Chapter Text
Now
The bookshop was much as Aziraphale remembered it, not that he could thank himself for that. He had neglected the shop tremendously. Unforgivably. With everything that happened, Aziraphale expected to find it boarded up, derelict, if not bought and turned into an electronics shop. Heaven forbid.
But no, the shop was there. The books were there. The floors were clean, the air was clear, and his favourite reading chair was still in its spot.
None of that had anything to do with Aziraphale.
He gathered his hands in front of his chest, knowing of course who must be responsible, and how much worse that made it all.
#
The bell for the front door twinkled early in the morning, startling Aziraphale from upstairs.
It had turned out that the rest of his home was also in-tact. Not untouched, because for it to be untouched there would have been dust and cobwebs by now. No, it was well kept, not untouched. As if it was waiting for him.
Aziraphale imagined the Bentley without Crowley. It would keep itself spic and span awaiting his return, sitting neatly in it’s parking space and keeping it’s own upholstery pristine and plump. But Aziraphale had no such connection with the bookshop.
There had been no knock at the door, so Aziraphale’s breath caught. It would be Crowley downstairs, Crowley who had done all of this despite…despite what Aziraphale had been busy doing. The thought of Crowley downstairs was enough to bring a lump to Aziraphale’s throat and make him feel as though he couldn’t breathe. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest as he remembered the last time they had been here together and what an awful mess he had made of, well, just about everything.
But not going downstairs was not an option. He needed to speak to Crowley. He needed to apologise. He did not think he would be forgiven, but that did not mean an apology wasn’t worth making. Aziraphale had always rather thought that if you only meant your apology if it was accepted, then you weren’t really sorry at all. Not about the part that mattered anyway. And Aziraphale really was sorry, about all of it. About heaven, about taking Metatron’s offer, about how they left things, about walking away, and about the Second Coming.
It was a ridiculous amount of pressure to put on a single word; sorry . But what else was there to say anymore?
Before he could lose his nerve, Aziraphale tugged at his waistcoat, made himself stand up straight, and walked downstairs towards the bustling.
‘Crowley-’ Aziraphale started, halfway down the stairs and with a deep, fortifying breath.
He didn’t get any further because that was all it took for the bustling to appear and for Aziraphale to realise it wasn’t Crowley at all, but Muriel.
‘Oh, Muriel.’
‘Mr Aziraphale, sir,’ Muriel said, looking scared, rather than the guileless expression they usually sported. Aziraphale supposed he deserved that. They had a too-tall stack of books in their hands, which they promptly dropped, making Aziraphale wince. ‘You’re here.’
‘Well, yes. If that’s alright.’
‘Oh. I’m not sure, really.’
‘Is it not still my bookshop?’
‘You have been gone a really long time. And Crowley said-’ Muriel’s eyes went wide and they quite literally smacked a hand over their mouth.
‘What did Crowley say?’
‘A lot of not very nice things. But he definitely said I shouldn’t let you in.’
‘Ah well, not to worry about that. I let myself in,’ Aziraphale said before making his way down the rest of the staircase, in part to give him a moment facing away from Muriel as he processed what not-nice things Crowley might have said. All of which Aziraphale was sure he had every right to say.
‘Oh. That’s true,’ Muriel replied. When Aziraphale reached the ground floor he thought to go pick up the books Muriel had dropped, but stopped in his tracks when Muriel stepped back, eyes-wide, when he came closer.
‘Sorry.’ They both said, at the same time. Muriel shuffled as an awkward silence stretched out. Azirphale was having to allocate considerable resources to keep his lip from trembling.
‘Are you going to take this place back then?’ Muriel asked, and there was something about that, the way they said it. Take it back . And Aziraphale thought, that’s not me, is it , but of course, things had changed of late.
Oh how desperately he wanted to come back to this place. The idea of being anywhere else made him feel nauseated, even though that was hardly possible as a celestial being. But to see Muriel so resigned to Aziraphale taking something as if it were his right. It hardly mattered at all that the shop did strictly speaking belong to him.
‘I would like to call this place home again,’ Aziraphale said, picking his words carefully, not carefully enough as Muriel’s entire face fell. ‘But, I am sure there is room for the both of us?’
‘Crowley wouldn’t like that.’
‘Ah. Of course,’ Aziraphale said, pausing for a moment before continuing. ‘But what would you like?’
Muriel chewed on their lower lip, shifting from foot to foot as if quite literally weighing the options. ‘Crowley has been very kind to me.’
‘I have no doubt,’ Aziraphale said and what in heaven was he doing here, he should just leave the shop to Muriel, they deserved it more than he did, and then he would not be trespassing where he was no longer wanted; in the shop or in Crowley’s periphery.
How quickly his hope over finding the shop so well-looked-after had evaporated into something sharp and hurtful.
But the idea of leaving made him feel so adrift, so very alone, that Aziraphale wasn’t sure he could do it at all. He had never been the strong one, just the cowardly one.
