small café. Aziraphale loved their donuts and recently commented that he missed going there. It was no Garden of Eden or Declaration of His Undying Love, but it would have to do. Crowley pulled his phone from his wedged pocket and pulled up the site to cancel the reservation he booked. He stopped in front of the front door as his thumb hesitated over the ‘cancel’ button. It wouldn’t hurt…right? To have a backup option? Maybe Aziraphale would be receptive to his advances. Maybe Aziraphale did want to hold his hand. Maybe…

Crowley sighed and pocketed his phone. The streets were crowded but no one stopped to care about the demon having an internal crisis in front of a donut entrance. Crowley shook off the feeling of unease settling in his chest and opened the door that was slightly wedged open. Maybe if he wasn’t distracted, he would have noticed the bucket balancing on the top of the door frame. Instead, he only felt the heavy weight of it strike him in the back of his head as he fell unconscious. 

Aziraphale, for all that he was ‘Slow’ and ‘Soft’ and ‘Stupid’ despite being very ‘clever’, knew something was amiss.

Ever since the World Hadn’t Ended, Crowley made it a habit to stop by the bookshop regularly. Sometimes he would stay over, napping on the couch or talking well into the night and dawn over a bottle of wine. Their last night together had ended in as much. They chatted over wine and scones even as the sun rose and had toasted to one thing or another, clinking their glasses of wine. Aziraphale’s cheeks had been rosy from the alcohol and Crowley’s snake eyes trailed lazily over him, pupils wide and eyelids lidded from hazy contentment. Aziraphale pretended not to notice, as he always did, but found himself warmed by his casual, constant attention. 

In a few days, Aziraphale hoped to celebrate a very important date indeed. They always celebrated it, though they never spoke it aloud. It was always “ Oh, you’re still around, angel? Let’s grab a drink to celebrate, ” or “ There happens to be a very popular showing of that play you like. It’d be a waste not to go, ” or “ Let’s grab lunch, angel. Make a day out of it, ” Always on October 21st. The First Day of the World. Aziraphale had taken to marking it on his calendar even though, at this point, he could almost sense when the day arrived. The dawn cracked, and Aziraphale stood with giddy excitement to putter over to some of his shelves and reorganize them. He hadn’t seen Crowley in four days now, not since their shared wine, and Aziraphale felt giddy with the prospect of Crowley planning something nice for them. Over the last couple of years, Crowley’s proposals had gotten more and more wonderful. Dining at the ritz, having a picnic at the park, going for a seaside trip, attending a book auction. Aziraphale adored them all and felt that this time, even if it wasn’t another romantic seaside trip, Aziraphale was determined to make it romantic. After a long time of contemplation and stewing in his feelings, Aziraphale had decided that they had both waited long enough. It was obvious what was brewing between them, and Aziraphale was sure that Crowley would be receptive to more affection. It wouldn’t do to scare him away, so Aziraphale resolved to make steady ‘moves’ so to speak, towards Crowley. For the longest time, Aziraphale had stayed stagnant, a rock on a riverbed while Crowley was the fast-paced river. He was determined to meet Crowley halfway this time. At exactly 9:15 am, Aziraphale awaited Crowley’s call and hovered near the phone with a smile that refused to leave his face. It was silly, he knew. He saw Crowley nearly every day! But he couldn’t help but think this time was going to be  special,  especially with four days of preparation. 

At 9:16 am, the phone rang, and Aziraphale picked it up on the second ring. 

“Crowley! A minute late, I see,” Aziraphale said into the phone. He was grinning, and he wholeheartedly expected Crowley to drawl into the phone something along the lines of: “ Just keeping you on your toes, angel. ”

So, when Anathema's distinctly higher voice spoke into the phone, Aziraphale was  quite  startled. 

“Yeah,” Anathema said, “Sorry, it’s Anathema Device.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped, “Yes, of course, sorry! It’s- it’s Aziraphale, speaking. I was expecting Crowley, dear girl, sorry about that.”

“No worries,” Anathema said pleasantly, “About Crowley, though. Is… everything alright between you two?”

“Between us?” Aziraphale repeated, denial creeping up on the back of his neck, “There’s nothing between us, no. Er.”

“That’s good,” Anathema said, an edge on the end of her voice. 

Aziraphale prodded, “Why? Did he say something?”

“Well, not exactly,” Anathema hedged, “He was acting a little odd.”

“Odd? Well, demons are very odd creatures,” Aziraphale assured, “If he frightened you or anything I’m sure it wasn’t his intention. Probably.”

“No, it wasn’t that,” Anathema said, “He just was asking me some questions-”

“He is very inquiring-”

“-about you,” Anathema finished. 

Aziraphale frowned, “Me?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m checking in,” Anathema continued, “He asked if I had ‘seen’ you lately.”

“But, we saw you two weeks ago,” Aziraphale said.

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Anathema replied, “I dunno. It sounded like he lost you, so I figured I’d call the bookshop. If you're fine then I have no idea why Crowley made the call.”

“Maybe he’s nervous,” Aziraphale mumbled to himself, mostly, “It is our anniversary, after all.”

“Anniversary?!” Anathema nearly shouted into the phone, making Aziraphale wince. 

Unfortunately not,  Aziraphale thought tragically. Sometimes he forgot the anniversary of the world  wasn’t  their anniversary. 

“No,  no,  not  that  kind,” Aziraphale hastened to assure, “It’s the anniversary of the day the Earth was created! We celebrate it every year.”

“Oh,” Anathema said thoughtfully, “That might be why. He did seem nervous.”

“Well, in any case,” Aziraphale said, a thread of worry wobbling into his voice, “I will give him a call. Thank you, dear girl.”

“Sure,” Anathema said, “And Aziraphale?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I don’t know a lot about your situation, but,” She started, “He’s good, you know? He’s a good guy.”

I know,  Aziraphale thought, incredulously,  I’ve known him for centuries. I know everything about him.

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Aziraphale snarked lightly. 

Anathema hummed instead of displaying the humor Aziraphale was hoping to inspire, “Alright. Happy Creation of the Earth, then.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said distractedly, “You too. Piddlepip!”

“Piddlepip,” Anathema responded in kind before hanging up the phone. 

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale murmured to himself. 

After calling Crowley, it came to Aziraphale’s attention that perhaps Crowley had forgotten about the date. It was rare as Crowley had only missed the years that they weren’t on speaking terms. Even more, to Aziraphale’s concern was the fact that Crowley visited the ‘doctors’. They never contracted human illnesses! If Crowley believed his eyes to be as bad as that, then perhaps there was truly something wrong. But Crowley said there was still something wrong with his eyes, meaning the doctors couldn’t fix the problem. A needle of doubt and hurt wondered why Crowley hadn’t reached out to Aziraphale first, but he pushed it aside in his haste to reach Crowley’s flat. The poor dear, Aziraphale figured, was having one of his episodes. It was rare, and odd that it happened on such an important date, but he had seen a few throughout the centuries. Crowley would get shifty about his demonic appearance and refuse to see Aziraphale even upon his insistence. Perhaps whatever emotional event Crowley was dealing with caused him to forget the date. Crowley certainly was acting odd. It wasn’t a bad sort of odd, but he was definitely Up To Something. Aziraphale would wait until he inevitably told him. It could be that Crowley didn’t know how to act around their new casual displays of affection. Holding hands did make Aziraphale’s corporation warm with contentment and he fluttered in flustered more easily. 

Even with the nervous energy hovering around Crowley like a bad aroma, Aziraphale found the day to be quite pleasant. Crowley ate their meals alongside Aziraphale, and he took him to the most wonderful restaurant even if the driving was more atrocious than usual. There were small signs that signaled to Aziraphale that Something Was Wrong, but Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t ask and they didn’t prod. It just wasn’t done. When Crowley was ready to tell him, Aziraphale would listen. For now, he would focus on the highlights of the evening and try to ignore the nagging at the back of his brain. Aziraphale was so good at ignoring the warning signs that he even let himself be kissed by Crowley, and kiss him in return. His foolish heart pushed aside every nagging sign that Crowley was not himself and got swept up in the joy of taking a step forward with his partner. 

