Work Text:
God [noun] : a lying liar who lies...
Will you recognize me?
Call my name or walk on by,
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling,
Down, down, down, down—
1.
The land where Zira[1] was born was mostly barren save for a single tree on a grassy hill. Otherwise, there was just a lot of dust and dirt. And more dust. As far as the eye could see.
She sighed heavily as the wind kicked her golden, flowing locks up into her eyes.
The lamb at her feet bleated and pushed its face into her leg making its best attempt to trip her. Zira sighed again, just barely managing to right herself, holding tight to her shepherd’s stick. And as soon as she managed to untangle her hair, dust blew right back into her eyes.
Isn’t there anything more out there than this? She pondered.
It was a nice day—or it should have been nice. The sky was calm. The clouds were puffy. And her mother would not stop lamenting that Zira had yet to take a husband. She had only just come of age!
“I have responsibilities,” Zira had insisted to her mother. “Father is not around anymore. It’s up to me to tend to the flock.”
Never mind that the flock consisted of a single lamb.
The animal bleated again, pitifully, calling for a mother that was last week’s supper. Really, Zira had begun to think, as she dreamed of drifting along with the clouds, a vision of white wings on her back, that her mother just wanted to be rid of her.
But then… something extraordinary happened.
Movement caught Zira’s eye as she turned to look.
A magnificent beast, as pure as the clouds in the sky, galloped over the horizon. Its single horn gleamed in the sunlight.
It was a unicorn.
Zira had heard of those. Not terribly uncommon around these parts, actually. Whole herds of them roamed about to the east. That’s not what really caught Zira’s attention.
It was the wild-haired maiden riding the unicorn.
If Zira’s hair was the sun, this woman’s was fire. She clung tightly to the mare’s mane, her dark robes whipping about in the wind in a stark contrast as they drew closer.
Zira had never been so captivated in her life.
The unicorn came to a stop, just under the lone tree, seeking the shade like a lifeline. In turn, the fiery maiden slid off of the beast in a single fluid motion, plopping down to the ground seemingly out of breath, content to stretch out in the patchy grass.
“Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” she muttered up at the sky. Behind her, the unicorn reached up to nibble at the few leaves it could reach on the tree.
Zira approached, heart pounding and filled with curiosity. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Oh.” And then a smile more blinding than the sun blocked the red-head’s view, rendering all previous thoughts null and void. “I forgot. Um—”
“Zira,” she said, smoothing out her dusty robes to sit down beside the newcomer.
“Craleah.”
What a lovely name, Zira thought. “And what brings you to my corner of the world?”
“Oh, the usual,” Craleah started. “Father was going to trade me off for a goat. One goat. One. So, I ran away from home.”
“The usual?!” Zira exclaimed, frowning. “Surely you are worth an entire flock!”
“Not the point I was going for but…” Craleah’s dark eyes lit up, giving Zira an appraising look as she trailed off.
“But—?”
“Let’s go off together,” Craleah said then, grasping Zira’s hand, eliciting a soft gasp. “You and me, what do you say?”
“I—” I have responsibilities. A flock to attend to consisting of one lamb. One. I don’t even know you. Don’t I? A mother to care for who doesn’t want me here. Isn’t there anything else out there? More than this? “I—”
Craleah held her hand patiently. A stranger no longer strange. Why did Zira feel like her eyes were the wrong color? Aren’t they yellow? They would look nice if they were yellow. Not to say that Craleah wasn’t already the most beautiful woman Zira had ever seen.
“Can I bring my lamb?” Zira asked with a shy smile. A soft bleat emanated from the small animal at her side.
“’Course,” Craleah said, jumping to her feet with excitement and pulling Zira up with her.
As soon as the unicorn had finished its rest in the shade, the two young women were off and away. They gripped onto each other tightly, lamb across Zira’s lap, Craleah in the back, riding hard until the sun set, disappearing into the distance.
Hearts feeling free.
The two took no notice of the brief rainbow in the clouds. There hadn’t been so much as a thunderstorm in ages. It never rained more than a day or two in these lands anyway. And so the weather remained. Uneventful.
It was a nice day.
~*~
Tell me your troubles and doubts,
Giving everything inside and out and,
Love's strange, so real in the dark,
Think of the tender things that we were working on—
2.
Sitis sat preparing the morning meal for her family when she heard a concerning sort of wailing coming from the direction of her neighbors’ home.
