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This end is only the end of this beginning.
In that bookshop, the only place left where all other things had disappeared from existence, there was a quiet ache that hung between them. The vastness of the universe and all its wonders, the eternity passed and the evermore ahead of them all just…gone. All they had now was each other and memories of things that had ultimately come to nothing. Nobody else to cherish the good and weep in grief. Not that Crowley had ever wept. Don’t be so daft.
Aziraphale - General at the Battle for the Eternal Flame, Guardian at the Eastern Gate, traitor and Supreme Archangel – on the other hand, felt the wetness flooding his gaze and distorting the manifestation of his home. He tried to swallow back the thickness in his throat, like swallowing desert sands after a millennium without water, and a broken sob escaped. The Angel had shed tears before, many times in fact, but this felt so unreal. Possibly because outside of those doors, there was no reality.
Crowley heard the choked sound and spun on his Cuban heel, and only then did all of this hit him. It was just them. Alone. He had dreamt of this for the last year, since Aziraphale chose Heaven. What could have been in Alpha Centauri. Walking hand in hand along dark-matter and looking up at the expanding universe until it gave up and caved in on itself. Was it so wrong of him to want to abandon it all after so long trying to understand? There had never been any answers, nothing that made sense except the two of them, doing their silly schemes and favours, drinking wine instead of tempting already corrupted humans, watching sunsets instead of blessing congregations of hypocrites.
Don’t cry because it’s over. Just smile because it was.
“Angel. Come here” His voice is the softest Scottish whisper, warm as a whiskey glow as he reached out a hand to the only one that had ever mattered, but the Angel is spiralling.
“It’s all gone. It’s really all gone. I never thought Michael would do it. I mean, I know it was all a bit much, being second to Gabriel and then overlooked. And they didn’t really like my plans for the Second Coming very much. Or the paperwork. And they really hated that Murial rose the ranks so quickly. But to steal the Book of Life? To destroy it? And everything else! I should have seen how unhappy Michael was – I should have-“ the tears are tracking down his soft cheeks now, his blue eyes made to seem all the more vivid against fractured blood vessels.
“You hold yourself responsible for everything. Michael did what they did because they wanted to.” Crowley says, moving a step closer, hand still outstretched. The distance between them had never felt so sharp.
“We weren’t the perfection God thought we would be. We had our own interpretations. It’s what made us who we are, Angel.” The Former-Demon continues. For the first time in his existence, is not angry. He had always held, somewhere deep down, the embers of resentment after his Fall. He had hated God for her silence. He had hated Lucifer for his lies. And he had hated himself for being so easily led. In this moment, stood looking at Aziraphale panicking, he felt the weight and hurt he had carried slowly dissolving.
“Our beliefs. Our choices.”
It is the vulnerability Crowley radiated that snaps Aziraphale back to the moment and he awkwardly shuffles closer before he places one hand on top of Crowley’s, the other beneath it. Their gaze meets through the tinted lenses, and Aziraphale gives his best attempt at a smile despite the tears.
“I’m sorry, my dear. I never chose Heaven over you. It was always –“
“I know. You don’t need to apologise”
“I do, Crowley. I’ve spent so long hurting you without ever meaning to”
Crowley feels his jaw tighten involuntarily and breaks their contact, turns to look around the bookshop, taking in the familiar space – but it all feels wrong. A smudged photocopy of itself. He reaches out, plucks a book from the nearest shelf and flicks though the pages to find them blank. Of course. No people had ever existed to write them.
“I didn’t exactly make things easier for you, either” He admits, trying to dilute the pain in his voice. “You and your goodness, me and my temptations..”
How about a little taste of what’s in sight? How about a little fun before we die?
“Oh Crowley. You gave me hope. Time after time, whenever things got bad. I knew you’d be there. The wily Serpent, always getting me out of trouble”
“You did seem to have a talent for finding it”
“You seemed to think it was very funny, how often I needed rescuing”
“It was funny.”