‘Maybe if we didn’t talk to each other it would be alright. And so long as I don’t let you in. Crowley said I should never let you in and I should certainly never speak to you, so if I don’t do those things it should be alright. Although we’re talking now, which isn’t good, and he said some other things too.’
‘What else did Crowley say?’
‘That if I saw you I should run to get help. But, Crowley has also been helping me to work on ‘situational awareness’, and so I think , that since you’re not going to destroy the world anymore that I don’t need to do that anymore. Oh! And he said that if you told me to come with you I should use this,’ Muriel pulled out a little metal lighter with a snake engraved on it, ‘and get away as quick as I could…you don’t want me to come with you, do you? Staying together isn’t the same thing, right?’ Muriel asked, looking deeply concerned all of a sudden, their entire face crumpling with it.
‘No Muriel, I’m not going to try and make you go anywhere, I promise,’ Aziraphale said. ‘What were you supposed to do with the lighter?’
‘It makes hellfire! It’s really cool, Crowley spent ages showing me how to use it safely, so I can turn it on and drop it and everything without it touching me. And I know all about things that are flammable too; that means when they catch fire easily.’
‘Oh,’ Aziraphale said, suddenly feeling faint. He gripped the back of his favourite chair, trying to find comfort in the familiar threadbare fabric.
‘Are you alright?’ Muriel asked, their face etched with concern, but they didn’t step any closer.
‘Yes. I am fine. Just readjusting to gravity,’ Aziraphale lied.
‘So, do you think that would be okay?’
‘What would?’
‘You know. If we were both here but I didn’t talk to you, after this time anyway, and didn’t let you in?’
‘I’m sure that would be fine. Though you could always ask Crowley if you think it would be okay for us to talk,’ Aziraphale suggested. He liked the quiet, he always had, but the idea of Muriel going out of their way to avoid and not speak to him was unpleasant. But Muriel fidgeted, like they were absolutely sure asking would only land them in trouble for letting Aziraphale in this far.
Aziraphale should really leave. He should leave the shop with Muriel and London, if not the country, if not the continent, to Crowley. If he were good that is what he would do, but if the last year had made anything clear it was that Aziraphale wasn’t.
‘Or I’ll just make sure to let myself in and do my best not to speak to you.’
Muriel smiled, like this was the best thing they had heard throughout creation.
#
With the look Nina was giving him, as Aziraphale queued up for a little cake and a spot of tea, made him hope beyond hope that she would not speak to him. That she would only begin to glare. He had no such luck of course.
‘You’re back,’ she said, acerbic, as if what was back was a viral disease or local menace, not her neighbour and perhaps, Aziraphale had once hoped, friend.
‘Ah, yes. I am.’ Aziraphale said, rather redundantly. ‘Could I get a slice of the lemon cake, and an Early Grey?’
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘Oh, but-’
Nina pointed to a sign behind her that read we reserve the right to refuse service .
‘Ah.’
‘Look. I don’t know what the hell you are or what the hell happened to the planet this past year. What I do know is Crowley, and I know you hurt him and now whatever you’ve got is too bloody little too bloody late.’
It would be better if he could believe that Nina meant only emotionally. That Aziraphale had made a relationship faux pas, that he had been a fool that had turned his back on his…his us . But while Nina knew that, Aziraphale knew that she had seen some other things too, because Whickber Street had witnessed a showdown of sorts, and Nina had been one of the few who understood what was going on.
‘I see,’ Aziraphale said, folding his hands together so that they might stop trembling. ‘I’ll get my coffee elsewhere.’
‘I think that would be for the best.’
#
It wasn’t in Maggie’s nature to say unkind things, turn someone away, or hold grudges. But Aziraphale watched her face fall as he entered the record shop before she could catch herself and attempt to restore it.
She was too polite to ask Aziraphale to leave, or to be rude or blunt with him. She said it was nice to see him again, she apologised for not holding his Shostakovich records for him and that they had been bought, and it would be a few weeks before she could get more in.
She stood firmly behind the counter, her arms folded across her chest, giving Aziraphale what could only be described as a customer service smile. When Aziraphale tried to engage her in conversation she always replied, but answered only in a polite fashion that invited no further discourse.
Aziraphale had found it less hurtful when he had accidentally committed a social blunder in 1768 and been given the cut direct from the entirety of London society and had to move to Russia for a few decades.
He had deserved the cut less than he deserved Maggie’s polite disengagement.
Aziraphale decided that the best thing he could do would be to ‘take the hint’ as young folks were saying, and leave both Maggie and Nina in peace.
He ached a little, when at the end of the day the shops closed up, and it was clear to Aziraphale that it was truly Maggie and Nina now.
#
The thought that Aziraphale entertained, those first few days back in the shop, was that news of his return would reach Crowley and that Crowley would come to the shop. To yell at him, to express his rightful fury, to say any number of cruel and deserved things to Aziraphale about the things that he had done.
So sure he had been that every ding of the bell had Aziraphale turning to the door and then crumpling in more discontent that customers had ever caused before.