She didn’t know them well. A lovely young couple, they were. Only moved to the area about a year ago. The man was a maker of shoes, if she recalled correctly.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to get to know them better— Sitis’ seven children just kept her terribly busy, that’s all.
The pained wailing continued.
Setting aside her food preparations for the moment, Sitis stepped outside to find her husband tending to the oxen.
“Job, dear,” she began. “Could you please keep an eye on things? I fear I must step away to check up on our neighbors.”
He nodded with an understanding smile. They lived a modest life, full of love, free from neither the favor nor whims of any ethereal or occult beings.
~'*'~
Bildad was not panicking. He wasn’t.
“Help me!” Zairah[2] gasped out, clutching her quite round stomach at another wave of pain.
“I’m a shoemaker, not a midwife!” Scratch that, he was definitely panicking.
At a sudden knock on their door, Bildad rushed over to it.
“Is that the midwife?” Zairah asked in the background, voice pained, but hopeful.
Bildad flung open the door and sighed, calling back to his wife, “No, my angel, it’s just Sitis from next door.”
“Ah!” Zairah cried out again, grimacing. “Oh dear.”
“I may not be a midwife,” Sitis said gently. “But I can help, if you’ll let me.”
“By all means,” Bildad said, quickly ushering her inside.
“Thank you,” Zairah said as Sitis bent down to her bedside to look her over.
“Is this your first?” Sitis asked, taking in the other woman’s bright, terrified eyes.
Zairah nodded, sniffling. Bildad took his wife’s hand, squeezing gently.
“Breathe,” Sitis said softly. “Just breathe. You’re doing fine. You’re not alone.”
“I’m here, Zairah,” Bildad said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m here, my angel. You can do this.”
“I can do this,” Zairah repeated, closing her eyes in deep focus on the task at hand.
It was a team effort, but a short while later, a much happier wailing pierced the air as new life was successfully welcomed into the world.
Bildad could add obstetrics to his resume after all.
~*~
Don't you forget about me,
Don't, don't, don't, don't,
Don't you forget about me—
3.
Roads had only just been invented—according to what the Romans liked to claim, anyway—and little Crovus[3] was already gluing coins to the pavement.
Feeling a proud sort of glee over his hard work, he hid behind a stone outcropping, red tufts of hair peeking out despite his best attempts at being stealthy.
“Oh! It must be my lucky day,” said Crovus’ first prank victim, a blond boy looking to be about the same age as he was, rushing over to the bronze piece just laying in the middle of the street, free for the taking.
But something gave Asfellus pause as he bent down, outstretched fingers not quite reaching the coin. He looked up, blond curls framing his concerned face.
“Did—did anyone drop this?” He asked, glancing up and down the road. It wouldn’t be right to take someone’s hard-earned bronze piece if they were missing it, of course. But, no one was around. Only the wind answered him as Crovus grumbled impatiently from his hiding spot.
Asfellus shrugged then and reached for the coin.
It didn’t budge.
“What manner of trickery is this?” Asfellus questioned, tugging at the bronze piece with as much strength as a small child could muster.
Unable to contain himself at the scene, Crovus fell over in a fit of giggles, immediately catching the other boy’s attention.
“You!” Asfellus gasped, pointing dramatically. “You fiend!”
Crovus only laughed harder as the other boy glared at him.
He was cute when he glared.
“It’s not funny!” Asfellus insisted, flustered. “Um—”
“Crovus,” he said by way of introduction, wiping a tear from his eye. “It is though. A bit fun. Er—”
“Asfellus,” he said, eyeing the red-head skeptically.
“Asfell! Can I call you Asfell? quickly, over here, see—” Crovus said, grabbing the other boy and pulling him towards him.
The two boys huddled behind the stone together as an old drunkard stumbled down the road-side towards them and predictably tried to pick up the coin to no avail.
Asfellus could feel Crovus shake next to him trying to contain his laughter. And as soon as the man had wandered off in a grumpy rage, Crovus broke out in a blinding smile.
“Ha! Never gets old!” he said excitedly, throwing an arm about Asfellus. “And it’s even better with a second coin!”
Crovus dangled a bronze piece in front of the other boy’s face, which Asfellus immediately snatched away.
“Oi!”
“What second coin?” Asfellus asked playfully, waggling his eyebrows as he danced the bronze piece across his fingers before waving his other hand around in a dramatic gesture, blowing air through his fingers, before finally showing Crovus his empty palms.
