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“And you, Aziraphale?” God asks him, “What’s your question?”
The angel-- does he still want to be called that? Is that still a title at all?-- takes a deep breath. He wonders if he should kneel, or clasp his hands in front of his chest, but a glance over his shoulder at Crowley reminds him that there is no need for that. He faces Her, and he juts out his chin.
“Why did you give me Crowley just to take him away again? Why did you force us into a dance of ‘better not say that’ and arrangements?”
His anger builds as he keeps speaking, an anger pent up after years of looking and wanting and turning away.
“Why? What’s the bloody point in that? You claim to be all about love, and you can say it’s just for humans, but you don’t give it to them, either. So why did you need it to be me? Why did you…” he gestures to the former Satan, “make him need it to be Crowley? Why couldn’t you make it so we could just be us? Why couldn't... why couldn't we be left alone?”
The bookshop that is everything left in the universe remains silent.
God speaks. “Well, if you had figured it all out and gone off to be happy, it wouldn’t be particularly entertaining for me, now, would it?”
And there. That was it. The former demon just stares, but, now fully committed to being a former angel, Aziraphale makes a decision. He walks across the room, to where the newly created Book of Life rests, and he picks up the pen. Maybe She objects, maybe She doesn't even realize what he plans to do. A million thoughts race through his head. He remembers every time he doubted, every time he was scolded for it, every moment that humanity beguiled him and he had to turn away. He glances once at Crowley, who is still in shock from Her callous words, and Aziraphale begins to write.
And then, They decided that They actually weren’t being particularly helpful. That They were actually making the universe a lot worse. And so They erased Themself from existence, and returned the universe to its rightful state, with free will for everyone: the humans and the other beings, too. They knew that Aziraphale and Crowley would figure the rest out later. And They would never be heard from again.
So there were two of them in the bookshop. The former demon, Crowley. The former angel, Aziraphale. And nobody else.
His hand shakes as he lifts the pen. When he turns around, only Crowley remains in the bookshop. It worked. Relief floods through him.
“Angel, what just happened?”
Aziraphale takes a wobbly breath. “Well, I’m not sure you can call me an angel anymore. I think I just… destroyed God. Or, rather, I made Them destroy Themself. I’m not quite sure.”
Crowley walks past him and looks at the book. “Oh. Uh, wow. Yes. I think you did. Why did you do that, angel?”
Aziraphale wrings his hands. “I’m not sure. She was just saying such terrible things. About us and… the ineffable plan. Being about entertainment, using us like pawns and I… I got terribly angry, I’m afraid. What are we going to do now?”
There is a stretch of silence between them.
“I don’t think we need to do anything.” Crowley points to the window, and Aziraphale follows his finger.
“Oh!”
Soho has returned, exactly the way it was before. People are moving outside.
“I think we’ve done it, pretty much. Although, uh, there is one thing I’d like to add.”
“Oh! Yes. Uh, go ahead,” Aziraphale nods. Crowley picks up the pen and leans over the book. Aziraphale actively doesn’t look. He doesn’t write for long, and when he’s done reality doesn’t take long to resettle.
“Alright, angel. I’m all done. Take a look whenever.” He wipes his eyes subtly, but of course Aziraphale notices. But before he gets the chance to read what he wrote, though, the bell above the entrance rings and the messiah himself bursts in, breathing heavily.
“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaims, “Hello, Joshua.”
Joshua stares at the former angel and former demon. “What just happened?”
“Oh. Well, uh, I’m afraid that God has been destroyed, but the universe has been restored. All the humans have free will now. As, I believe. do you, Joshua. There is no more plan, no more second coming. You are a mortal boy.”
A pause as a lot of information sinks in all at once.
“Can I still do good?” he asks.
Crowley steps forward. “Yes, you can. I am afraid that there are no more miracles. And you are, truly, mortal. You will age, and die.”
Aziraphale looks up sharply, and then rushes over to the book as Crowley continues to explain the situation to the former messiah, who is surprisingly calm about it all. The former demon had a good impact on him during his first life, and now he hurries away to spread joy in a non-monotheistic manner.
“Are you okay, Aziraphale? I know that it was a big decision to make, but we don’t want to… I mean, I thought that the best idea would be… Oh, please don’t cry, angel.”
The former angel looks up from where he had been reading the neat writing at the bottom of the first and only page of the Book of Life. No more angels. No more demons. No more sides. Just people, real human people, without narratives who get to choose
Aziraphale wipes his eyes. “Oh, Crowley. It’s… you’re perfect.”