Of course, that all came crumbling down when Aziraphale realized Crowley had forgotten six thousand years' worth of memories and was flying by the seat of his pants the entire day. It stung, it did, to be so thoroughly fooled. While Aziraphale had noticed the signs in hindsight, he couldn’t say he ever expected that Crowley had amnesia and was actively pretending he didn’t. Aziraphale understood, of course, why Crowley lied. It was such a Crowley-thing-to-do that Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel exasperated fondness for the demon.  Of course,  when Crowley’s mind was literally wiped, he refused to show any vulnerability or weakness.  Of course,  he pretended like everything was completely normal instead of reaching out for help. And  of course , he tried to make Aziraphale as happy as he could even scared out his mind. Without his memories, Crowley acted differently, but all in all, Crowley was still Crowley, and Aziraphale loved him all the same. If he hadn’t been able to heal his corporation, Aziraphale would have waited patiently, hoping for his friend to regain his memories. He wouldn’t have let him out of his sight, especially not after knowing he was so frightened. 

His shoulders ached with the thought as he wrapped them protectively around Crowley’s unconscious form. Aziraphale had promised himself he would go slow, but one hug, surely, wasn’t too fast? As Aziraphale carded his fingers through Crowley’s hair as he slept, his resolve hardened. Although Aziraphale didn’t know what was going on most of the day, he knew that he would be there for Crowley in whatever way he could. In part, to make up for how horrible he acted during the Apocalypse, but mostly because he  could  now. Aziraphale could reach out and take the demon’s hands. He could flirt over the table. They could take romantic strolls through greenhouses and celebrate dates openly. Most importantly, Aziraphale could protect him now with no repercussions. 

This was no doubt one of Heaven or Hell’s attacks. Naively, Aziraphale assumed Heaven and Hell would leave them alone, but now he feared they were retaliating with more physical forms of violence. Aziraphale couldn’t protect Crowley from Heaven, but opposing Hell was easily in his nature. Well aware of the way demons were treated in hell, Aziraphale was determined not to let any demons lay any harm upon him. 

There were times when Aziraphale was tempted, when his palms itched to hold and his arms ached to protect. Seeing the evidence of Hell’s mistreatment only served to remind him of all the things he couldn’t give Crowley. It was well within his power to protect the demon from Hellish forces, but it would only make the situation worse as his protective blessing was not  subtle.  Revealing their allyship would only harm them both, so Aziraphale resolved to protect Crowley in other ways. While Crowley came to the rescue in heroic sweeps and grand gestures, Aziraphale’s protection acted quietly. He’d dispel any demons who wanted to enter London and track their movements throughout the world. Gabriel had even commended him for it, but truly Aziraphale was tabbing the demons to keep them away from Crowley. Sometimes they slipped out of his grasp and Crowley’s injury was proof of his failure. Now, more than ever, Crowley deserved Aziraphale’s protection, and Aziraphale was more than willing to give it. 

Crowley woke to the blissful experience of gentle hands carding through his hair. His hair was tragically short so the fingers stopped close to his scalp before repeating the action. It was less like brushing, more like petting, and Crowley was absolutely content to feign sleep if it meant the hands wouldn’t stop. His mind was still foggy with sleep and hazy with the thought of dreams and something important creeping in. He was doing something important before this, Crowley knew, but what was more important than being touched by Aziraphale?  Aziraphale!

Crowley’s eyes snapped up and he sat up as the memories came slamming back into him. 

“ Hastur,”  Crowley snarled and shot up from the couch towards the door. 

Aziraphale startled at the sudden movement and leaped up to follow Crowley, hands wringing and stuttering out things that Crowley wasn’t paying attention to. He was too busy checking the wards of the place ensuring that no demon other than himself was allowed into the bookshop. Crowley stalked around the shop sniffing like a hound dog as he tried to sense the danger that he was absolutely sure existed. 

“Oh! Crowley- are you- has it-”

Crowley whirled around towards his angel, grabbing his shoulders to keep him in place as he sniffed and inspected him for any harm. 

His face lit up in a flush as he mumbled, “Crowley!”

“Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?” Crowley demanded, searching Aziraphale’s face for any signs of distress. 

“I’m fine!” He exasperated, “It’s you I should be worried about! Crowley, you had- you had a concussion!”

Crowley let go of his shoulders and started to circle him. So far he hadn’t sensed any of Hastur’s demonic influence in the bookshop or Aziraphale, but he circled him anyway. It at least gave him some time to reboot and come to terms with all that had happened. 

“Just making sure,” Crowley said eventually, “You never know what that colossal dickhead might do.”

“Who? Hastur?” Aziraphale craned his neck to follow his path. 

“Yeah, sick son of a bitch tried to discorporate me,” Crowley scoffed, “A brick in a bucket over a door frame, and he thinks he can discorporate me, huh? Slimy fucker. It's not even  clever  revenge.”

Aziraphale stuttered, “Well, well he did, uh, manage to do a bit more damage-”

“Yeah, and you healed it anyway, right? I’m fine,” Crowley dismissed as Aziraphale spun around to face him properly. 

His face was a mixture of hope and devastation as he asked tentatively, “So you remember everything?”    

Crowley’s jaw tightened as he hid a wince. Aziraphale noticed only for a moment before Crowley was playing it off without a second thought, “Six thousand years worth of memories knocked right out of my noggin from one lucky hit. These corporations are something I’ll tell you what. Good thing we had your healing hands, huh, angel? ”

“Oh, thank someone,” Aziraphale exhaled and his relief was so potent it made Crowley sneeze. 

He rubbed his nose, “I think that if I discorporated, my memories would be back in a pinch. Maybe it was just the corporation malfunctioning, blocking up the long-term memories like a traffic jAaaam-” His voice pitched an octave higher as sudden arms flew around his middle.

Aziraphale pulled him into a hug and Crowley froze. His chest was warm as it pressed against his. Soft curves filled the gaps and sharp edges of Crowley’s shape as Aziraphale sighed into his neck. Goosebumps shivered down every inch of his skin at the innocent breath on his neck and he was sure he stopped breathing. Aziraphale gave one more tight squeeze that turned Crowley into a living gargoyle before he let go and stepped back. 

“Oh thank  goodness,”  Aziraphale breathed, “I was so worried!”

Crowley stared at his eyes, grey and green and brown in the dim light of the shop, and were they a bit  misty ? It seemed no matter the state of his memories, Crowley always noticed his eyes. His heart thudded loudly in his ears, reminding him of his need to breathe and Crowley exhaled, “Er, yeah, well, at least one of us was competent enough to fix it.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale tutted, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You couldn’t remember anything. It really was quite disorienting to see you so…”

He trailed off and Crowley asked flatly, “So what?”

Aziraphale blinked and looked up to meet his eyes, “Scared. You… you didn’t trust me. It was odd, is all. Perfectly reasonable of course! Just-”

Crowley winced, “Yeah, well, if it makes you feel any better, I did wake up to a threatening note.”

Aziraphale's face shifted into pity, “Did you?”

“Yeah,” Crowley looked away, “It was Hastur, obviously, but I didn’t know. Just assumed everyone was an enemy.”

“But you…” Aziraphale struggled to form the words, “It was- when you- well, you trusted me, eventually. Enough to-to, um, kiss me, I mean.”

He flushed at the words, and Crowley’s chest squirmed uncomfortably.

“Though, that might have been an act, now that I think about it, or uh-”

“It wasn’t an act,” Crowley cut in, “I… I trusted you. At that point. Thought… well, you know what I thought.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said and there was a question forming in his eyes, in the slight hitch in his breath. 