Brown eyes stared unblinking, even as Asfellus reached up to Crovus’ ear seemingly plucking the coin back into existence.
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Crovus questioned, tilting his head but trying very hard not to smile.
“It was in your ear—”
“No, it was in your sleeve—”
“It was close to your ear—”
“Never anywhere near my ear.”
They tried and failed to keep it together then, both bursting into giggles.
“Crovus, how do you do it?” Asfellus asked, nearly out of breath from laughing so hard. He couldn’t remember ever smiling this much. “Gluing the coin. Will you show me sometime?”
“I’ll do you one better, Asfellus, I’ll show you right now! You have time, right?”
He nodded. All the time in the world.
~'*'~
Will you stand above me?
Look my way, never love me,
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling,
Down, down, down—
4.
The noblewoman Crowlia[4] twirled her fiery hair around her fingers, both bored and horrified by much of the proceedings.
Her repeated refusal to take a husband had resulted in this spectacle.
The cheering crowds below drowned out her mother’s complaining as Crowlia slunk back into her ornate chair, slinging a leg up and over the side. 'Unladylike', bah, what if she wasn’t interested in being a lady?
Her father was dead and now the future of her House depended on this daft tournament.
More cheers rang out as another knight fell to the ground, his sword kicked just out of reach.
Shields with Crowlia’s family crest—the image of a snake swallowing a man whole—adorned the edges of the arena. The same snakes slithered up and down her dark dress, carefully embroidered with golden thread.
A collective gasp from the crowd caught Crowlia’s attention, then.
She looked up to see the fallen knight had narrowly avoided the killing blow from his much larger opponent, wrenched one of the decorative shields from the wall and swung it hard—slicing a long gash in the other man’s leg with the edge.
The victor ripped off his own helmet, blond hair falling around his face, taking heaving breaths, looking down at his opponent shaking and bleeding out on the ground. He stood there with a pained look, despite being uninjured.
But instead of going for the obvious killing blow, he tossed his shield away.
Crowlia sat up slowly then, eyes fixed on this fierce fighter with kind eyes.
She watched as the knight bent down to his opponent, laying hands upon the struggling man to try and stop the bleeding.
Mixed noises of uncertainty, and a few 'boos' erupted from the crowd, but Crowlia stood up and silenced them with a wave of her hand.
When the knight started bandaging the man’s leg with some hastily torn fabric, Crowlia had the sudden thought that she should be the one down there, bleeding gold from her leg, strong hands tending to her wound. But that didn’t make any sense. For multiple reasons.
She wouldn’t have minded being born a man, but being a knight? Having to kill? She’d rather while away the hours feeding the ducks on her family’s lands. She’d rather daydream, gazing up at the stars or even gazing at that kind, handsome knight.
Crowlia had never thought of someone as handsome before.
He’s the one, she thought as the knight bowed before her—but only after making sure his opponent was going to live.
That one there. She smiled.
He’s mine.
~*~
Don't you forget about me,
I'll be alone, dancing, you know it, baby,
Going to take you apart,
I'll put us back together at heart, baby—
5.
Hearing a rather loud knocking at the door, a Mr. A.Z. Fell hurriedly made his way through the crowd of partygoers in various states of inebriation and took a cautious glance around the curtains. Was it to be trouble or simply a late arrival?
Through the window he observed a sharp dressed man in a dark suit. Wearing dark glasses at night, of all things. The man—gray streaks running up the sides of his distinctive red hair—fidgeted nervously, leaning on one foot, then the other, then back again.
Mr. Fell immediately cracked open the door. “A very good evening to you… sir?” he asked, giving the stranger a once over. His pants were very, very tight.
“Um, I’m not sure I have the right place,” the stylish stranger said, unfolding a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. “I was told to ask for… Aziraphale?”
“Oh!” Mr. Fell’s eyes lit up, then. “You have found him, my dear boy.”
“Aziraphale. That’s your name?”
“It’s the name I go by when I’m here. Most gentlemen who frequent this establishment prefer to go by an alias. Best to be discreet, you see.”
“I see.” Through the door he spotted two men slow dancing, leaning into each other, embracing as lovers do.
“What can I call you, my dear?”
Anthony J. Crowley generally considered himself to be a person full of imagination and creativity. But faced with this Aziraphale’s captivating eyes and genuine smile, all he could come up with at that moment was a quickly mumbled, “A.J.”
“How do you do, A.J.?” Aziraphale greeted, taking A.J.’s hand and giving it a firm shake, then pulling the other man through the door, excited to give him the tour.
