Chapter Text
Soho hadn’t changed much in the last 3 months. Indeed, thanks to Adam’s efforts, it was as if the end of the world had never even begun. Aziraphale’s life and bookshop had hardly changed, although his companionship had. Crowley came around more frequently and openly, and could actually be found relaxing within the shop on occasion. Aziraphale enjoyed Crowley’s company in the rare circumstance that the shop was open; for one thing, his presence tended to unnerve many would-be-customers. All in all, things had settled down well, and Aziraphale was… pleased.
Well, ordinarily he would be pleased, but something just didn’t feel right. Aziraphale’s eyebrows were furrowed as he paced around the room, trying to figure out just what was…off, without much luck. “Maybe a bit of music will help me think,” he mumbled as he worked his way past an array of coffee tables, bookshelves, maps, and scrolls to set the record playing.
‘The Best of Bach’ had scarcely begun when Aziraphale finally sensed what had made him uneasy. A quick snap of his fingers and the music halted. “Dreadfully sorry,” he said looking over his shoulder at the phonograph. I’ll have to remember to invest in another record.
In a mere moment, several figures popped into place, the smell of ozone and rotten roses filling the room. Aziraphale managed a dry swallow before Gabriel stepped forward, “Long time no see! Seems you’ve been well. Love what you’ve done with the place.”
Aziraphale forced a smile and hoped it didn’t convey his dread, giving each figure a respectful nod as he said their name. “Ah. Gabriel. Sandalphon. Uriel. Whatever can I do for you? Care for some tea?”
Aziraphale fully expected them to decline; any visits from heaven were strictly for business, no pleasant meals shared. Besides, as Gabriel had said, most angels didn’t consume “gross matter” like tea. Still, he found himself attempting to worm his way past them to get to the kitchen anyway.
Uriel’s arm shot out across Aziraphale’s chest, more effective than simply telling him to stop, but an inexplicable cloud passed over Gabriel’s face. “As a matter of fact, we’d love to.” The sole sign of surprise on Uriel’s face was a pressed mouth as she slowly lowered her arm.
Unlike Uriel, however, a shocked expression was clearly visible on Aziraphale’s face. “Oh, well, uhm, I suppose I’ll get the tea brewing. Make yourselves comfortable.” With wide blue eyes trained on the angels, Aziraphale shuffled away, growing increasingly concerned as they actually sat down on his couch. Aziraphale felt an unmistakable quiver in his arms, down to his very bones, so he clasped his hands in front of him in an effort to hide such weakness.
He made the executive decision to summon some tea, so no one would get the satisfaction of watching him struggle on a task so simple. Appearing on the table in front of the trio were three mugs of steaming black tea, all eggshell white with ceramic wings as a handle. Aziraphale pressed his lips together as a look of blatant distaste flicked across Sandalphon’s face. Silence filled the room like a fog --- or perhaps more like a smoke --- thick and suffocating. Aziraphale chuckled nervously in an attempt to dissolve the tension. “Well, don’t all rush to try it at once.” His joke fell utterly flat. No one moved towards their cups, preferring to, instead, slowly turn their heads and stare blankly at Aziraphale, who couldn’t help but pitifully adjust his shirt collar.
“Aziraphale,” Gabriel began. “We have a little proposal we’d like to discuss with you.” Aziraphale’s hand rested next to his neck as he began to mentally steel himself for whatever altercation was sure to ensue. His mind raced, too many thoughts all at once, an overwhelming rush of concerns and strategies. How on earth was Crowley able to think so quickly? “You, due to unknown circumstances, seem to have gained a resistance to hellfire, perhaps because of your frequent run-ins with demons while here on Earth? Your troops as well as several other angels are quite concerned for you. You are wanted back in heaven. Your former status will be granted unto you once more. You have the opportunity of an eternity: to return to the good grace of the Almighty.”
The thoughts spinning wildly in Aziraphale’s mind ground to a halt. They want me back? Aziraphale clung desperately to this thought. After preventing Armageddon, he had been struggling to accept the fact that he was no longer going to be welcome. Here was his former position, lost so long ago, being handed to him on a silver platter.