Crowley looked away, fighting the heat that crept into his cheeks. He couldn’t help the jerking shuffle he did as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and then tore them out when the cramped space of his pocket became too constricting. 

“We can’t- it’s not important right now,” Crowley grit out, “It’s- we’re not in the clear yet. Hastur is still out there, trying to discorporate me or who knows what. It’s a miracle he hasn’t attacked you yet to get back at me. I mean, it’s fairly obvious what he would do to me if he managed to discorporate me, but you? I have no idea what he’d do to you and-”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted, and his face was full of that steely determination Crowley had come to love and hate. 

He croaked, “...what?”

“There has been something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, but couldn't until now,” Aziraphale said vaguely, “I think it would be best if I do it now.”

Crowley shifted, “Do what?”

Aziraphale took his hands again and Crowley realized it was the first time since the Apocalypse. While he had amnesia, Crowley had taken it for granted, assuming that it was just ‘Something They Did’. Now, Crowley tried to memorize the feel of it. He focused on the gentle brush of skin against skin, palm against palm. He felt the ridges of his creases, wrinkles, and veins in his simple touch. Underneath the heat of his palm, if he focused hard enough, Crowley could feel his blood pumping and his muscles shifting. His very ethereal essence flowed just below the surface, gushing like a slow stream of honey. Crowley barely registered his feet shuffling across the hardwood floor, creaking as his shoes caught on the carpet. His focus narrowed on the connection between his hands and Aziraphale’s as he was led to the couch. They sat together on the sofa Crowley lounged about alone for the past couple of centuries. Together. They did things together now. Crowley’s eyes floated back up to Aziraphale’s face, apprehensive as well as content. How could he not be content if Aziraphale was holding his hand?

“Earlier, I healed you,” Aziraphale started, “I thought perhaps it would cause you some pain, but you just fell asleep unharmed.”

“Right,” Crowley said, “Er. Healing’s part of an angel's job, so.”

Did he want a ‘ Congratulations’  or something? Crowley wouldn’t thank him. He wouldn’t. It wasn’t ‘ like him’  to say thank you, so he wouldn’t, even as the words rested on his tongue, hanging in the golden glint of his eyes.  Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. 

“It is,” Aziraphale smoothed his thumb over Crowley’s hand, coaxing him to relax, “But it’s not the only thing apart of my job. See, I’m a Principality. I guard things, shield them, protect them.”

He knew this. Crowley had watched Aziraphale protect humans and the things he loved for centuries. A smile quirked Crowley’s lips as he teased, “The only thing I’ve seen you ‘protect’ is your books.”

“Oh hush,” Aziraphale said, but his eyes shone, “Yes, I have protected them for a very long time- I protect  most  of the things I treasure. And you…”

Crowley’s hand was tightening incrementally in his grip, his pulse probably beating to Aziraphale’s fingers.  Obviously,  Crowley thought. He knew this. He practically knew everything about Aziraphale. Despite the short memory lapse, Crowley’s memories were completely intact as far as he could tell. And there was one thing that revolved in the center of Crowley’s memories. 

“Well, I treasure you above everything.”

Crowley’s breath hitched. He thought the same about Aziraphale, of course. The very stars he crafted in the sky were coins on the pavement compared to Aziraphale’s value. He’d give up his possessions in a heartbeat if it meant protecting Aziraphale, but he never expected Aziraphale to feel the same. Books over  him?  No, no way.  

“I wanted to protect you for a very long time, my dear,” Aziraphale admitted, “But I couldn’t, not without Heaven or Hell noticing you were under my protection.”

Crowley made a small noise of protest in the back of his throat. He knew this too. They couldn’t do a lot of things, despite how recklessly Crowley wanted them. And besides, it wasn’t like he  needed  protection. Crowley was a demon. Demons didn’t really get protected. 

Aziraphale must have seen this through his expression because he said, “I know you are very capable of protecting yourself, Crowley. But warding off demons is practically my job description.”

“Yeah, and look how well you’ve done that,” Crowley’s mouth tugged into a crooked smile. 

Aziraphale tutted, “ Other  demons then.”

“You’ve thwarted other demons?” Crowley asked a little jealous despite himself.  

“Well, they weren’t my nemesis, but obviously!” Aziraphale said, “Why do you think there are hardly any demons in London?”

Crowley muttered with a shrug, “I thought that was from my, er, spooky influence.”

There were never many demons residing on Earth. Sometimes they’d pop in, but Crowley didn’t keep track of them. If they stayed out of his way he wasn’t about to seek them out. Thwarting demons wasn’t part of their Arrangement, but Aziraphale had been doing that the whole time. He spared a moment to count himself lucky that Aziraphale liked him and hadn’t smote him in all the times Crowley approached him. 

“Yes, well I had a more direct approach. I did what I could, but I think you protected me much more than I've protected you,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley protested softly, “‘S not a competition, angel.” 

“Yes, well, be that as it may,” Aziraphale sighed, “I’d like it to be my turn to protect you. Properly.”

Crowley’s mouth opened without sound before he eventually croaked out, “I… yeah, angel. Sure. Knock yourself out.”

The demonic part of him, the instinctive clawing mangled mess at the back of his brain reminded him that he could trust no one. Even with his memories back, the paranoia snarled and insisted he shouldn’t let an angel do anything to him, even a very kind one. Crowley stuffed it back. Without his memories, that part of him ran rampant, making Crowley twitchy, terrified, and traumatized. Most people upon losing their memories would automatically trust the first person they met. Not Crowley. Even without the hard lessons he learned as a demon, his occult self made sure Crowley knew he was never safe. Now, the tension of the past few days leaked out of his shoulders and out of his shuddering exhale as he met Aziraphale’s bright eyes. He wasn’t going to stop him, all things considered .  Crowley trusted Aziraphale above anything. He also was an attention whore for anything Aziraphale, so if he wanted to give him a protective spell, then Crowley would let him. Crowley would probably let Aziraphale do anything to him, honestly. 

Aziraphale smiled softly, “Thank you, my dear.”

“Don’t make a big deal about it,” Crowley muttered. 

Aziraphale moved forward, reaching up to cup his cheek. It was different now, knowing everything, knowing how much it meant for them to do this. Crowley’s breath hitched as he looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, seeing the determination and most importantly, seeing how brave Aziraphale was being. If Crowley ever got ambushed by anyone, they would know, instantly, that he was under the protection of Aziraphale the Principality, Guard of the Eastern Gate of Eden. They would  know  and Aziraphale seemed fine with it, eager even. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed in concentration, but the determination did not leave the lines of his face. Crowley stared shamelessly at his face as Aziraphale’s thumb stroked absentminded circles on his cheek. If the blessing killed him right then and there, Crowley would probably die happy. 

“There,” Aziraphale opened his eyes, “That should do it.”

Crowley blinked, “Do what? I don’t feel any different.”

“Well, it’s meant to hide until necessary. It should repel any meager attempts of harm towards you, even from any demon of hell, more importantly, Hastur. It should be enough to stop a bucket with a brick in it from falling on your head.”

“Oh? So I’m invincible now?” Crowley said with an air of mockery. 

“Of course not,” Aziraphale scoffed, “Stronger attacks might penetrate the little shield I gave you, but would definitely notify me of any harm you experience.”

“A little shield, huh?” Crowley smirked at him, “Not a flaming sword?” 

“They’re effective,” Aziraphale sniffed, “and it’s shaped more like a bubble, I suppose.”

Crowley teased, “You won’t lose this bubble, then?”

Aziraphale scoffed, “Well, I thought it’d be difficult to lose a demon, but it seems you were lost and had no idea about it.”

Crowley shrugged sheepishly, “I don’t have an emergency contact, it’s not my fault.”