~'*'~
“What’s that, my dear boy?”
“I said,” A.J. repeated, over the cheery music, trying to keep up with the steps to a dance he didn’t really know. “When I heard this club had dancing, I thought it was a euphemism for… well…”
“Ah,” Aziraphale said, a blush pink on his cheeks. The two men’s hands were still intertwined in the air as they spun around each other, like stars in an infinitely repeating orbit. “Then it might please you to know that there are rooms in the back for those who might wish to…”
“…dance in private?”
“Quite.”
Anthony J. Crowley might have sought out a discreet gentlemen’s club because of a vague sense of loneliness. Okay, actually he was lonely. Very. It was a feeling like something was missing from his life. Maybe a certain someone.
They had only met barely a couple of hours prior. Why was being anywhere near this man like a ray of light in the darkness?
Oh, Crowley wanted.
A.J. was startled out of his thoughts by a sudden change in the music, and Aziraphale’s face lit up, barely able to contain himself.
“The Gavotte[5] is starting!”
“Is that a sex thing?” A.J. asked.
“No,” Aziraphale gasped, scandalized. “It’s an elegant dance.”
[5] Speaking of the Gavotte, unbeknownst to him, Aziraphale ‘invented’ this world’s version of it back in the late 1600s. Well, that is to say, a past life of his did. Through accidental plagiarism, at that. Aziraphale had a fevered dream that was in reality a memory of his time from the first go around the universe and mistakenly thought he came up with the whole thing. Funny old world, innit?
“Sorry,” A.J. said, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. “Don’t know that one.”
They danced the Gavotte anyway. Aziraphale patiently walked him through it.
And the only thing that Crowley could think of during the entire exchange was that the other man was staring at him like he was starving. That A.J. here was a perfectly cooked plate of ox ribs at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Crowley, for this life of him, couldn’t figure out why such a comparison popped into his mind. It wasn’t like ox ribs were a common menu item at the local eateries.
The music ended, and Aziraphale kissed him, quick and sweet. As did each pair around them as the Gavotte came to a close.
And oh, Crowley felt like he had been smite-ed. Smote? Smitten.
Aziraphale was not blind to the effect he was having on the other man, fluttering his eyelashes and shooting coy glances.
“Do you,” A.J. started slowly, tilting his head in the direction of the back rooms, “want to—”
Aziraphale nodded quickly. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said with a glowing smile.
They barely made it inside and closed the door before Aziraphale pounced.
“Where have you been all my life?” he asked, breathless, pushing the other man against the wall and kissing him roughly. It was everything Crowley had ever wanted.
And so it was that in the back room of a discreet gentlemen’s club, Aziraphale and Crowley took each other apart for the first time. That is to say, another first time in a very long line of first times.
But they didn’t know that.
Not yet.
~*~
Don't you try and pretend,
It's my feeling we'll win in the end,
I won't harm you or touch your defenses,
Vanity, insecurity, ah—
+1
Asa Fell[6] was thrilled when Anthony invited him to the museum for their third date in so many days. They had hardly known each other more than a week, though it felt like so much longer.
Try a few lifetimes.
The latest art exhibit—containing pieces focusing on figures of myth, legend, or religion—was one that Asa had already been thinking about going to see by himself, but it was even more special to be able to share it with another person.
Anthony offered his arm, and Asa Fell took it, insides feeling warm and fuzzy as they leisurely strolled through the museum. There was a free self-guided audio tour, but they decided to skip it and add their own commentary.
There was another couple in the first room, staring at a life-size statue of a winged figure. Neither Asa nor Anthony caught much of their conversation, they were so focused on each other that the rest of the world fell away. It was just background noise to them.
“This is the best art, Bea,” the man said to presumably his partner. “I could come here for hours and just look at it.”
“Gabe,” Bea sighed. “There are other things to look at.”
“But it’s a good likeness, right?”
“No,” they said, smiling after a moment. “You look much better.”
~'*'~
A strange feeling passed over Professor Anthony Crowley as he looked upon an ancient tapestry depicting a unicorn and a woman with striking red hair that looked so much like him it may as well have been an ancestor.
No, scratch that idea, the placard described the other woman on the tapestry as her lover—blonde, the splitting image of Asa if he had long and flowing locks of hair.
Whoa. Crowley shivered as a strange image of Asa flashed in his mind. He was wearing armor. There was a flaming sword. What?