“An Angel, at the mercy of a Demon-”
“But only able to go as far as we could”
The two turn to face one another across the dusty floorboards, the hint of a smile etched into their faces. In the space between, the air finally softens. Somehow they are seeing each other for the first time as what they really were. Two beings. Destined to be together no matter the cost.
I remember you swimming in the shadows and dancing in the rain.
“I forgive you, Angel. And I forgive myself” Crowley says, taking off his glasses and sliding them over the ears of the nearby bronze bust of a person he no longer recognised. Before he has the time to do anything else, he is winded by the sudden collision of Aziraphale’s body enveloping him in a hug so tight he makes an involuntary noise
“Ngk! Angel…”
Crowley adjusts and slithers his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders, buries his face in the softness and inhails deeply. He’d missed this Angelic smell, Frankincense and cocoa.
They stay like that for a long time. Or what feels like it, anyway, as Time no longer has a purpose and has vapourised.
Even in the long dark days I found love when the world was fading, slowly burning out
“Well. Bugger. I never thought it would else like this” The voice breaks through the emptiness like a rumble of thunder; out of shock and bad habits, Crowley and Aziraphale break apart suddenly like they had been burned
“Who-?”
The stranger doesn’t seem to care that the two had been embracing, and instead is trailing his fingertips over the nearest row of books to the door, caressing the spines almost lovingly. A whisper of dimness seems to shroud his form, and although he looks like a man, he is far too majestic and terrifying to be a human.
“Shame about the universe really. I did enjoy it while it lasted” The stranger continues, absently turning as if searching for something within the shop, quite like reality had not fizzled out.
“I know you…”
“Hm? Oh, yes. Last time you saw me I was a thousand feet high, bright red, lots of horn and fabulous teeth, arguing with my rebellious son” The man says calmly, really unphased by the events of the last however long it had been. “Yes, I appreciate the irony now… Glad Beelzebub didn’t manage to destroy you after that kafuffle”
“You bastard!” Crowley hisses, forked tongue flicking out.
“We are not bastards. Technically.. Although… I suppose… Created by an single Entity.. Does that make us bastards? You were the one who liked difficult questions, Crowley” The man chimes teasingly, sparks of darkness crackling like black sparklers as he barks a laugh.
“You’re Satan” Aziraphale exclaims like he has just worked out the final answer to the Sunday Times crossword
“Oh Crowley, this is the Angel you betrayed Hell for?” Satan sneers, and Crowley must be physically restrained by the Angel not to dive at the Adversary with fists flying. A few moments and the burn of Crowley’s rage snuffs out almost as quickly as it came. He hasn’t the energy to fight any more. He had been teetering on the sidelines of the impossible battle for so long. So long being on the defensive, never able to stomach dealing a critical blow and cause harm to another. He was possibly the only Demon in Hell who had never killed an Angel or Human. And of course, one could argue Ligor’s death was his own fault really. He didn’t have the sense to look up and see the bucket of Holy Water teetering on the door before rushing in…
“You were the worst of us, Crowley. Indecisive and weak” Satan continues, although he doesn’t sound disappointed. Maybe a little bemused. Maybe a little envious.
“He was the best of us. The only one who cared for the Humans like we should have done from the Beginning” Aziraphale counters, and the Former Demon moves to stand beside his ally for the last six thousand years.
Tell me can you see those little sparks hidden in the dark?
“So… What now?” Satan asks, changing the subject to avoid the uncomfortable truth that Crowley was a better Angel than he ever was Demon. The echoes of a war for souls were still rippling between Good and Evil, only this time it was Crowley’s soul they both coveted.
“Nothing. It’s just this. Everything else is gone” Anthony shrugs, hands slipping into the pockets of those tight jeans. “No Book of Life means nothing existed”
Except they were still here. And the Devil himself had somehow not been erased from existence… Although this is the first time he had used this corporal form since the Rebellion. He rather liked the big red monster the human’s had conjured up in their stories, although the hooves were inconvenient. Satan had once been beautiful, the most beautiful angel with golden tipped feathers and a thousand green eyes, bands of cosmic spectra ranging from the deepest ultraviolet to the brightest firuze. Then God started talking about Humanity, the new obsession. Peculiar mammals wandering around on two legs. Satan had tried to adapt, to please God so this fantastical creation didn’t need to exist – but God was stubborn at the best of times. In a last ditch attempt of keeping God’s gaze, Satan mimicked the design of the Humans (long before they actually came to exist). His stature was a little shorter and his teeth a little sharper, his ebony hair flowed into shadows and cloaked him. He had a magnetic aura and it had been what drew so many Angels to the rebellion. He represented something entirely new and exciting. Those who followed became something new too.