“Now you do,” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and raised his eyebrows in a challenge.

Crowley glared at him and snapped back, “And now you do.”

“Good,” Aziraphale smirked, all too pleased with himself. 

Crowley glared at him for a moment more, forgetting why he was glaring in the first place as his lips started to twitch and Aziraphale’s smile started to grow. Soon, laughter was bubbling from their lips, breaking the stare off as they both lost. 

“Did you know,” Crowley said between laughter, “The hospital had no idea what to do with me?”

Aziraphale’s lips twitched with a smile, “Oh, I’m sure. A man with snake eyes, no contacts or hospital records, and he thinks he was born in 4004 B.C.”

“Probably thought I was a time traveler,” Crowley drawled, “Or a vampire!”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been accused of being one,” Aziraphale snickered.

“Oh, I remember when they wanted to stake me through the heart! Your nifty little shield would've been helpful right about then!” Crowley grinned.  

“Nifty little shield’,” Aziraphale repeated with a huff, “ You tease, but just think back to this afternoon, if you don’t believe me. There’s a reason why no demons attempted to harm you. My protection is very reliable.”

“No, no I believe you,” Crowley puffed through his nose with a smile, “I felt safe with you anyway.”

“Did you really?” Aziraphale asked, with a disgustingly hopeful expression on his face. 

Crowley muttered, “Er, yeah. You’re an angel. It’s what you do.”

“Well,” Aziraphale laughed, self-deprecating, “I’ve never been a very good angel.”

Crowley scoffed, sputtered, and made some noises intelligible to even his own ears.  You’re perfect,  Crowley wanted to shout,  You are better than all of them. You’re the only good angel in the universe. I love you because you're terrible at being an angel.  

Instead, he blurted, “That’s what the Arrangement was for, right? You be the bad one, I be the good one. For a bit anyway.”

“Not entirely,” Aziraphale hedged, “I think it was for a little more than that.” 

Oh god, they really were doing this. They were talking about it. The Thing They Didn’t Talk About.  Aziraphale  was bringing it up first. 

Crowley managed, “Oh?” 

“In fact-” Aziraphale started, “I was hoping… hoping that perhaps we could add some things into our arrangement. Revising it, so to speak.”

Crowley looked up, “Mn? Wasn’t aware the arrangement was, er, still going.”

“Then a New Arrangement, I suppose,” Aziraphale remediated, “Or not even an Arrangement at all. Something for Our Side. Something that’s never been done before.” 

“Go on then,” Crowley huffed out a breath, “Let’s hear your little presentation.”

Aziraphale chuckled, “Well, it won’t be as clever as those ones you do on the screens, I assure you. But ah, I was hoping…”

Crowley watched him, waiting as patiently as he could muster. He resisted the urge to shake Aziraphale silly and kiss his silly stuttering lips and hold his silly little curls that bounced as he spoke. 

“We could maybe,” Nerves got the best of Aziraphale as he flushed, “I don’t know. Do it the human way?”

“Do ‘what’ the human way?” Crowley frowned, “Like cut-off miracles? Go cold turkey?”

“No!” Aziraphale shouted, “Heavens no! Not at all! I meant  relationships,  Crowley. Relationship wise. Good Lord. Could you imagine dining at the Ritz with no miracles? Why, the wait time would be atrocious!”

Crowley said an octave higher, “Relationships?”

Aziraphale huffed, “Yes. Doing it the human way.”

“Er, right, and how do humans do that, then? Cuz, humans are pretty complicated from what I remember. Lots of labels and confusion and-”

“Are you really going to make me say it?” Aziraphale exasperated. 

Crowley looked at him then, and he knew his eyes were the deepest shade of uncertainty and longing wrapped into one pigment of ugly yellow. Aziraphale’s breath caught as Crowley’s walls and defenses came tumbling down, stripped bare on his face. It was so quick, that it gave him headrush. His haggard heart scrambled to pull himself together, to fix the slip on his face, to pack up the ugly bits of love and longing that tumbled out of his chest. 

“Just once,” Crowley whispered, so low Aziraphale could choose not to hear it if he wished. 

For one cowardice moment, unknown to Crowley, Aziraphale contemplated not saying it at all. He thought that he could spin his half-arsed confession into dragging the words from Crowley’s mouth instead. Aziraphale was skilled in getting what he wanted from Crowley- perks of knowing someone so thoroughly in and out. They both held that power over each other, that knowledge of the other, and they used it more often than not. A tug of war between them of not communicating their needs and getting it through different means of manipulation, temptings, and excuses. It was necessary when communicating freely wasn’t an option. It was necessary to form a symbiotic connection between them to survive their respective head offices. But it wasn’t a necessity anymore. It was just habit. Aziraphale didn’t want to live the way they used to. Never saying anything out loud, never doing things directly, never knowing for sure. Aziraphale loved Crowley, surely and wholly, but he had never said it out loud. For all the actions of love they had done for each other, they never  knew  for sure.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said and Crowley sucked in a breath, “and I would very much like to be in a relationship with you.”

For a moment, there was no sound between them. Even Crowley’s breathing had stopped, held in his chest cavity for such a long moment Aziraphale thought it might store there forever. And then, Crowley exhaled in one long shaking breath that prickled moisture into his eyes. 

“Me too, angel,” Crowley swallowed, “Yeah, me too. As well.”

A grin split Aziraphale’s face as he said, “ Wonderful.”

“I- haaa,” Crowley’s laughter was not quite formed, “I can’t believe it took me losing my memory to kiss you.”

It was said with a grin, but his voice hushed around the word ‘kiss’ in a manner Aziraphale found adorable. His expression soured and flushed as if he wasn’t sure whether to feel shy or disgusted by his vulnerability. Aziraphale could feel his own face flushing, undoubtedly morphing into some soppy expression.  

“Well,” Aziraphale leaned forward, “Now that you have your memory…”

His gaze trailed down to Crowley’s lips, his question puffing against them. Crowley’s breath hitched and he opened his mouth as if he were planning on wetting his lips. At the last second, he decided against it and swallowed. Aziraphale’s smile lifted at the obvious tells of his nerves. The question hovered between the smallest gap of their lips. It was answered in Crowley’s telling sway towards him as he brushed against Aziraphale. The contact was light, the smallest nerves tingling as they kissed feather-light. Slowly, Aziraphale pressed closer and the feather kisses solidified into searing ones. It was different from the first one they shared in the greenhouse as they were both surprised by each other. Now, Crowley knew Aziraphale as much as Aziraphale knew Crowley. And he planned to know even more of him if Crowley let him. 

“Better?” Crowley asked, breathless when they pulled away. 

“Hmm?” Aziraphale hummed, distracted by the tingling in his lips. 

Crowley huffed a laugh and it puffed against Aziraphale, “Was that better? Our first, I mean.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, “Oh, yes. That was lovely. Not that the other one wasn’t, dear. Both were lovely-”

Crowley started laughing. 

“It’s just- it feels a bit different,” Aziraphale explained over his building laughter, “When you know who you’re kissing.”

Crowley grinned, “Would you believe me if I told you I thought it was the right thing to do? I thought  for sure  you wanted me to kiss you, and I couldn’t think of any reason not to.”

“Well,” Aziraphale drawled, “I think you could learn a thing or two about  Anthony  then.”

“Hey!” Crowley said with a smile, “you can’t blame me, we really were acting like a couple.”

“Well, we are now,” Aziraphale moved to hold Crowley’s face because he  could,  “Not a reason in the world not to.”

“Guess I did get it right,” Crowley said softly. 

“I guess you did,” Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him again. 

“Oh, and angel?” Crowley pulled away just to watch Aziraphale chase after his lips. 

“Hm?” It was said with a hint of frustration, as Aziraphale knew Crowley was teasing him. 

“Happy Anniversary,” Crowley grinned. 

