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There was nothing left. Nothing at all.
Their cities had been laid to waste long ago. Humanity tried, oh they tried to defend themselves, fought tooth and nail to protect what little remained after the nuclear bombs stopped falling. But by then it was far too late; Heaven and Hell met in the middle, met on Earth’s crust, and finally fought their battle.
Humanity had ceased to exist long ago. The war, however, raged for centuries. Bloody, merciless, Heaven and Hell tore away at each other, falling and dying in droves. In the center was Lucifer; God, however, was nowhere to be seen, nor felt in the deadened landscape that surrounded them.
It took Lucifer three centuries to die. Michael dealt the killing blow one dark afternoon somewhere over what used to be the Amazon Rainforest, long since burned away into ash. The war, however, continued-- the Demons of Hell showed no signs of surrender; in fact, Lucifer’s death only made them fight harder. Beelzebub took over the charge in his stead; they, too, fell to a Cherub somewhere over Iceland.
One by one, both sides fell. Their numbers diminished on equal terms. It wasn’t until the last Human had perished that further effects were felt; Famine, Pollution and Pestilence faded into nothingness. It was the first sign of things to come. The first sign of the final decline of Heaven and Hell’s strength. The first sign that they all fought a losing battle, no matter who stood at its end.
Crowley’s blade clashed violently against Gabriel’s shield, driving him back. The Archangel only returned the blow with his own sword, which Crowley only barely blocked in time. The power which radiated from each clash of their weapons was ten times stronger than any nuclear blast that had gone off, further flattening the landscape around them. Crowley vaguely wondered where they were; somewhere in Africa, he expected. There was nothing but cliffs, and a sea now made of nothing but blood and Holy Water.
They were exhausted, beaten, bloodied. But still they fought with all the ferocity of the first day, the first moments. It wasn’t until Gabriel finally landed a successful hit that their battle slowed; Crowley’s side was torn open by Gabriel’s heavenly blade, and his chance of victory vanished in an instant.
Gabriel stood before him. His eyes were emotionless, near lifeless in every way. Crowley fell to his knees. Beside them, a cliff. Below them, a raging sea. Beyond them, out over the water, Michael fought what used to be a boy named Adam Young, now nothing more than a vessel of hellfire and rage. Gabriel raised his sword, his hands shaking with the effort, with the pain, with the exhaustion.
“Gabriel.”
The Archangel stopped. Crowley breathed out a sigh and closed his eyes, sagging just a touch. Gabriel turned to the voice; behind him was the Principality Aziraphale, clad in his armor, a bow on his back, shield in his left hand and axe in his right, picked up off a dead angel’s battered remains.
“Aziraphale.”
There was no anger to be had, not anymore. They were too tired for anger. Too tired for fear. Aziraphale stood before his former boss and stared him down, both more like puppets than true living beings. There were no tears to shed. There was nothing left that could be given, nothing that could be taken.
“Was this what you wanted?” The Principality asked, his eyes raking over the barren land around them, the rusty sea beyond.
Gabriel stared at him. There was nothing within, not anymore; whatever they held before, whatever love or care or hatred that may have once lived within them had long since disappeared amid a lifeless battlefield.
“No.”
Not a moment later, Crowley was on his feet. He drove his sword straight through Gabriel's chest, igniting it with Hellfire. The Archangel didn’t even scream; in moments, he had burned away into the nothing that had already claimed him within.
The world fell silent around them. Crowley and Aziraphale stared at one another across a proverbial chasm, opposite sides of a long-lost cause.
“You came back.” Aziraphale intelligently observed, simply to break apart the unbearable silence.
Crowley chuckled without any humor, “Yeah, well. I never should have-- never should have left you.” Neither moved, they barely dared to breathe, “Are you going to kill me?”
Aziraphale took a deep breath, emotions he’d thought he’d locked away surging back to the surface. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could.” Crowley’s gaze traveled through a series of exhausted emotions that Aziraphale couldn’t possibly translate, “How was Alpha Centauri?”
Crowley’s walls crumbled in an instant, and he was awash in his love for the angel who stood before him, “Terrible. Horrendous. You weren’t there.”
