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The Starmaker hesitantly approached the large elaborate white doors. She’d never spoken to God face-to-face; she shook, feeling an emotion that had yet to be named. (Later, she would learn the name—anxiety, a ruthless thing.)
She reached up to knock lightly on the door, trying to control this odd emotion. Eventually, she got her breathing back to normal, and knocked again, more confidently.
“Enter,” a voice answered. It was feminine, and maybe even a bit friendly.
The Starmaker pushed open the double doors, and she was met with a large, blank white room with a few windows, all showing off the nebulae that the Starmaker had just finished building with that angel— Aziraphale, was it? The one that had given the Starmaker the idea to come speak to the Almighty in the first place by telling her about the inevitable end of this Earth they had spoken of, that was.
There was an elaborate throne against a far wall with a feminine being sat upon it.
The Starmaker hesitantly approached. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was meant to do, so she bowed down in front of the throne, hoping that was the correct thing to do.
“Speak,” the being said, eyes focused wholly on the Starmaker.
“Yeah, err, hi,” the Starmaker began. Not a good start , she thought. “Just wondering,” she continued, “is there a, err, suggestion box I could submit some feedback to?”
“Suggestion box?” the being asked.
“Ack, never mind, I’ll just— I just— I was just out–” she motioned to the windows, to the nebulae, her nebulae, “building those, err, nebulae, I’ve decided to call them, and this cherub came, named—” she cut herself off. She decided not to reveal the cherub’s name— what if they were somehow punished? She suddenly didn’t have a good feeling about this whole thing, so she decided not to involve Aziraphale. She continued, “Er, well, the name is irrelevant. Anyways, eh, they said something about, well, this Earth place and how it’s awfully far away from all the nebulae, and… well, nothing inherently wrong with that, of course, but another thing they said was that this Earth— ” every time she said the word, there was an edge to her tone, “will be ending in 6,000 years.”
“Perhaps,” the being said, simply.
“Alright, well, yes, makes sense. But, you see, the nebulae; they won’t be fully formed in 6,000 years. You must see where I’m coming from here,” the Starmaker said. She began to feel desperate, her words began to rush from her mouth. “And the humans, this cherub mentioned… I want them to see the true beauty of the nebulae. Not just the beginning of them— I want them to see them through to the end. To appreciate their full beauty.”
The being hummed. The Starmaker began to lose hope—She was not hearing her out.
“I’m so sorry for bothering you. Um, I’ll leave,” the Starmaker said in a panic as she backed away from the throne. The being—the Almighty; God—continued to look at her. The expression on Her face was not quite disapproval, but it wasn’t not disapproval. The angel had done something wrong. She should not have come here.
The Almighty remained quiet as the Starmaker pushed out through the same doors she had entered through mere minutes ago.
Time passed. Punishment did not come, but some angels were becoming reckless, restless, and annoyed with the Almighty.
The Starmaker was one of those angels, although hesitantly. She tried to avoid questioning the Almighty’s plans too much, but she just couldn’t help it— questioning was ingrained into her. She felt as though she was created to question things. She tried to be a good angel, really. She didn’t intend to question everything. She didn’t want all of this to happen. She barely got involved with these particularly lawless angels; she watched from the sidelines, eavesdropping on their conversations when she was lacking an assignment.
When the news came of the impending war between these rebellious angels and the angels who, well, to put it simply, were on the side of the Almighty, the Starmaker was unsure what to do.
She agreed with the rebellious angels to an extent, but she didn’t want to go against the Almighty, no matter how frustrated She had a tendency to make her.
As the war came closer, the Archangels began to hand out assignments. The Starmaker was an Archangel, but she was not given any assignments to hand out. She decided to speak to the other Archangels about this, fidgeting with her hands, feeling that same emotion from earlier.
“Err, uh… hi, Gabriel?” she said, tapping one of the higher-up Archangels on the shoulder— he was not the Supreme Archangel–that was Lucifer–but due to the current status of Lucifer, he was acting as the Supreme Archangel. “I haven’t been given assignments to give out. Err.”
“Haha, no. It seems you haven’t. Well, I suppose the Almighty must have a special plan for you,” Gabriel said, voice booming.
“Right, special plan. Alright,” the Starmaker said, looking down at her feet. After that, she rushed off. She wasn’t scared, not at all. She knew it would all be alright. (Much like anxiety , she would learn much later that this had a name. She was an optimist, above anything else.)
She decided she’d wait in the line for an assignment, like all of the other angels. She saw some of the other angels that were secretly in cohorts with the rebellious angels; one that stood out to her, whom she recognized, would soon be the demon named Furfur.
