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It’s strange, how calm he feels. Must be the years he spent ruminating on this, on the only true way to help humanity. Sure, they’re diabolical when left to their own devices, but that’s when they’re also at their best. They’re a mixed bag, and they deserve to live out their lives without supernatural beings pulling strings here and there. In the past, centuries ago, he’d wondered about how humanity would evolve if they truly were on their own, and had spent many a time conjuring up very elaborate ideas about it all.
Now, as he looks into the eyes of the only other being who matters to him, Crowley knows it’s not important. He– no, they have done what’s right, by the people they were so intrinsically involved with for millennia and the time before they existed, spent preparing God’s plans and universe, diligently working, waiting, and, for some of the brave, wondering.
It may not have been his job to protect humanity, or even look out for them, but after over six thousand years of living among them Crowley can admit he has grown attached. He may not admit it out loud, and has rarely done so even to himself, but he can sense it, within him, in the core of him somewhere: he cares for them. And caring for someone you love – as much as the word makes him want to crawl up into a ball and hide – sometimes means putting their needs above your own.
His hand is warm in Aziraphale’s. It is the thirteenth time their hands have ever touched, and the second time they’ve held them this way. The first one, they were in similar circumstances, facing The End of All Times and eternal destruction; even Satan himself was there. Now, even God is present – truly present, not just blending in in the ether.
Despite the smile on Aziraphale’s face, his eyes shine with tears. Crowley is in much the same situation. He wishes he could communicate with his eyes as well as the angel can, wishes he could tell him all the things about this wonderful creature beside him that he never found the words for, but, as it always has been in Crowley’s long existence, it is too late.
God snaps Her fingers, and he experiences, for the first and last time, what it is like to disintegrate into nothing. It lasts but a brief moment, not enough to form any real thoughts, yet enough for relief to flood through him that, at least, this part doesn’t hurt.
And then, everything is gone
~
It is too bright, wherever he is.
As soon as he’s thought it, every other sense follows: it smells too sterile – like someone spilled several bottles of antiseptic – it’s just chilly enough to feel uncomfortable, there’s a ringing in his ears as if he’s been at another Green Day concert, and there is a lingering taste of metal mixed with dust in his mouth.
He’s in the middle of sticking his tongue out in an attempt to try and get rid of this taste, when he feels something in his left hand. It’s another hand that, as far as he can sense, is not his.
He whips his head to the side, spots appearing in front of him from the brightness he was exposed to, and he gives an unusual amount of blinks to try and get rid of them. Because he knows whose hand he is holding, and that can’t be. But he has to see for himself, has to see what is going on in order to move on – if there is such a possibility; he thought there’d be no more anything after last time – and soon enough his vision clears up.
Aziraphale is already staring at him, surrounded by the familiar white brightness of Heaven, eyes wide and ridiculously blue, no more shining teardrops to be seen, only an angel in beloved, worn out clothes with a perplexed expression on his face.
“Angel,” Crowley croaks, feeling the strain it puts on his vocal cords and wincing.
Aziraphale doesn’t respond, turns his bewildered look to his side, Crowley’s right, so Crowley turns as well.
“Careful,” God speaks, standing tall and proud, a smile on Her face. “It takes a lot of out of you, such a transportation.”
Crowley can only frown, his head too muddled, still catching up on all the new (old?) sensations, on being in a body again, unexpectedly, against all odds.
“I don’t understand,” says Aziraphale from his side, his voice soft and unsure and gentle. “I thought we were…”
Crowley nods, finishing the sentence in his mind, sending it reeling all over again.
“I did as you asked,” God says, and that in itself is something Crowley might never truly believe. “I created a new universe free from any Godly intervention where, eventually, humans will live on Earth.”
“Then why are we still here?” Crowley asks, his voice rough and painful to use. A familiar feeling rises in him – anger – and so he follows up with, “Why are you?”
God does not look offended at the question, and instead She smiles some more. Crowley thinks he liked it better when he couldn’t see Her face.
“I brought us to a universe of your own, of course.”
Of course. As if it’s that obvious. (Probably is, to Her.)
Aziraphale must look as confused as Crowley feels, because God continues Her explanation.
“You didn’t really think I would end us all for good, did you?”
“That was the deal!” Crowley snaps. Honestly, he’s starting to recall why he joined the rebellion in the first place.
“It wasn’t,” God responds, smile now gone. “I implied it, because I wanted to know if you truly wanted to sacrifice yourselves. And you bravely showed me that you did.”
Aziraphale takes a step forward, squeezing Crowley’s hand and not letting go. “I don’t understand,” he repeats, frustrated. “Why do this? Why not just let us… be? Or not be, as it were.”