And then, Crowley’s strength gave out. Aziraphale rushed forward to catch the Demon before he could fall over that cliff into the sea. Heaven’s fire ripped through his open, bleeding wound. There was no saving him. He didn’t want to be saved, and Aziraphale knew it.
Aziraphale sat them both down at the edge of the cliff, and together they watched Michael and Adam tear at each other. Stars were born and simultaneously destroyed between them, a myriad of colors and sounds and lights that were almost too bright to look upon. The battle would be over soon; both of them were reaching the end of their capabilities, of their power.
Crowley had laid his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his demon and held on tight. Crowley didn’t have the energy to gasp in pain as the flames ate away at his essence. Aziraphale didn’t have the energy for tears.
“I’m so sorry, angel.”
“Shh. Nothing to be done about it now.”
“I should have stayed.”
“And I should have trusted you. I’ll not have either of us throwing blame around now.”
Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s hand weakly, his strength continuing to decline at a rapid pace. His eyes closed, never to open again.
“Do you still feel Her, angel?” Crowley asked, quiet in his final unspoken deathbed confession.
“Darling, I’ve not felt Her since the last Human fell.” Aziraphale kissed the top of his head, “Always felt you, though. It’s only ever been you.”
Crowley let out a sigh, the last breath he’d ever breathe. The flames consumed him without a sound, and the demon Crowley, the Serpent of Eden, the first Tempter of Earth, burned away into nothing but a memory.
Aziraphale dropped his arms and sat quietly, watching the battle between Michael and Adam, waiting to see which one he’d come into conflict with at the end. The only wind he felt came from the aftershocks of their matching blows. The very Universe trembled beneath their power, their might.
Aziraphale thought he ought to feel anger. He ought to feel fear, to feel hatred. To feel the loss of every soul, to feel their tears and hurt and terror as his own. He could feel the gaping hole that had been left in the world, could feel all the life ripped away too soon, too cruel. He should feel hatred. All he feels is pity.
Behind him he could hear footsteps. He didn’t need to turn to know who approached.
“Hey dad.”
“Hello War.”
Once acknowledged, Aziraphale did turn to spare a glance at what was once War. The woman with blood-red hair was scarcely recognizable; even she, War itself, was exhausted. She was blood-spattered, thin, her armor broken, her very will broken. There was no energy to kill, and Aziraphale felt no fear. War still carried his flaming sword in her hand, but she made no move to make use of it. Behind her, Death followed silently.
War dropped down to sit beside Aziraphale, watching the battle with calm resignation. She heaved the flaming sword over her head and threw it into the ocean below. It turned to dust before it ever hit the water.
“So that’s it, then?” Aziraphale asked, simply to fill the silence. “There’s no one left?”
“None beyond those of us here.” War answered, nodding to Michael and Adam, who’s battle had slowed considerably. “They will destroy each other in short order, and then it’ll be done. You’ll be the last. Congratulations.”
Aziraphale breathed out a long sigh. Without a thought he let his weapons drop into the sea below. He had no will left to carry them. Behind them Death stood watching, always watching.
“I heard what you asked Gabriel.” War mentioned tentatively.
“Then I shall ask you in turn. Was this what you wanted?” Aziraphale looked her in the eye, “Was it worth it?”
War shrugged her shoulders, slow and pained. “I was created for one purpose. When the Antichrist and Michael fall, I will cease to exist with them. You’ve no will left for any fight, so neither do I.”
“And with no one left to believe in my own existence, I too will cease. I thought as much.” Aziraphale glanced up at Death, “And I suppose you will remain the victor. Seems lonely.”
“There is no such thing as victory, Principality Aziraphale.” Death responded. There was no longer a need for his mystery. “It has happened before, and will happen again. The cycle continues until it is broken.”
“I see. Her plan, I assume?”
“It is Ineffable.”
“Of course it is.”
They fell silent once more. Michael and Adam had slowed further, their blows now barely making ripples in the water below them.
“You know,” War took a long breath, “I don’t think this was worth it. How can it be if nothing remains?” She looked at Aziraphale curiously, “I am War, not Destruction. It’s a strange feeling. I had a purpose, and now I don’t. So… what now? What’s next?”
“I don’t know.” Aziraphale admitted, “I suppose another chance in a long line of chances. Until we… choose something different.”