He had thought for sure that Crowley wouldn’t have been able to resist the opportunity to shout at him. But after a few days, when Aziraphale was sure that Crowley would have been told, by Muriel, or Nina and Maggie, or the hellish grapevine, that he was back, and he still didn’t appear, Aziraphale had to accept what was being said: Crowley did not want to see him, and Crowley would not see him.
After a week Aziraphale rearranged the book displays while Muriel frowned at him. But he couldn’t take the existence of that empty space, the strip of carpet that Crowley had strode across before kissing him. Before Aziraphale had decided to repay honesty and vulnerability with the worst kind of cruelty.
The new table of books was awkwardly placed, but it cut away the scene, blocked it as best he could.
At least the customers spoke to him a little, though they always grew annoyed when he was unwilling to part with the books.
#
Then
‘When you say the Second Coming, what exactly do you mean?’ Aziraphale asked the Metatron, who turned and gave him an exasperated look. ‘It’s just, the message is a little confused, depending on who you ask.’
‘The Second Coming; when our saviour Jesus Christ returns to the Earth and judges all of humanity, living and dead, before eradicating Satan and Sin, and building a paradise for himself and all the Good and Righteous.’
‘Right yes, that’s what I thought. Well, that sounds good. Where will paradise be, exactly?’ Aziraphale asked. He was ready to pull up his celestial shirtsleeves, as it were, and help build paradise. This was the right choice, he knew it was.
‘Why. Everywhere, of course.’
‘Everywhere?’
‘Everywhere.’
‘But, then where will everything else be?’
‘Destroyed of course.’
‘Destroyed?’ Aziraphale asked, an uneasy feeling building in his stomach. Sure he couldn’t mean all of it, not the ducks and the music and all the marvellous little inventions that were dreamed up every day.
‘To make way for paradise.’
‘Wouldn’t removing sin and suffering make Earth paradise?’
‘No, paradise is a new place.’
‘But-’
‘Come now, Aziraphale, what could be so important that it can stand in the way of eternal salvation for the righteous?’
‘I just rather imagined building something, not destroying it. Doing some Good, up here.’
‘We always do Good up here Aziraphale, this is heaven and we are its host,’ Metatron corrected and Aziraphale tried not to feel too scolded. Of course, they were the Good Guys, that was the whole point, that was the whole reason-. That was the point. ‘Besides, we won’t be doing anything, not really, it will all be in the hands of Jesus Christ returned.’
‘Then what do you need from me? It's hard to see how I can be important in something as large as this.’
‘Ah well, there are a few things that need to happen before Jesus can return.’
‘What things?’
‘The legions of hell must rise up, but I can assure you they are already preparing for battle,’ Metatron said. When are they not , Aziraphale couldn’t help but think, doubtfully, before remonstrating himself, now was not the time for doubt, he was being taken into the confidences of the most divine of all beings save for God herself. He had been chosen, selected from all angels as the one best suited for this role. ‘There are some things in the outer reaches of the universe, black holes need to be accelerated, nebulae and systems snuffed out that sort of thing. And then on Earth things may be a little harder, it would have been easier if those kids hadn’t turned our Horsemen into a Horseman, but I am sure you can figure out whatever is needed, when we get there.’
‘You mean that, whatever it is you need me to do, Famine, Pollution, and War would have made it easier?’ Aziraphale asked, his palms feeling sweaty, though such a thing wasn’t possible in Heaven.
‘Oh! Of course, we still have pestilence. I’m sure they can be convinced to come out of retirement for this.’
‘Metatron. Pardon me but, this doesn’t sound like a particularly nice thing to be doing. Besides, The Second Coming is supposed to be brought on by the faithful praying for it, isn’t it? By people taking Christ into their hearts?’
‘The number of people who pray is dwindling every year, if we leave it to that old method then there will never be a Second Coming. Is that what you want, Aziraphale, for paradise never to happen? For God’s plan to deliver humanity into salvation to never be realised?’
‘Well no, of course that isn't what I would like. But couldn’t we try something gentler first?’
‘Unfortunately that method requires an Antichrist, thus your previous…thwarting has rendered that no longer an option. I am sorry Aziraphale, but because of your own this is the only way for humanity to experience salvation, the only way for God’s Great and Ineffable plans to coalesce.’
Aziraphale swallowed though his throat fought him, thick with anxiety. He hadn’t meant to thwart God’s plan. Or perhaps he had. But he had only meant to prevent Armageddon, that fight would have flattened the earth, and nearly everyone would have been killed.
But then, those who remained would likely have prayed for salvation, thus bringing on the Second Coming and ensuring everyone was saved, living and dead.
Had Aziraphale done that? Had he cost the Earth so much . It was unthinkable. He had only been trying to preserve the things he loved. He hadn’t meant to thwart God , only Heaven and Hell. Had he done so much damage?
Had Crowley drawn him into it on purpose? He had been tempted?
He had often been tempted with Crowley, and Aziraphale knew it. He’d just believed it to be harmless.
Aziraphale jumped out of his thoughts as Metatron placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. ‘I am the Voice of God, Aziraphale, don’t you think you can trust me?’