As she waited in line, she also saw that cherub again— Aziraphale. She was happy to see that they were happy. They had a soft smile on their face, with perhaps a bit of determination. She smiled a bit at the sight. They looked so excited. She hoped she’d see them again, some day, when this war was over. (She would see them again, although under much sadder, less fortunate circumstances. They would go on to become very good friends— more than, even.)
The line moved slowly. The Starmaker felt as though they were standing there for ages, but eventually, she had made it to the front.
The angel that was giving her her assignment was Gabriel. Just her luck.
“Name?” he asked, not even looking up from all of the folders.
“[REDACTED],” she said, an edge to her voice. That same feeling from earlier was back. She knew something bad was about to happen.
Gabriel muttered her name under his breath as he breezed through the folders, until he finally found hers, making a triumphant noise as he pulled it out of the stack in his hands, and put it on top.
“Oh,” he said, a bit disgusted. “Guards!”
The Starmaker didn’t know what was happening. She hadn’t realized there were guards, until there were strong hands gripping her upper arms, holding her in place. “Wait!” she screamed, desperate, as they began to drag her through the crowd of angels. “There must be someone you’ve confused me for!”
She saw Aziraphale and made an effort to point them out. Her words were coming out in choked sobs, as she was dragged through the doors, and shoved out of Heaven.
“Them! They can tell you! I’m innocent!” Aziraphale made eye contact with her, a look of horror plastered on their face the whole time.
Next thing she knew, she was falling. She felt the wind in her wings and when she attempted to look over her shoulder, she could see them darkening, flapping around helplessly in the wind.
Suddenly, the ground was below her and she fell into a pool of black liquid. It was sticky, and uncomfortable, and she tried to move her wings but they were stuck, coated in the substance, and she looked down at her arms, also coated in this mysterious substance, making it hard to move her fingers. (She would later learn, as well, that this was boiling sulfur.) She eventually pulled herself out. Her legs were sticky, but she managed to get to her feet and look around.
Everything was hazy. She couldn’t see very well; whether that had been from her new eyes—which were newly yellow with serpentine pupils—or from the green haze, she couldn’t tell.
There was a set of two doors some distance away, which she could vaguely see through the green haze. She slowly began to approach as more fallen angels fell from the sky around her, into their own pools of black liquid. There were screams everywhere of pain, of despair, of sadness. She wasn’t sure if she screamed. She couldn’t remember.
When she got closer to the set of doors, she saw there was a button. Hesitantly, she pressed it, and the doors made a ding and then slid open.
Unsure what to do now, she decided the best course of action would be to enter the doors.
There were more buttons— three, in a vertical line. The bottom one was red, labeled “DOWN”, the middle one blue and green, with no label, and the top one white, labeled “UP”.
The Former Starmaker could easily guess where the white one went, but she knew she would not be welcomed back there. She decided her best bet would be to press the red one, so she did. The doors slid closed again, and she felt a jerk, and suddenly she knew she was descending.
Soon, she came to a stop, and the doors creaked open.
There was a sign above her head that said ‘Abandon all hope, all ye who enter.’
She hesitantly sauntered out of the small room. (She would, eventually, when the humans created it themselves, learn it was called a lift.)
There was a table in front of her, and behind that table sat a fallen angel, with rot on their face and some sort of disgusting buzzing sound emanating from them—or around them, the Starmaker supposed.
“Err, hello. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” the Starmaker said as she approached the table.
“Oh, you, the Archangel that fell. Aside from Lucifer,” the fallen angel said, or rather, buzzed .
Fell , the Starmaker mouthed to herself. She had fallen . She was a fallen angel.
“I, err. I guess so,” the Starmaker said. She was a fallen angel. She was fallen. A fallen angel. Her. Fallen.
“I’m Beelzebub. Your name izz Crawly,” the fallen angel buzzed. “After the war, you will be the Zzzerpent of Eden.”
“There must be someone you’ve confused me for,” the Starmaker— no, Crawly— said. “I, err, really don’t belong here.” She sounded desperate again.
“Not the firzt one who’z zaid that to me,” Beelzebub buzzed, annoyed. “If you didn’t belong here, you wouldn’t be here.”
Crawly wanted to argue. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out so she closed it again.
“Anywayz,” Beelzebub continued, “Go out and fight. Afterwards, you muzt prepare for your job as Zzzerpent of Eden.”
Crawly nodded solemnly, turning to leave. Then, she realized, “Err, where do I go?”
Beelzebub jabbed a thumb behind them. “Down that corridor. Zzelf-explanatory from there.”
Crawly nodded again and reluctantly started her trip down the corridor.
It was dark and she couldn’t see very well, but she trusted herself that she wouldn’t run into anything.
Eventually, after what felt like years of walking, she made it to the exit. There was a vast expanse ahead of her full of angels and fallen angels alike, fighting.