“...Do you think that’s possible?”
Aziraphale thought on that as both Michael and Adam lost their shields to the waves below. “I suppose She wouldn’t continue the cycle if it wasn’t.”
Finally, as if in slow motion, Adam and Michael plunged their weapons into one another simultaneously. It was as if both were resigned to it, too tired, too broken, to continue their fight. Michael burned away, and Adam crumbled into dust. The ocean and the air stilled. The Earth stopped spinning. Aziraphale could feel the entire Universe, and all its wonders, grind to a deafening halt.
“It is done.” Death came to stand directly behind Aziraphale and War, his black robes brushing their backs. They were warm to touch. Comforting. Safe. “Be not afraid.”
War gave Aziraphale a cocky grin, one that almost showed the power she once held. “See you next time, dad.”
“No offence,” Aziraphale laughed, “but I hope next time, we will treat this world with the respect it deserves.”
In the end, staring down the unknown, War took her father’s hand. “I wonder how many times you’ve said that.”
Death put his skeletal hands on top of their heads. Together, The Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, and the essence of War itself, faded away into the nothing.
Death then watched as the Universe collapsed inward upon itself, then exploded in a Big Bang which followed a line of restarts too numerous to count. Death watched, and began the clock once again.
--
Crowley shot up in bed, screaming and panting. His whole body shook violently, the sheets damp with sweat. He only vaguely recognized where he was; Aziraphale’s bedroom in his flat above the bookshop. It was silent, far too silent. In the early AM hours, there didn’t even seem to be traffic outside the window. Perhaps the blood rushing in his ears blocked out the distractions.
“Crowley?!” Aziraphale’s panicked scream from downstairs cut through his panic and jolted Crowley into action. He raced down the stairs into the bookshop, clad only in pajama bottoms. It took only a moment to find Aziraphale crouched between the shelves of books, clutching his chest with heaving breaths.
“Angel.” Crowley lurched forward, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale, knocking them both backward until Aziraphale was seated fully on the floor, Crowley straddling his lap. They clutched at each other desperately. Aziraphale was crying. Crowley would later deny that he was, too. “Oh my God, angel, angel…”
“You s-saw that? Tell me you saw that.” Aziraphale sobbed into his bare shoulder.
“Saw-- what-- I, I had a nightmare just now, b-but--”
“No. No, not a nightmare.” Aziraphale was shaking as he pulled back from Crowley, looking at him with too many monumental emotions to name, “I saw it too, the war and Michael and Death and--” He took a deep breath as Crowley wiped away his tears. “It was a vision.”
Crowley slowed, stunned with shot nerves. “F-From… From Her?”
“It must have been.” Aziraphale’s eyes were wide, matching Crowley’s completely yellowed gaze. “She must have showed us, she-- oh Crowley, my Crowley, my love. We broke it. We must have broken it!” Crowley’s brain tried to catch up, tried to put the pieces together beneath that moonless night. Aziraphale must have seen it, because he continued, “Don’t you see? We chose each other this time, we chose Earth. You stayed here, you stayed for me. And I came back to Earth for you, and we reunited at Tadfield to give Adam the second he needed to avert the war. We chose love, Adam chose love, and we won.”
“We-- Does that mean we have…?”
“Eternity, my darling. The cycle is broken. We have forever.”
“So…” His brain still struggled with acceptance, “What now? If we’ve never made it this far before...”
Aziraphale hummed, nuzzling his nose into Crowley’s cheek, pulling him further onto his lap. Their chests were pressed together from chest to hip. “I suppose we start a new chapter. Ensure this world makes the most of their chance. Keep them in balance, give them the chance to choose like we’ve always done.” Aziraphale looked at him with a fragility in his eyes, “But… Together. Together, right?”
Crowley surged forward and kissed him, kissed him with more fervor than ever before, kissed him with so much intensity and passion that the world trembled before it’s depth. “I love you,” Crowley gasped, wanted to scream but didn’t have the room to do so when still pressed against his lover’s lips, “I love you, I love you, oh angel I’ll never leave you, never let you be alone, never, never--” Aziraphale pulled him back down, and they didn’t separate for a long, long time. And the world, one that had been given a chance to continue to spin, allowed them a sliver of time all to themselves.