Aziraphale beamed, “Happy Anniversary, you old snake.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale’s hand was in his, just like it had been the day before. They were walking again because Aziraphale insisted that was a Thing they did now. Crowley didn’t have the heart to tell him he only suggested they walk because he couldn’t remember how to drive. Now that he did remember, Crowley was only a little sour about walking everywhere. They could have easily gotten to Crowley’s flat by now if he drove the Bentley, but Aziraphale wanted to hold hands as they walked. One whole night had passed since Aziraphale gave him a protective blessing and Hastur was nowhere in sight. They drank until they both were too drunk to speak and Crowley woke, cushioned on Aziraphale’s chest. It was magical. Of course, upon waking, Crowley had never been more nervous. What if he overstepped? What if he got too comfortable? What if he went too fast? Aziraphale seemed nervous too but still had offered his hand when they decided to check Crowley’s apartment for any demonic intruders. 

Crowley’s chest quivered with anxiety, and he swallowed down a breath he didn’t need. He had done this before. He had done this with  amnesia  before. Crowley could hold Aziraphale's hand without having a seizure every time he remembered he was feeling  Aziraphale’s  skin. They had kissed for fucks sake, and Crowley held himself together for that. Hell, Amnesia Crowley had assumed they were going to-- that they were going to-- he thought he’d stay the night over, specifically in Aziraphale's  bed . Thinking back on it almost made Crowley’s heart literally go into cardiac arrest. The  audacity  of himself with amnesia. And it would have been their first! If Aziraphale even did sexual relationships. Crowley, by all means, was content to do anything that involved being with Aziraphale. Aziraphale had said he loved Crowley. Like the  real  kind of love. The kind that Crowley had been craving for what, three, four thousand years? That was more than enough. If Aziraphale declared he loved him, kissed him, and they went back to what they were doing before, Crowley would be content, ecstatic even. It meant that it was real, this thing between them. It meant that Crowley could bring his chocolates, flowers, and books without pretending he just stumbled upon them. They could go out together, and Crowley could stay over at the bookshop drinking wine and napping on his couch. He already did all these things, but now it wasn’t just some unnamed, unspoken thing. It meant comfort and freedom and  knowing . 

Aziraphale, however, had more plans. Since their first kiss, Aziraphale had kissed him four times, giggling or saying a quick "Oh, I just can’t help myself" before leaning it. Crowley was absolutely dizzy with it. His heart was doing that annoying human thing where it beat fast all the time, and if he opened his mouth he was sure reputation-crushing declarations of love would fall from his lips. It was embarrassing. Not Aziraphale, never Aziraphale. Crowley had long stopped being embarrassed by Aziraphale (despite his lack of social cues and horrible magic tricks). No, Aziraphale’s affection was perfect. He was perfect. Obviously. Crowley, on the other hand, was screwing everything up. 

They were going slow by human standards, but after so many years of the Aziraphale-kind-of-slow Crowley was stunned at the fast pace their relationship was developing at. It didn’t feel real, and of course, it didn’t. Crowley didn’t even dream of things like this, and when his dreams strayed into scenes as perfect as this one, he woke instantly. Discreetly, Crowley pinched himself, and Aziraphale perked up.  

“What did you do?” Aziraphale wheeled around, glaring at Crowley. 

“Oh, I, er-” Crowley stuttered for a moment. Aziraphale  was  still holding his hand, could you blame him? 

Aziraphale lifted his brows feigning patience when he was the opposite. 

“Just- pinched myself- why-why do you need to know, huh?” Crowley managed, “What’s it to you?”

“No need to get defensive,” Aziraphale said, “I just felt it, is all, through my-”

“Wait, so you feel everything?” Crowley asked incredulously, “That I feel, I mean?”

“Well, no,” Aziraphale explained, “I don’t feel it. I get ah… a notice, if you will. A little alert when something’s hurt you. Usually, the thing attempting to harm you will simply bounce off, and I’ll get a simple notification. But, if it’s self-inflicted my shield doesn’t see it as a threat. “

Crowley started after him as he realized how much trust he had in Aziraphale. Aziraphale might know everything about him now. Every physical notification of Crowley pulling at his hair in aggravation, slamming a pillow against his face, or kicking a wall. He walked forward lightly gripping his arm as he tried to wrap his head around anything else Aziraphale might discover with this blessing. He was thinking too hard to spare a moment to heal his throbbing arm and was startled when Aziraphale stopped, an expression of concern on his face. 

“ Oh, are you really hurt?” Aziraphale took hold of his arm, “Let me see…”

Crowley threw his head back with an annoyed groan, “Are you going to be like this all the time now? It’s just a pinch, not a mortal wound.”

He wasn’t annoyed, not really. He was terrified actually. Aziraphale was now completely wound into every aspect of his life. It was a freeing, terrifying thing to think and Crowley had no idea what to do with it. 

Aziraphale tutted and released, “You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re the one fussing over nothing.”

Aziraphale looked away, huffing, and turned away from Crowley as far as he could without letting go of his hand. It was a lot to wrap his head around, but Crowley knew he didn’t have to worry. As much as his amnesia self was skeptical, Crowley trusted him. How could he not after 6,000 years of friendship? Crowley sighed and felt himself squeeze Aziraphale’s hand reassuringly. 

“Angel, I’m fine,” Crowley snapped his fingers, “Promise. I can heal a pinch in a second.”

“Yes, but you are so very reckless,” Aziraphale worried, “Hurting yourself, pinching yourself-”

“I…” Crowley tried to reassure him that he didn’t often consciously inflict pain upon himself, but he couldn't speak the truth on that. Crowley still sorta wanted to bang his head against the wall right now, actually, “The pinch didn’t even hurt. Just proved I wasn’t dreaming.”

“You pinched yourself because you thought you were dreaming?”

“Well, yeah,” Crowley shifted, “I mean this is all very… dream likey.”

A slow smile tugged at Aziraphale’s face, “You dream about me?”

“Not- not anything  weird,  jeez .  People show up in dreams, you know? You pass someone on the street and whoop they’re our waiter at the ritz! It’s- it’s not a big deal-”

“Well, weird dreams or not,” Aziraphale stopped walking to tug Crowley closer to him, “I can assure you, this is very real.”

Crowley swallowed and made a noise in the back of his throat.

Aziraphale asked, “Are you having trouble believing it?”

“ ‘M a demon,” Crowley responded, “Believing isn’t really in the job description.”

“We don’t have jobs anymore,” Aziraphale countered, chin high, “We can be what we want to be.”

Crowley smiled, despite himself, “That’s bold, angel. Where’s this new ‘I can take on the world’ attitude coming from?”

Aziraphale flushed slightly, but looked forwards, feigning confidence, “Maybe I’ve always had this attitude.”

“Right,” Crowley teased. 

“I have,” Aziraphale insisted, “Now, I’m just free to show it.”

Crowley softened, “Yeah, angel. You are. Free of those bastards above and below.”

“And you are too,” Aziraphale reiterated. 

“Course,” Crowley said. 

“Meaning, you’re allowed to give this believing and trusting thing a go,” Aziraphale reasoned, “It’s only right.”

Crowley stared at him for a moment, the upturned tilt of his crooked little nose, and smiled, “As long as you’re not trying to turn me into an angel, angel.”

“I would never,” Aziraphale said, “And the same goes for you.”

“Oh, I don’t think you need me to bring out the little demon you have inside of you,” Crowley grinned, forgetting all about their intertwined hands, even as they swung them. 

 Aziraphale turned, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I’d say the same for the nic-”

“Don’t sssssay it!”

“-niccce,” Aziraphale dragged out the word, like a bastard, “demon you are.”

Crowley growled. 

Aziraphale smirked, “Deep down, at least-” 

“That’s it!” Crowley gripped his jacket, dragging Aziraphale to the nearest wall to pin him there. 