There was, however, the obvious problem: he actually had no such immunity. His body swap with Crowley seemed to work a little too well. But that didn’t matter when the Almighty wanted him back. He felt a bit of a warm glow in his soul, truthfully; Aziraphale had never wanted to go against Heaven. He had only believed that the end of life on Earth for the purpose of war was a bit barbaric. Humans were such phenomenal creatures that it was a shame to just destroy them, and not all demons were bad. It was pointless violence, and he simply couldn’t stand such useless anger and destruction.
“Oh, there is an additional perk as well,” Gabriel added, interrupting Aziraphale’s thoughts. “You will not have to remain on Earth. Until the true Apocalypse that is. You won’t even have to interact with any demons any more, especially not the one you’ve had to deal with for so long… Crowley, I believe? Until, of course, the end times --- the true Apocalypse --- when you can plunge your sword into the souls of any and all demons you wish.”
Gabriel’s smile was bright throughout the entire speech, but Aziraphale suddenly felt very cold. As he looked at the angels before him, all wearing matching smiles, but on their faces, Aziraphale found that smirking would be a more apt description. He found himself deeply disturbed. This can’t be right. He unconsciously took a step back. “What if- Well, what if I refuse? To return to heaven?”
Gabriel’s pristine expression melted, replaced by a look of genuine confusion. “Why would you want to stay on this miserable rock when the gates of Heaven are wide open and ready for your return?”
Aziraphale didn’t know the answer exactly, per se, but all he had ever wanted was to protect humankind, which was much harder to manage while stationed in heaven. And then there was Crowley. Sure, he was a demon, but he was Aziraphale’s friend. He’d had Aziraphale’s back through so much --- even when, frankly, he was well within his rights not to --- and he’d simply… always been there. They’d been through hell and back --- literally --- and by this point Aziraphale began to think of them as protectors, guardians of the world; he couldn’t just leave him.
He wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to express himself to the angels, but he’d give it his best shot. “What if I think I am better suited here on Earth?”
This time Uriel spoke up, cool and organized, as soulless as Heaven claimed demons were. “Then we are to return you to heaven by force. It would be an open act of rebellion against the Almighty's plan. This is your last chance to redeem yourself for your multiple failures over the years.”
Aziraphale found that he couldn't meet their gaze. He was aware of how much he had mucked things up during his stay on Earth. Losing the sword --- and the humans --- in the Garden of Eden, joining forces with a demon to thwart Armageddon, refusing to fight for heaven in the supposed war… the list continued. He had made so many mistakes… and now he was being offered a way out, a way to avoid the consequences.
He was tempted --- ironically --- by the offer, and a large, large part of him wanted to go back. Still, as he looked around at his beloved bookshop, he realized that it had become a home to him and, like the Eastern Gate, he had sworn to defend it to the best of his ability even though these odds were not the most favorable.
“My sincerest apologies,” Aziraphale said, allowing his wings to unfurl behind him, narrowly missing a nearby lamp. “I am afraid that I wish to continue my assignment on Earth.”
The angels across from him stood in unison, releasing their wings as well. Different versions of delighted looks danced across the faces of both Uriel and Sandalphon, while Gabriel expressed potent disappointment. “Very well then.” He gave a resigned sigh and nodded once.
Aziraphale threw up his arms in a defensive position, but he was a bit rusty, and, yes, a bit soft. In the end he barely had a chance to react as the angels flocked him immediately. They could simply have grabbed him and returned to heaven without much trouble, but this was a moment they seemed to be waiting for. Each angel revealed their true forms, growing in size and brilliance until the light blinded even Aziraphale, forcing him to look away. A small part of him mourned the damage it would likely do to his books, wincing as the crash of cracking wood filled the room along with an unearthly buzzing noise, the dusty mortal books standing no chance against the wrath of heaven. Still, there was nothing he could do; protecting the phonograph against the angels’ combined might proved to be taxing enough. In some ways, it was fortunate that they paid no mind to his meager earthly possessions.
That power drain combined with the already blinding light left Aziraphale all too vulnerable to the blunt violence of those surrounding him. A kick to the gut, a punch to the face… It all blended together until Aziraphale could no longer muster the strength required to stand. The encounter didn’t last long, and Aziraphale had barely begun to register the pain blossoming from the many parts of his body before he felt his corporation dissolve into light.