“You can’t keep doing this,” Crowley adds on, stepping up as well. “You can’t get rid of us then keep us at your whim, you can’t—”
“And I won’t.” God interlocks her fingers together in front of her. “I made this universe for you. For all the angels and demons I’ve ever made. I will create a separate one for myself, and leave you be.”
“For- for how long?” Aziraphale asks.
God’s smile is tiny, but it’s there. “For good.”
It’s still not making sense, but at the very least their questions are being answered, and Crowley knows to take such an opportunity when it occurs.
“What are we supposed to do then? Make ourselves a bunch of humans?”
Their powers haven’t been taken away; Crowley can feel them coursing through his being, strong and ready to be used. Maybe he doesn’t want to use them.
“You do whatever you want,” God says with a shrug. “Make humans, or don’t. Go to war with each other, or have peace. The point is,” She says, and Crowley tightens his hold on Aziraphale’s hand, “that you are free. For ever.”
That… sounds impossible. Incomprehensible. There has to be something else, a shoe has yet to drop, a condition–
“What about Earth?” Aziraphale asks. There is a tremor in his voice.
“There is no Earth here,” says God, “unless you make it. And you can’t get to humanity’s Earth – no one can. No one can jump from one universe to another.”
“Except you,” Crowley can’t help but point out. God’s smile grows.
“Except me,” She confirms. “But not to the Godless universe you asked me to create. I cannot enter there.”
It’s reassuring to hear. Unbelievable, but, well. Perhaps it’s time for a leap of faith.
“You won’t see me again,” God says. There is something happening around her, there’s a certain fuzziness surrounding her corporation, as if reality is being adjusted. “I wish you both a satisfying existence.”
“What about you, Lord?” asks Aziraphale, and Crowley’s heart aches at the genuine worry in his voice. “What will you do?”
The fuzz around God’s body has turned into a distortion, and the pull of enormous power is growing steadily around Her.
“See this as a good thing, Aziraphale,” She says. Her clothes are shaking with whatever is happening. She smiles at the angel and the demon before Her. She says, “You will never have to think of me again.”
A bright light flashes then, covering God wholly, briefly blinding the two beings witnessing it. When it dies down, She has gone.
Crowley is trembling. He can feel it in his knees, his arms, his hands – one of which is still holding Aziraphale, and he can sense that he, too, is affected by this. He turns towards him, sees the look of disbelief that must be a mirror of his own, and hits Crowley that this may very well be the last miracle God has ever given them.
“Do you under–”
“No,” Crowley interrupts.
The next thing he knows they’re both laughing, or giggling, or cackling – in any case, they sound a bit hysterical, which is honestly not unfair, given the circumstances. Crowley keeps switching between elation, incredulity, hope, love, fear, anxiety; round and round it all goes, all while he’s making some sort of sound that he thinks is happiness, but might also be derangement. At least Aziraphale is in the same boat, or wherever it is they are.
Their laughter ebbs away eventually. It echoes briefly in the space they’re occupying, the white bright of Heaven that isn’t Heaven. It gives Crowley the creeps, being here.
“What do you say, angel?” he asks, holding out his other, still unoccupied hand. “Ready to carve out our own world?”
“I wouldn’t say we’d need a whole world,” Aziraphale says. He gives his other hand. Squeezes. Their connection has brought them closer to each other, belly to belly, chest to chest. “Perhaps a nice little nook or cranny, somewhere just for us two.”
They’ll get to the others – Crowley hasn’t forgotten God’s words, knows they’re not alone here, and they don’t have to be. But for now, the first hundred millennia or so, it would be nice to have some peace and quiet.
“No Alpha Centauri here,” Crowley says, already thinking of how he could remake it, whether he wants to. He shuffles a bit closer still, crowding in on Aziraphale’s personal space.
“No, but there is you,” says Aziraphale. “And there is me.” His eyes unmistakeably dip down to Crowley’s lips. “And that is about as perfect as it gets, for me.”
Crowley feels a swoop in his stomach. His heartbeat quickens. Something in his chest flutters. He hates it. He never wants to stop feeling it.
“Nothing else you want, angel?”
Aziraphale smiles. His eyes twinkle, or maybe that’s just Crowley’s imagination. The weakness in his knees comes back at the sight of it, and he’s glad Aziraphale is holding on to him.
“Maybe just one more thing,” the angel admits, his voice low and still sweet. “If you are willing, that is.”
Crowley feels his throat close up. He gives a nod, the only thing he can do. Aziraphale’s smile widens, and his eyes glisten up again with emotion before they slide shut. He leans in. Crowley’s eyes close as he does the same, and a short moment after, their lips touch. He can feel Aziraphale’s smile, can feel it shift as the angel presses in more deliberately, and Crowley presses back gladly, his hands holding on tight, his senses filled with Aziraphale, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.
At the core of him, he feels something special. Aziraphale, unbeknown to the demon, feels the exact same. They are home. At long last.