All Aziraphale did was grin, far too pleased with himself. 

“You never learn, do you?” Crowley hissed at him, face inches from his face. 

“No,” Aziraphale said simply and stole the hiss right off his lips. 

“What are these?” Aziraphale asked, stirring Crowley from his sleep. 

He jerked awake, just barely entering a light doze, and lifted himself off of Aziraphale’s chest. They were curled up in bed, or rather, Crowley was curled up around Aziraphale. Aziraphale sat up a little while ago against the headrest and was reading as he carded one hand through Crowley’s hair. Crowley blinked groggily, disgruntled to find that Aziraphale’s hand was absent from his hair. 

“What,” His voice was low and gravely with exhaustion, and he curled even tighter around his angel. 

“These,” Aziraphale repeated and dangled the object in Crowley’s vision. 

He blinked at the blurry image until he could make out two clear lenses staring back at him. 

Crowley drawled, “Glasses.”

Aziraphale huffed, “Yes, why are they here? Are they yours?”

Crowley sighed, sitting up for what he knew was going to be a Conversation. 

“Yes, they’re mine,” Crowley admitted, “The hospital gave them to me. Well, not exactly, because I have to pay for the buggers and the case too-”

“Oh! Yes, I remember you telling me you went,” Aziraphale said, “At first, I thought you were lying.”

“Well, I was lying, just not about that. They told me it was an eye condition, stuffed some glasses on my face, and sent me the bill,” Crowley mumbled. 

“Oh, that must have been awful,” Aziraphale sympathized. 

Crowley shrank with guilt, “Well, no it wasn’t all that bad. I mean, losing my memories sucked, but Susan was…fine.”

“Susan was a nurse at the hospital?” Aziraphale confirmed. 

“Yeah, she was. Older human, nosy, bossy. She wouldn’t let me out of the hospital until I got her number to call in case I got lost or something,” Crowley grouched but he couldn’t help the affection from falling from his voice. 

Aziraphale smiled gently, “She sounds lovely. I’ll make sure to bless her for treating my-my partner so kindly.”

Though he stuttered over the words, they made Crowley smile, “Nah, I think I’ll do it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’ll give her a call, tell her I’m alright, up her pay raise. That sort of thing,” Crowley shrugged. 

“That doesn’t sound very demonic,” Aziraphale teased, knowing how to make him smile. 

“Oh, I’m cursing her boss, don’t you doubt it. Doctor Whatever-His-Name-Was will be eating hospital pudding every Sunday for the next three years.” 

“How evil,” Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled, “Was he the one who gave you glasses, or the bill, rather?”

“Yeah, they had me do some eye tests, apparently they thought I needed them,” Crowley scoffed. 

Aziraphale's amusement faded, “Well, do you?”

“What? Need them? I’m a demon,” Crowley responded. 

“Yes, but you, ah, the tests didn’t work out?”

“I was concussed.”

“Did the glasses help?”

Crowley wiggled as he stalled, “Nghhh. I mean. Relatively. I guess. Probably not anymore now that you’ve healed my concussion.”

“Perhaps you could try them on again,” Aziraphale suggested. 

“Try them on? Angel, have you seen them?” Crowley made a look of pure disgust. 

Aziraphale rotated the glasses, “I think they look spiffing.”

“Spiffing?” Crowley scoffed, “ Newt  wears glasses like these!”

“Well, I’m sure you would look devastatingly handsome in them,” Aziraphale said lightly. 

Crowley’s jaw slacked in surprise and then tightened when he recognized what Aziraphale was trying to do. 

“You just want to mock me.”

“I’d never!”

“You doooo! You want me to try them on and then laugh at how ridiculous I look-”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s hand reached out to cup his neck and rub his thumb just beneath his ear, “I do not want to  mock  you. I want to help you, love, and if these help you, I was hoping you could give them a try. You don’t have to wear them all the time or even at all if they don’t help, but why don’t you try them out? If they don’t work, we’ll return them, or maybe give them to that nice lad, Newton. If they do work, we could get different ones, yes? Maybe some nice stylish ones?”

Crowley deflated, “Mmmnngh. I guess.” 

“Now, then, here we go,” Aziraphale said encouragingly, “I promise I won’t laugh.”

“Thanks,” Crowley said sarcastically and took the pair offered to him. 

Carefully, to avoid poking his eyes, Crowley slipped on the glasses and blinked as the world around him sharpened. He couldn’t see any new colors or ignore the piercing headache the light gave him, but blurry things grew crystal. He glanced at Aziraphale’s face, wide-eyed as he took the angel in with the fine details he didn’t notice before. He could now see each individual pore on his face, down to the light gray stubble starting to grow on his chin. 

“Oh,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale beamed, “Do they work?”

“Uh, yeah,” Crowley shrugged, looking around, blinking back the sudden moisture that gathered there, “They work.”

“Wonderful,” He said, “You look positively stunning, my dear.”

Crowley blushed, studying the sewing lines in the fabric of his sheets instead of acknowledging his compliment.

“So I guess, I’ll, uh, go order a new pair from Susan,” Crowley muttered, “I could probably visit tomorrow.”

Aziraphale said, “I think I can free up my schedule.”

“I think I should go alone, angel,” Crowley said, looking up. 

Oh, these glasses were going to be a problem if he could see each miniature detail of his fallen expression. 

“Alone? Crowley, it’s dangerous!” Aziraphale objected.

“Yeah, Hastur’s still out there.”

“Exactly!”

“Yeah, that’s my point, angel. Hastur is still out there. He won’t stop until he hurts me or until he hurts you and he- well he has things that could hurt you.”

“He tried to discorporate you, Crowley, there's no way you’re going out alone.”

“But I won't be alone, right? I’ll have your little shield, won’t I?”

“Well, yes, but-’

“Let’s see if it works. We can’t constantly accompany each other, as much as spending time with you is a great angel, you know… what if I want to go for a spin? What if you want some time alone?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to object. 

“We can’t live the rest of our lives in fear, angel,” Crowley interrupted, “We have to face this head-on, and I can do it with the gift you gave me.”

“I just don’t see why I can’t come along.”

“What if…” Crowley’s voice dropped low, “What if he brings something? Something that could hurt you? And then they  know ?”

Aziraphale hesitated, “But, but what if he hurts you? Or kidnaps you?”

“You’ll know,” Crowley said, “You’ll know if the blessing didn’t work, won’t you? You knew when I pinched myself this morning. Just let me test it and if it works, we can go back to living our lives free of them all.”

Aziraphale stayed quiet for some time, thinking it over. He wasn’t drunk, this time. He wasn’t quick to jump to Crowley’s side after a bit of persuasion. Aziraphale was turning it over in his mind, evaluating it, and deciding if Crowley’s point was true enough. 

“Alright,” Aziraphale eventually said. 

Crowley smiled in relief.

“But,  but-”  Aziraphale said, “I will be close by in case something happens.”

Crowley objected, “Aziraphale-”

Aziraphale held a hand up, “He won’t be able to see me or sense me, but I need to be close enough to make it to you in time.”

Crowley sighed. That was as close as he was going to get, wasn't he?

“I almost lost you,” Aziraphale whispered, “Six thousand years of you. I would have loved you just the same if you stayed Anthony, but I would have missed you terribly so.”

“Angel…” Crowley muttered, leaning into the palm cradled against his cheek. 

“And if they took you? I would be beside myself,” Aziraphale said, '' I think I might storm down there to get you myself.”

“You wouldn’t,” Crowley said lightly, but it was laced with seriousness. 

“I think I would,” Aziraphale said.

“You... you don’t have to say things like that angel,” Crowley hugged him, “because we’re going to be fine. Your blessing is going to work, and if it doesn’t, I’ve fought Hastur hundreds of times. I’ll be fine and back before you can get bored trailing me.”