They look at each other for a moment, and then Crowley rubs his eyes. “Okay. Listen. A lot has happened, and we’ve talked, but… even now. We haven’t really talked, have we? Or, at least, I haven’t said what I need to. I just… We get to choose what we want now. It’s not Her games anymore. But I… I still know what I want to choose. So, uh, yeah. That’s that, I guess. Once you figure out--”
“I love you,” Aziraphale interrupts. “I mean, ugh… I shouldn’t have interrupted. But, I love you. More than She ever meant me to, I think. And now I am a human, and so are you, I gather. And we both have free will, and we haven’t had it for very long but I know that I love you. And that I am always, beyond the end of our mortal existence into the no longer ineffable infinity, going to love you.”
“I… I love you, too, angel.”
Aziraphale’s smile is so wide it must hurt at least slightly. “I know, darling. I know you do.”
And they melt together. Funny, now that they are mortal, it seems they have all the time in the world. So they just stand, and they hold each other. Crowley clutches at his jacket and Aziraphale runs his hands through crimson hair.
A few years later, they are already almost completely adjusted to the quirks of real human life. Eating for sustenance, not just pleasure. Bathrooms and hangovers that don’t get miracled away because, well, there are no miracles. They live in a small cottage in South Downs. Crowley has a giant telescope and Aziraphale has been learning to bake. They have a peaceful life, with no deities playing games with their hearts.
And of course they aren’t alone. The cottage hosts many visitors, including Muriel, Newt and Anathema, Maggie and Nina, the former messiah himself, and more. The pair even hold a small wedding ceremony, with a script modified to take into account the fact that one of them erased God from existence and maybe doing things in Her name isn't the best option.
They live happily, but we both know things aren’t perfect. Furthermore, we both know you don’t want me to just tell you “and then they were happy.”
Remember that they aren’t entertainment anymore; they’re just people. Living their lives. But here is a slice of their life for you to keep. I hope that it assures you that things really do work out in the end.
About three years after that fateful day in the bookshop, Aziraphale has a nightmare. Of course, this is not the first or only time this happens to the former angel. But this one is notable because Crowley is not there lying next to him. The former demon is in the garden trying to catch an unknown pest that has been messing with his flowers for the past few weeks.
So Aziraphale has a nightmare, and he wakes up to an empty bed. And he maybe possibly spirals about it a little bit more than is necessary.
When Crowley returns from the garden, the gray in his red hair shining in the light of Aziraphale’s bedside lamp, he isn’t immediately sure if something is wrong. “Are you alright, love?”
Aziraphale looks over from where he is standing by the window, tear stains traced down his face. “Crowley?”
His husband is somehow already there, hands cupping his cheeks. “Hey, hey, hey,” he whispers, “I’m right here, talk to me. What’s going on, angel?” As soon as he is close, he is pulling himself back, hoping to give Aziraphale some space to breathe. But Aziraphale follows him forward, and Crowley takes him back into his arms without question, guiding the both of them to sit on the edge of their bed. He strokes Aziraphale’s hair and kisses his forehead.
Eventually, when he’s calmed down a bit more, Aziraphale speaks. “I’m sorry, Crowley. I had a terrible nightmare. I came down from Heaven to find you, and you wouldn’t wake up. You were just there in that alley, and I couldn’t wake you. And then we all disappeared, and I didn’t know… and I never got to tell you anything, we just left it--”
“It’s okay, Aziraphale. I’m right here.”
“I love you, Crowley. I love everything about you, and I truly always have. I didn’t want you to change for heaven; I wanted to change heaven for you.”
“I know, darling, I promise I know.”
“But I… I was so cruel, and I didn’t even tell you… I took you for granted because I-- it was so terrible, Crowley. I’m so sorry.”
Slowly, Crowley moves Aziraphale's hand to position it over his heart, where his now human heart is beating real blood. A reminder of what's changed. What they get to be now. “Don’t apologize, Angel. You don't need to. You were under so much pressure, and you just did what you thought was best. You know I forgive you for everything that happened. And none of them are around anymore. They can't hurt either of us. We're fine.”
Aziraphale wipes his nose. “Oh, goodness, I’ve made a mess now. You shouldn’t have to deal with all of this.”
Crowley reaches out and cups his cheek again. “Aziraphale, you are my husband. I want you to come get me from the garden when you have dreams. I want to hold you when you are sad, and I want to reassure you. I want you in everything that you are. Good days and bad. Understand?”
Aziraphale mumbles.
“I didn’t hear that.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” Crowley leans forward slowly and kisses him, chaste and soft. No desperation held in it because there is no need for it. They have all the time in the world. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Crowley leads his husband to the kitchen, where they drink chamomile tea before returning to bed, falling asleep tangled up in each other like they do every night. Not disturbed by narratives or any other dimensions. There are no other planes or fighting realms. Finally, it’s just them.