She wasn’t sure what to do, so with one pump of her wings, she shot into the air, and looked desperately around.
She didn’t know what she was looking for until she saw them—Aziraphale the cherub.
They looked mighty, flapping their pearl-white wings in the air, wielding a flaming sword. Crawly was nervous to approach them, so she didn’t. She stayed in the back, avoiding the fighting. It was overwhelming, loud, and scary. She didn’t like it.
Then, another fallen angel flew up next to her— the other angel that had secretly been involved with the rebellious angels.
“Not doing any fighting?” the fallen angel asked.
“Ngk. Not really my thing, fighting,” Crawly grumbled.
“You have to fight,” the fallen angel said.
“Nah.”
The fallen angel shrugged, disinterested in arguing, and then looked as though he was about to leave. Then, despite that, he said, “I’m Furfur,” and extended a hand.
“Crawly,” Crawly said hesitantly, eyeing Furfur’s extended hand.
“Handshake,” Furfur said, noticing her confusion. “You grab my hand with yours, and then shake it up and down.”
Crawly slowly gripped Furfur’s hand and did as he said. It was a weird thing. (Crawly would later do this many more times, specifically with the cherub, Aziraphale. One day, Furfur would get a picture of them shaking hands, which Crawly— Crowley, at that point— would cherish for the rest of her time on Earth.)
They let go of each other, and then Furfur did fly away into the flurry of black and white wings.
Crawly spotted Aziraphale again, and this time she decided to call out to them. She wanted to apologize, for pointing them out while she was being dragged away, for embarrassing them, or possibly putting them in danger.
“Aziraphale!” Crawly shouted at the top of her lungs. “AZIRAPHAAALE!”
The cherub looked over at her, and then they were struck down by a fallen angel, whom Crawly suspected may have been eyeing the cherub, but she hadn’t been sure. They fell unceremoniously to the ground.
The cherub could’ve died. And it would’ve been her fault.
“Aziraphale!”
Crowley woke up, blinking sleep from his eyes. His breathing was labored, lungs expanding and deflating rapidly.
Aziraphale had an arm firmly wrapped around his waist, snoring softly. He took a long look at him.
Aziraphale, here, in his bed.
They were in the South Downs together, he remembered. It had been a dream. They were both fine.
6,000 years of history later, and they were fine. They were together, in each other’s arms.
Crowley tried to carefully remove himself from Aziraphale’s grip, but Aziraphale began to stir.
“Were you calling out my name, dear?” Aziraphale asked, voice hoarse from sleep.
“Ngk— maybe?” Crowley grunted.
“Everything alright?”
“Bad dream,” Crowley said, looking up at the ceiling.
“Ah. The fall again?” Aziraphale asked softly, running a hand through Crowley’s shoulder-length hair.
“Mhm,” Crowley hummed, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Oh, my dear, it’s alright,” Aziraphale comforted him, as Crowley let out quiet, choked sobs. Aziraphale turned Crowley’s head onto his shoulder, his tartan shirt soaking up his tears. “Shhh, you’re okay. It’s all in the past, love.”
“Would’ve been my fault if you’d died, angel,” Crowley grumbled into Aziraphale’s shoulder.
“I would’ve come back. They would’ve given me a new body,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley could hear the smile in his voice.
“Still would’ve been my fault,” Crowley grunted.
“Hush, now. You didn’t know that demon had been eyeing me.”
“But I did! I’d seen ’em, but I just wasn’t a hundred percent sure! Never should’ve called out.”
“What’s done is done, Crowley, and long forgiven. I never held anything that happened that day against you. You were scared, confused, and hurt. I would never hold that against you, my darling,” Aziraphale soothed, still running his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “Now,” Aziraphale continued, “I’m going to get up and make us some tea. I expect you to be in the kitchen, and presentable , in 5 minutes.”
“Presentable, angel?! We’re not going out somewhere, are we?” Crowley growled.
“I promised Nina we’d visit her and Maggie today. I thought I told you this last night, dear,” Aziraphale said, as he pulled away from Crowley, who had wrapped himself around Aziraphale during their conversation. Crowley grunted in protest, but eventually relented and let Aziraphale get out of bed.
“You told me a lot of things last night, angel,” Crowley said, a hint of mischief in his voice. “Of course I wouldn’t remember all of it.”
“Hm. I suppose that’s true,” Aziraphale tutted, as he changed out of his wrinkled tartan pajamas and into his everyday outfit. “Well, darling, you’d best be getting up. 5 minutes, in the kitchen. Best not be late.”
Crowley wasn’t late— just barely— and soon after, they left the South Downs to have a nice, pleasant double-date with Maggie and Nina. Muriel tagged along, too, and they spent a nice, domestic day together.