This is the night of the hunter, deliriously pull the trigger, run like Hell.
“What if… we wrote it?” Aziraphale says finally. Every book was just a set of blank pages until they were written… The Angel flexes his fingers and scurries to his desk, grabbing the first leather bound volume he could reach and his favourite quill. It was a deep grey feather that he had found many years ago after a particularly heavy night of drinking with Crowley.
Without waiting for a reply, he was already dipping the nib into the inkwell and starting to scrawl in loopy script:
There were four of them in that bookshop, which was the whole world. An angel, a former demon, the Devil himself, and one other. One who was there, because They were omnipresent. They had always been there. They would always be there.
God sits, cross legged on a quaint little armchair, the upholstery faded and worn, the varnish faded on the arms. God looks serene as They turn their attention to the whole world in front of Them.
“You really do not need to summon me. I was already here-“ The other three jump in surprise at the apparent sudden arrival, although as God had said, They were already there.
“Yes, you can be everywhere but.. That doesn’t mean you’ll… talk to us, Lord” Aziraphale reasons, setting the quill back onto the desk and facing the radiance that is the Creator. Long star-dust robes that draped delicately over the corporal form God had chosen to display, silver and gold sparks moving effortlessly as They uncross and cross Their legs in a motion so fluid it was mesmerising to watch.
“Hm. I have been distant of late” God muses, and Crowley must cough to cover up his snort of indignation.
“So what do you want?” God asks sharply. Their capacity for patience a concept They had never really mastered. It was Their own fault, thinking that eternity was a reasonable timescale to accomplish all that could be done.
God has three faces that form one and it is difficult to read – it seems to reflect everything all at once. The faces were that of the Trinity, and also the dimensions of what was, is, and every possibility; all weaved using trillions of microscopic fibres into one placid expression. It was a little bit like looking in an infinity mirror but the lights were too bright to fully make out the features. For reference, God’s six eyes are all different colours.
“You want it all back to the way it was? A do-over?” God asks, voice like the erosion of an ancient cliff.
“No. Not at all. Not like it was-” Crowley starts, his hand now finding Aziraphale’s and linking their fingers together. Finally on the same side.
“And not Ineffable-”
“Just let the Universe take it’s course-”
“Let it be whatever it is”
When the sun goes down it goes on, and on, and on, and on
God is quiet for a moment, pondering. In the quiet, Satan watches a swirl of dust and wonders how everything got to this point. He was sure he had led the rebellion against God, turned countless Angels to his cause and tormented so many of those overly complicated apes. But what for? Did he ever make his own decision, or was he always a puppet? Some marionette of Fate, following the script to the letter without ever knowing the next line.
What a mind fuck.
“You want me to create a whole new Universe and then just… leave it alone?” God asks, that impossible expression never moving even as They speak with three voices.
“No. You… You have to experience it. Properly” Aziraphale says, looking at Crowley for approval of this suggestion, the Former Demon squeezing his hand in reassurance. “See it for yourself. Not just a part of you. All of you. And not just for thirty three years. That’s not enough time at all”
God’s face flashes white hot and somewhere within Themselves, there is conflict. The Son is all for it. He never got the chance to enjoy being on Earth the first time – and Crucifixion did leave a bad impression the first time around.
The Spirit had dipped in and out of Earth Realm and had mostly been bored. Then again, the last time The Spirit had really interacted with any of the Humans was about a hundred years after Jesus had come back to The Trinity. Fashion and music had definitely improved since then.