Asa Fell was similarly unnerved beside him. But the glimpses he saw were very different. He—she was tumbling in the grass with another woman, hair like fire. Bodies pressed close together, clinging to each other tightly. They loved each other freely and without restraint.
The thing is… it wasn’t just one tapestry or painting or sculpture.
It was their faces. Over and over through the ages.
“How?” Asa Fell asked, gripping Anthony tighter as they approached yet another portrait.
In this one, a blond knight posed kneeling in front of his wife, she holding her similarly red-haired child to her chest.
“Why?” Anthony asked the universe. He—she could remember the feeling of her babe clinging to her chest.
Despite the fact that there were other patrons of the museum mulling about, from the perspective of Asa Fell and Professor Anthony Crowley it was as if the world came to a standstill, condensing to a single point.
Before a Big Bang of the mind, if you will.
“Oh,” Asa, Aziraphale said. Life, lives flashing before his eyes, not like someone dying, but like someone waking up. “Fuck.”
Next to him, Anthony went very still.
“Jesus Christ,” Crowley said, gripping Aziraphale’s hand like a lifeline. Like they held each other before it all went pear-shaped.
“Crowley—”
“No, no,” he said, pointing with his free hand. “Look!”
Aziraphale slowly turned his head.
There, amongst the museum goers, stood Jesus, looking much as he did when they last saw him. Or was it Yeshua? Joshua? They would have to ask.
And that wasn’t the only thing, no. Next to him was Adam, former antichrist, all grown up.
~*~
Aziraphale and Crowley practically collapsed onto the gallery bench, clinging to each other, as Adam and Joshua took the seats across from them.
“You were following us?” Crowley asked slowly, mind still racing to catch up.
Jesus, Josh nodded. “We spotted you about a week ago when we were having a pint, but you didn’t seem to recognize either of us,” he said.
“I was curious if you would remember,” Adam said.
“Remember what?” Aziraphale was still shaking. Crowley squeezed his hand tighter.
“Everything,” Joshua said.
“The old world,” Adam added.
“Adam, do you understand what happened?” Crowley questioned.
Adam shrugged. “I never met God. I wasn’t there. But I remember that feeling before disappearing. It was similar to the one I had when I rewrote reality after the apocalypse and put everything back mostly how it was, except better in some cases. Like your bookshop.” He glanced at Aziraphale.
“It burned and then it didn’t,” Crowley said frowning, gears slowly turning in his head. “There were extra books after that weren’t there before.”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Are we the extra books?” Or perhaps, more accurately, the geckos in the pot[7].
[7] When God tested Job, Crowley turned the children into geckos in a pot, and Aziraphale lied that the new children were not the old children. When God tested Aziraphale and Crowley—by asking what they wanted in the bookshop at the end of the world— they continued to exist despite her lying and saying otherwise, hence Asa and Anthony were the geckos in the pot.
“Did we… win?” Aziraphale asked, turning to Crowley, eyes searching.
“Can’t win a game you didn’t know you were playing. That was the whole point, angel.”
“You can only find the lady when She wants you to find it,” Josh added.
There were three cards in a stacked deck:
“God lied,” Crowley said angrily. “If She lied about this, how do we know she didn’t lie about everything?”
Aziraphale watched with bated breath as Crowley flicked his wrist upward from the ground in a gesture he had seen a hundred times.
Nothing happened.
In turn, Aziraphale closed his eyes, feeling upward and trying to pull the power of Heaven down to him.
Silence.
The universe was quiet.
This was real.
They were free.
“I’m not a demon anymore.” The words were slow and strange on his lips.
Aziraphale looked at him, eyes watery, still half expecting to see yellow eyes yet seeing brown ones. “I’m not an angel anymore.”
“Oh, no,” Crowley said, quickly kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’ll always be my angel.”
Aziraphale sobbed at that, pulling Crowley into a loving embrace, burying his face into his shoulder. “But we’re human now. We’ve been human. Over and over.”
“Why is that?” Crowley questioned. “Why do we still exist? Why do we keep existing? Not that I’m complaining. I’m definitely not complaining. But how? If God’s really taken a holiday. Permanently. Nobody messing about with the cosmos.”
“My theory,” Adam explained, “is that all of the atoms that make up you remember your shape. So when the pieces of you get separated, they naturally want to come back together in the same arrangement.”
Crowley raised his eyebrows before throwing hands. “Sure, why not?”
“Perhaps, it is the power of love,” Aziraphale said, sniffling, looking at Crowley meaningfully.