Aziraphale huffed, “If my blessing doesn't work, I’ll be there to help.”

Crowley said affectionately, “You pessimist.”

“And you're the optimist?”

“In this situation, yes,” Crowley shot back, “It’ll be fine, angel. Everything will be fine.”

The next morning, Crowley started walking toward the hospital. He parked nearby and started walking to encourage an ambush. Crowley stopped, feeling a slight shift in the air around him. It felt like a strong breeze whooshed past him, close enough to tickle the hair on his forearms. The ground rumbled too as if someone had set down a heavy bucket. Maybe he kicked rock? Crowley glanced at his feet and turned when he found nothing. Duke Hastur was on the ground, sizzling like cooked meat and wiping black goo from his running nose. Crowley startled and wrinkled his nose, but couldn’t stop the grin that shot to his face when he realized the shield worked. 

“Heyyyyy, Hastur! Duuude,” Crowley grinned maniacally at him, “How’s the attempted murder going for you?”

Hastur groaned from the ground, pulling himself up with a weak cough, “Oh, you’ll pay for that, you slimy backstabbing bastard.”

Crowley frowned in mock sympathy, “Will I though?”

“Consorting with an  angel,”  Hastur spat it like a curse, “How stupid to you have to be to get a blessing from an angel? You’re a demon!”

Crowley grinned down at him, “I’d say how stupid do  you  have to be to keep attacking the guy with an angel’s blessing. Did you forget you’re a demon?”

“It’s you who’ve forgotten!” Hastur shrieked. 

“Hm, listen, this is fun and all,” Crowley said, “But I’m getting real tired of this. A bucket with a brick in it? Really? That’s all you got? I get you’re upset about Ligur, I really do-”

Hastur screeched with fury, “You’ll pay for that! You’ll pay, you'll pay, you'll pay!”

“Sometimes I forget you’re as old as me,” Crowley commented mildly. He looked like a maniac toddler throwing a tantrum.

“I’ll discorporate you and tear you limb from limb in Hell,” Hastur snarled, “I gorge those ugly eyes out and eat them like-like olives- I’ll rip out your hair strand by strand- I’ll-”

“Sounds like a grand time,” Crowley interrupted, “But how are you going to do that? I’m immune to holy water. I’ve got an impenetrable angelic blessing. I’m untouchable and you, Hastur, are groveling on the ground making empty threats.”

Crowley’s fangs grew sharp with glee, digging into his bottom lip as he grinned, “Looks like you’re the one bluffing this time, Hastur.”

Hastur stared at him, fear and loathing mixing to make the ugliest expression Crowley had ever seen on a demon. His black oil eyes shone with rage and his mouth twisted into a wretched scowl. 

“I won’t warn you again, Hastur,” Crowley leaned down, smile fading to a thin line, “If you attempt anything like this- I have a full supply of holy water now, and I’d love a reason to use it.”

“You- you- you can’t! Hell will come for you if you so much as try-”

“Will they?” Crowley raised his brows, “I seem to remember a distinct agreement that I was to be left  alone.  Who’s violating that agreement now?” 

Hastur sat there, seething and cornered as Crowley straightened and dusted off the lapels of his jacket. 

“So, do we understand each other?”

Hastur growled, “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, the feeling’s mutual, but just remember,” Crowley loomed over him, “If you ever attempt to harm me or Aziraphale again, I know exactly how to kill a demon. Permanently.”

Crowley turned and waved a hand over his shoulder, “Ta.”

He whistled a tune while Hastur sank underneath the Earth. He started walking, hands in his pockets and a helpless grin tugging at his lips. For about two seconds there was silence until Aziraphale was at his side, walking with his hands tucked primly behind his back.

“That went well,” Crowley drawled. 

“It did rather,” Aziraphale nodded.

“Celebratory lunch?” Crowley offered. 

“I could eat,” Aziraphale gave him a small side smile. 

Crowley rolled his eyes fondly, “Couldn’t you always?”

Aziraphale huffed loudly, but folded his arm in the crook of Crowley’s elbow and tugged him forward. 

In the end, their lunch turned into dinner, and dinner turned into midnight. He hadn't planned on staying at the restaurant so long, but once they started talking, they couldn’t seem to stop. They talked about everything and nothing, laughing and bickering until Azirapale’s tea grew cold and Crowley miracled it hot again. So, in the end, Crowley didn’t get to visit Susan and relay the good news. The hospital was still technically open, but Crowley had a drunk angel in his arms, petting the sides of his neck and planting happy drunk kisses there. They left the Bentley parked by the hospital and walked to lunch. Now, stumbling half drunk to the Bookshop, Crowley fully expected Bentley to drive herself there and meet them. The walk would be long, but Crowley didn’t mind, not with how Aziraphale leaned heavily against him and kissed his cheek. Crowley was grinning ear to ear, stupidly, as he held his phone up to his ear. 

“Hi, yeah, Susan?” It answered on the first ring because Crowley expected it to be.

“Hello?” Susan answered. 

 “It’s Crowley- er Anthony,” Crowley said awkwardly as they strolled down the street.

“Oh! Anthony?” All of Susan’s weary suspicion dropped away in relief. 

“The one and only,” Crowley joked, “Anthony Crowley, yeah.”

“How are you doing, hon? You alright? You found your flat, didn’t you? You had a place to stay?”

“Yeah! My flat’s safe and everything. I got my memory back, pretty fast-” Crowley started, cut off by her relieved sigh. 

“That’s wonderful! You sure made a quick recovery!” Susan said with that familiar almost brainwashed sound humans got when Crowley convinced someone with a miracle.

She continued, hesitating, “Did you find your- did you find anyone?”

He looked down at Aziraphale who had an arm wrapped firmly around his waist to steady himself and was holding Crowley’s free hand that draped diagonally across Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale glanced up, his curls brushing the underside of his chin as he did, and Crowley felt the familiar burst of affection shoot through him. 

“Yeah,” Crowley whispered, “I did.”

“Oh,” Susan cooed, “I’m just so relieved for you. They treat you right? They’re taking care of you?”

Crowley inhaled, fighting the urge to disagree vehemently with anything and anyone that insinuated Crowley needed to be taken care of. Instead, he exhaled shakily, “Ah, y-yeah. My… partner. He’s- well, he’s doing a pretty good job at that.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear it. I knew you weren’t all alone in the world,” Susan said as Crowley dropped a kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead. 

“Who knew, huh?” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale blinked his eyes open, smiling easily and lopsided in response to Crowley’s kiss. All Crowley could do was give him an equally sappy and besotted smile and resist leaning down and closing the gaps between their smiles. 

“I did,” Susan said, amused and fond.

“Yeah, yeah, no need to rub it in,” Crowley looked up, rolling his eyes, “You were right.”

He didn’t think much of his attention shifting to Susan until he felt Aziraphale wiggle next to him. His loopy smile dropped as soon as Crowley looked up, pressing the phone tighter against his ear.  

Susan said, “Well, I’m so glad. I was worried when you didn’t show up for your appointment. They scheduled another one for you, did you get the text?”

“Ah, yep, but I won’t be needing that appointment. Can we cancel that-” Aziraphale’s arm was around his waist, petting his sides in an almost ticklish manner. Crowley squirmed. 

“Of course, dear,” Susan could be heard typing on a computer. 

“Superb, Susan, superb,” Crowley managed and shivered when Aziraphale's hands snuck under his shirt.

“You’re head’s fine then?” Susan asked, sounding dubious, but Crowley was distracted, trying to avoid the eye contact Aziraphale was trying to make. 

“Hm?” Crowley said as Aziraphale's thick fingers spread over the soft skin of his stomach, warmth against cold, “Oh yeah, everything’s great. Everything is fantastic.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale urged at the same time Susan started to say, “Really? A concussion is no j-”

“What, angel?” Crowley whispered, covering the microphone with his thumb. 