The Father, the uniting element of God Themselves, straightens and They fill the room with light as they breathe a sigh. Crowley pulls Aziraphale behind him, prepares himself to protect his Angel one last time and squeezes his eyes shut.
The blinding searing pain of sulphur does not come. Nor does the emptiness of non-existence.
“This decision, this one decision, can be yours. I will make it. I will make the Universe your way. But I will need to make some amendments. Six days was not long enough to create it all the way I originally imaged” God’s faces tilt, considering the reaction of the others. Crowley slowly opens his eyes in disbelief.
“We have eternity” Aziraphale says in his best reassuring voice, moving to Crowley’s side, and God’s body ripples with a chuckle, the whole bookshop quivering in response.
“Very well. Satan, darling, any requests?” It seems Son and Spirit have convinced Father to indulge the adversary, just this once. The shadow swells with hope rekindled.
“One night. Once a millennium. Just you and I” Satan rumbles.
“…Agreed. Although paintballing is not an option. Ever.”
Satan’s face cracks into the most horrifying smile, teeth like needles and his horns blossoming from his head with vibrant red flora ornately blooming from the vines wound around them.
God thinks Satan has never been so beautiful.
Don’t cry because its over. Just smile because it was.
“I suppose I best get to work” God announces, but there is one last question, and this time God does not have the answer. “What will you two do?”
Aziraphale looks up at Crowley, turns to face his best friend and great love. He reaches a hand up to cup his stubbled cheek, holds him as is this was the very first time. Anthony smiles, the yellow eyes melting into gold as he takes the Angel’s hand and presses a kiss to the palm lovingly.
“We’ll be here. Making up for lost time”
Steal the rhythm out from my heart
Your burning hands make a perfect star
--
The four (technically six) meet every sixth Sunday of the century for a drink in the bookshop, which has expanded somewhat since the end of the Universe and rebirth of the Whole World. There is now a large orangery where lush plants grow and a small waterfall splashes happily into a crystal clear pool. The bookshop feels more like home, and there is also an observatory on the third floor, although most of the stars are still very young and haven’t quite worked out how to twinkle yet.
Aziraphale had managed to fill a dozen books with the history of the Second Universe but had unfortunately ran out of ink and couldn’t remember how to create it. (He had tried lemon juice but somehow the letters faded very quickly, and he gave up for a few millennia. “When life evolves enough, they’ll surely figure something out. I’ll start again then”)
Crowley now goes by Anthony, and Aziraphale quite likes making up food-related pet names for him. On mornings he spends his time talking to the plants, teaching them the languages of the past. In the afternoons he usually has a little nap, curled up in his serpent form or dangling from the bookshelves. Once he had slipped down and to avoid misplacing him Aziraphale had draped the snake around his neck like a scarf. In the evenings Anthony and Aziraphale have picnics or visit one of the new stars. They were lucky enough to witness the birth of a star which they named Algol, and soon after realised it had a companion, so the binary stars became Algol A and B. Six million years later, Anthony thinks Algol B is expecting.
They have fairy lights tangled around logs in the fireplace instead of candles, and a perfectly reasonable amount of tartan blankets and throw cushions. There is also a fully functional kitchen in the back, always fully stocked with all the things they liked best, and an everlasting supply of wine and cocoa. Anthony had once tried to find some whiskey, but after tasting it he had coughed and spluttered, telling Aziraphale it burned his throat so they didn’t bother with that again.
God comes once the Devil (who has reverted back to his Angelic name, Lucifer) has finished his slideshow of interesting rocks because They cannot abide looking at oddly shaped minerals and fragments of carbon for more than a few minutes. Lucifer is passionate about all the new pockets of gravity and has made a nice Ice Palace on a planet which he thinks should be called ‘Uranus’. Apparently, it’s a joke. Aziraphale, Anthony and God do not understand the reference.
The Trinity, Father Son and Spirit, are less distant. Aziraphale believes that Spirit has started something called Meditation and it is doing wonders for all Three. They have agreed that Humanity must develop slower, rather than just springing into existence on day six. The Trinity calls it ‘evolution’, and Anthony thinks it’s a great idea.