“Love is the most powerful force in the universe,” Joshua added.
“I thought that was gravity.” Crowley said, scratching at his chin. “Or actually, nuclear and electromagnetic force.”
“That reminds me, Anthony Crowley. You’re a professor now!”
Crowley lit up at that. “I have students. Oh, I love my students! They ask so many questions.”
“And I actually sell books in this life? Oh, my poor first editions. I’ll never get them back.”
“I’ll buy them back.”
“You don’t have any money, Anthony.”
“I’ll sell the Bentley.”
“While I appreciate the sentiment my dear, you don’t own a car!”
“Don’t I?” Crowley squinted and massaged his temples. “No, that was the 60s. Previous human me.”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he recalled that particular life. “You crashed it! Doing 90 miles per hour in the center of London!”
“Whoops.”
“We both died!”
Crowley groaned. “Embarrassing way to go. I suppose I forgot that discorporation wasn’t the worst that could happen.”
Aziraphale shook his head. “No, that would be not existing. But we’re still here. We found each other again.”
"I love you," Crowley said softly after a long pause. "I should have said."
"You have done," Aziraphale chuckled wetly. "In so many ways in so many lives."
Crowley cracked a smile, tilting his head. “Your name is Asa Fell this go around.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No, no. I didn't say that,’ Crowley said, wrapping his arms around him, holding him tight. “I'll get used to it.”
"I love you. So much." Aziraphale managed before suddenly looking pained. “Crowley, my head hurts.”
“It’s a lot to take in,” Josh said.
“Derek,” Asa, Aziraphale said. Oh, it sent shivers down his spine. “Derek is the Metatron.”
“Ugh,” Crowley recoiled. “He doesn’t remember does he?”
“That would certainly make things awkward,” Aziraphale frowned. “We’re supposed to have dinner at his home next Thursday.” He put his head in his hands. “I don’t know if I can look at him the same way again, and I hate that because Derek is such a nice man!”
Crowley shrugged.
“Maybe I misjudged him.” Aziraphale said as if trying to convince himself. “Perhaps, he was always nice in his own way?”
“Eh…” Crowley trailed off.
“Don’t worry too much,” Adam said. “People have to want to remember. I don’t think many people do. Sometimes because it’s easier, without those burdens. For others, their lives aren’t really that changed from before.”
Museum goers, happily absorbed in their audio tours continued to mill about the four, oblivious to the conversations of a former angel, demon, christ, and antichrist.
“I still grew up in Tadfield,” Adam continued. “My friends and I made Hogback Wood our own. They never remembered, but I did. Dog was a stray that found his way into our home. All that apocalypse business just got skipped over this time. Instead, it was just a nice day. I did miss getting to meet Anathema and reading all of her magazines about Krakens, but I don’t think witches are a thing anymore. They’re just like angels or demons. Stories.”
“I like stories,” Joshua said. “I got to tell all my stories again this time around! And people listened. I saw my friends again! And my mother—my human mother! I told people to be kind to one another.”
Grimacing, expecting the worst, Crowley asked, “How did that go?”
Jesus, Josh smiled. “Well, I didn’t get crucified this time. I lived a full life. I had a family that loved me.”
Puzzled, Aziraphale looked around the room at all of the historical art which included at least a few crucifixes. “Then why—?” he asked, gesturing to the obvious.
“People remembered,” Adam explained. “How it went the first go around. They wrote it down. Now that past is just another story.”
“I can still remember it, the feeling of the nails in my hands.” Josh said with a sad smile. “So, I understand why many would choose to forget.”
“Why now?” Aziraphale questioned. “Why remember now? Why didn’t we remember before? Or did we and then forget again?”
“Healing takes time,” Adam said with a shrug. “Maybe you were finally ready.”
Asa and Anthony, Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other then, eyes shining.
“Is this okay?” Being human, mortal, living life in the slow lane.
“Did we make the right choice?” The winning card, complete free will, dealers choice, the ineffable now effable.
After a moment, Adam stood up and reached out to the former angel and demon, gesturing for them to take his hands.
“There’s something you told me once before that I’ll never forgot,” the former antichrist said, squeezing their hands.
Aziraphale and Crowley squeezed back.
“You’re not Hell incarnate,” Adam said.
“Or Heaven incarnate,” Josh continued, moving to stand next to him.
“You aren't either of those things anymore—”
“You're human incarnate.”
“And isn’t that so much better.”