“Your eyes, ask her about the glasses,” He insisted, reaching up to fix his sunglasses that sat crooked on his nose and then pat his cheek. 

Susan had finished her statement, or was it a question? And now awaited his response. Crowley, however, had no idea what she said. Aziraphale was now carding his fingers through the short hairs near his ear and Crowley was nearly about to purr. 

“Anthony, dear?”

“Huh? What? Oh- uh, I had a question, actually. About the eye thing though- ‘member the eye thing? Yellow, snakey, slit pupils?”

“The cat eyes?” She sighed at the interruption and then chuckled, “I remember.”

Crowley only let that slide because Susan was exceptionally kind to him at the hospital, and Aziraphale was currently nosing at the space between his ear and neck.

“Yeah uhm,” Aziraphale kissed his Adam's apple, “Those. So. I was wondering if I could get a pair of glasses for that but… shades?”

His train of thought was currently rocking on the rails and tipped over on the side, slowly coming to a stop. Aziraphale. Was. Touching. Him. Crowley tried to ignore it to refrain from squealing or squirming or giggling or something unthinkable like  moaning.  How embarrassing would that be? Crowley dug his fingers into the phone case hard enough to turn his knuckles white while Aziraphale stumbled along, clinging to him and torturing him.  

Crowley swallowed, “I have- I have custom-made sunglasses, helps hide my eyes, you know? My partner likes the dorky glasses-”

A chuckle rumbled through Aziraphale’s chest and he could feel it, wrapped around each other as they were. He could even feel his lips stretch into a smile where they were pressed against his neck. 

She crowed, “I knew he would!” 

Crowley just laughed, a loud thing that turned breathless as Aziraphale’s hand trailed up the bumps of his spine. How was he handling this? At any second now, Crowley would turn into a puddle of goo and never be able to string a proper sentence together. Aziraphale was a bastard, tipsy and flirty, and found nothing wrong with teasing Crowley while he was on a phone call. 

“You looked like a handsome young man in them,” Susan continued and Aziraphale raised his eyebrows at Crowley. 

Aziraphale whispered with a sly smile, “I don’t know about  young-”

“Yeah,” Crowley laughed over Aziraphale, “That’s exactly what he says. He likes them, but, um, I need-”

Aziraphale huffed and retaliated by lifting the shirt pooled around his waist and Crowley’s breath hitched, “I need a pair for going out.”

“I see, I remember your sunglasses,” Susan said.

Aziraphale pinched the exposed skin just above his hips, where Aziraphale had hiked up the shirt. Crowley jerked at and muffled his undignified yelp, “Eip! Yup. Yeah. Yeah. They’re for-”

Crowley gasped as Aziraphale's warm mouth sucked a mark on his neck, “-ffor light sensitivity. You know. Ngh. How much?”

Susan said, “Well, I don’t take care of things like that, but I’ll get you in contact with someone who will, how about that?”

“Oh,” Crowley said, sucking in a breath as Aziraphale suddenly left his side to slide in front of him. They had reached the bookshop and Aziraphale dragged him forward by his hand, giving him a look over his shoulder, “You’ll- you’ll just give me their number, then?”

“Yup,” Susan said, unaware of the panic and excitement lodged in his beating heart at the hooded look Aziraphale gave him.

Crowley pushed the phone between his shoulder and scrambled to shut the door behind him as he managed, “Alrighty. Sounds Good.” 

Aziraphale spun Crowley around, placing his hands on his waist to pin him in place and back him against a bookshelf as Susan asked, “You want to write it down?” 

Crowley tilted his head back and away from the phone as he gasped. He inhaled sharply only to grit out, “Nu-no, can you-” Crowley bit his lip, “Just send me a text?”

“Sure,” Susan appeared unfazed by Crowley’s odd sounds, “Now, about  my  question, young man. Your insurance-”

“Oh- the insurance?” Crowley choked as Aziraphale started trailing his hands up the planes of his chest, “Nah, I’ll cover it. Ngk-”

Aziraphale stopped to glance up at him through his eyelashes and mouth, “How nice.”

Crowley shot him a glower that missed the mark entirely with his face bright red and his body strung tight like a bow under Aziraphale’s waiting hands. 

“Really?” Susan asked, surprised. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley continued, “You have any charities going on at the moment?”

Aziraphale, not being awarded any attention, returned to attacking Crowley’s neck. His mouth was warm and wet and his lips were soft from the careful chap stick Crowley knew he applied. He shuddered to think of Aziraphale applying chap stick to be soft everywhere he touches Crowley.  

“We do!” Susan began excitedly, “We’ve got a couple going-”

 “Yeah?” Crowley cut in, hand finding Aziraphale’s hair and sinking into the curls, “Double whatever my bill was and put it towards that, please.”

 Crowley’s face burned as Aziraphale teased lowly, “My, my, what a nice demon donating to charity and saying  please -”

Susan seemed at a lack for words, “Wh-what? Double your bill,  without  insurance? Anthony, are you sure?”

Crowley, still glaring at Aziraphale, feeling powerless to bite and growl like he normally would, grit out, “Yup, I’m sure.”

“Alright then,” Susan said, Aziraphale smirked, “Your total would be-”

“Oh no,” Crowley assured, tracking Aziraphale’s movement with sharp eyes, apprehensive of his next move, “You don’t need to tell me the bill. Hey, and speaking of which, do they pay you enough, Susan?”

“Oh!” Susan flustered, “I’m not quite sure.”

Crowley interrupted, “You should get a raise.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Susan teetered and started rambling, “I do my best, I’m sure, but I’m content-”

Crowley just barely managed to dodge Aziraphale's attempt to kiss him and got a soft nip at his jaw for his trouble. He grinned through a stuttering breath as Aziraphale raised an unimpressed brow at him. 

“Why don’t you talk to your boss, Susan?” Aziraphale was shrugging Crowley's jacket off now, letting it drop to the floor, “Dr. What’s-His-Face-”

“Dr. Harvell,” She corrected with some amusement. 

“Yeah, him, whatever,” Crowley popped his head through his shirt neckline, barely refraining from panting when Aziraphale attacked his skin like a feast, “Talk to him tomorrow about a promotion, and you’ll… be pleasantly surprised.”

Susan sighed, “Still a prankster, I see.”

Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s hands, hating the dejection in her voice, “No, no, not at all! Really, Susan, you deserve better. Just try it out. What’s the harm in it?”

Aziraphale smiled at him, waiting patiently for the first time as the woman on the other side of the phone fussed. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Susan worried.

“You’ve got nothing to lose,” Crowley assured, “Hey, look, you helped me out in a tough place. Least I can do is return the favor.”

Susan admonished, “I didn’t do it for a favor, Anthony.”

Crowley smiled, stroking Aziraphale’s knuckles with his thumb, “I know. You’re a good person, Susan. You deserve a little goodness, don’t you think?”

“I’ll think about it,” Susan said, but Crowley knew he had her. He wasn’t the Serpent of Eden for nothing. 

“Alright,” Crowley replied, knowing that as soon as she worked up the courage to ask for a raise, the universe would align to give it to her. It was just one of those ineffable things, “Well, it was good talking to you, Susan.”

He could hear the smile in her voice, “Oh, you too, Anthony. I am so glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said quietly, “um, thanks to, you know, your help and everything.”

Crowley stubbornly did not look at Aziraphale softening expression and tried to ignore the light caress he received from the back of Aziraphale knuckles against his cheek. 

“Of course dear,” Susan said warmly, “You have a nice night now.”

“I will,” Crowley assured her.

“And, Anthony,” Susan said lightly. 

Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale’s palm, “Yeah?”

“Remember to practice safe sex,” She said, “Have a fun night, boys.”

The line went dead as Aziraphale and Crowley stared at each other in shock.