Chapter Text
The prediction for Libra on May 13, 2026, as according to The London Standard, reads: Today asks you to balance pragmatism with compassion. Harmony comes not by avoidance but by gentle honesty. Speak your truth with kindness, and bridges strengthen. Old friends come to mind with errands you have to do.
This is important for two reasons. First, because, as anyone would know, the Earth itself is a Libra. And second, because the universe as we know it is scheduled to end on this very day.
An important thing to note is that certain wrongs could have been put to rights much sooner, had the people involved been aware of this prediction.
Unfortunately, such is not the case. And to understand the events that are about to unfold before the scheduled end of the Earth, we need to go back. Back to the moments that lay between the Beginning of the universe and the Nothing before it, when a choice needed to be made.
To bring an enemy to justice or to show kindness to someone who has never meant any harm.
THE WAR IN HEAVEN
The Eternal Flame burned bright a few feet behind him. Aziraphale couldn’t care less, honestly. He stared out from the center of the universe, at where dead angels lay sprawled on the steps of the shrine. Their wings were mangled, ichor drying on them, stark white against the black stones. Aziraphale couldn’t recognize too many of them.
Most of the rebel angels had been thrown off the edge. Aziraphale himself had shoved at least half a dozen of them, sure that it would be preferable to death. Their screams had faded into oblivion long ago.
He drew his sword. Fire burned along the length of the blade, then sputtered out after a few seconds. Could it sense its wielder's weariness? Aziraphale had never wanted a weapon, or to be General. He was Created to be a cherub, for Heaven’s sake, not a soldier!
Uriel had said they’d lost a hundred angels in the final battle. But how many had been lost to Oblivion? Whose job was it to count anyway? And what was to be done with all those bodies? What was next? For Creation and for Aziraphale?
All these questions…
No. That was what had led to the War in the first place. Aziraphale was better than that, a proper angel. He would not be so foolish as to -
Something sharp and cold pressed to his neck, and sudden heat at his back. Aziraphale caught the scent of something unfamiliar, his whole body freezing up in shock.
“If you shout out or do anything to attract attention, you’re going to be a dead angel, do you understand?” A voice hissed, raspy and full of anger.
Aziraphale nodded quickly, holding his breath.
“Give me the sword.”
He handed it over. His attacker retreated and Aziraphale turned to get a glimpse of him, only to find his own blade pointed at him. The sharp object turned out to be a rock that the rebel tossed aside.
But Aziraphale’s eyes caught onto the angel’s face. “Oh,” he breathed out. “It’s you.”
The former Starmaker frowned. “What?”
Aziraphale had thought him dead. Or already Fallen. He wasn’t sure it was better this way, to see him in the black garb of the rebels. It made something in the center of his corporation ache, much in the same way it had when he’d first met the red-haired angel.
“I’m Azira-”
“General Aziraphale, I know,” the Starmaker snapped. “I saw you on the battlefield. How do you know me?”
“Oh,” Aziraphale said again. The angel didn’t remember him. He’d heard the higher-ups discussing the repercussions of acting against Heaven, that the exile might cause problems in their memories. But if the Starmaker was still here…
“I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you that,” Aziraphale said quietly. “But I think anyone in Heaven would know you.”
The Starmaker only looked angrier at that. Did he remember his own position in Heaven? “This isn’t right,” he said. “All I did was ask questions, I didn’t mean for it to be a war, and there’s still no answers-” He broke off into a groan. His entire essence seemed to give up and he toppled to the ground.
The last thing Aziraphale was supposed to do was help him. But he knelt without a second thought. “What’s wrong?”
All he got in answer was a pained wheeze and the problem became visible quickly. There was a cut on the Starmaker’s leg, right above the knee. Ichor had stained the fabric of his robes golden. It wasn’t a terrible wound but a quick glance into the rebel’s true form showed a level of exhaustion and pain that nothing could heal.
Aziraphale couldn’t fix this. All he could do was tear off a strip from the white cloth he’d wrapped around his own bruised arm and quickly tie it above the wound. “This will hurt,” he said. “But it will staunch the blood.”
“You’re not supposed to be helping me.”
It wasn’t a question. Aziraphale swallowed, hands trembling around the ends of the makeshift bandage. “I’m supposed to smite enemy angels. But the battle is over and until such time as you try to attack me, I will continue to do my angelic duty.”
The Starmaker laughed. “That doesn’t sound very Heavenly.”
“What would you know?” Aziraphale snapped, snatching his hands back. Fear had started curling around him; Michael could spot them here. Or worse, Gabriel.
But the Starmaker didn’t look afraid, or even insulted. He just looked tired. “So what now?” He asked. “Going to drag me to your superiors? Let them decide my fate?”
“I…” That was definitely what he should do. “You could ask them for a pardon. The Almighty would surely forgive you if you were to plead your case-”
“Not a chance!” The Starmaker growled suddenly, wings ruffling loudly against the smooth rock. “I’m not going to plead for forgiveness. Not when She wouldn’t even listen to anything I had to say. None of this would have happened if she had just heard me out!”
“Alright, alright, just, be quiet,” Aziraphale said frantically.
“Forgiveness.” He snorted, eyes glinting in the light of the Eternal Flame. “She should be apologizing to us. The ultimate power of Creation and She uses it just to destroy everything. And then She asks us to love Her Creations as well, like we’re not going to have to watch them all get snuffed out like embers.”
Aziraphale watched and listened, helpless. The Starmaker’s words struck a chord within him, but he silenced the doubt before it could form. “You don’t have to change what you believe. Just… Just lie to them. Tell them you agree. Wouldn’t you rather be safe in Heaven than be cast out?”
The Starmaker looked at him with something uncomfortably akin to pity. “I’d rather be free than trapped here. I don't know what I’m going to find out there, but it’ll be better than this. I’m sure of it.”
“What if it’s not?” Aziraphale asked quietly.
“Then it’s not. But that’s not a reason to suffer quietly in this gilded cage.”
Aziraphale had nothing to say to that. The quiet settled between them heavily and he knew he was running out of time. The Archangels could be back any moment.
“Well, what do you want me to do then?” He asked. “I can’t just leave you here.”
“I’m in no shape to carry the Eternal Flame off myself,” the Starmaker said, in a tone that sounded surprisingly soft. “But if you leave me to my own devices, I think I can find a slower way Down, where the rest of my party has gone. Maybe manage a softer landing.”
Could he? Was he being truthful? Aziraphale glanced over the edge of the shrine, then to the Starmaker. With the hood fallen back, his face was visibly gaunt, his hair matted around his face. Even his eyes had lost their golden luster, like all the joy had been drained from him when he’d learned of the fate of his beloved stars.
And still, Aziraphale thought, it felt as if he could be quite content to just simply sit here with this angel, undisturbed by the rest of the universe while free to watch it grow. It was the same feeling he’d had just A Little While Ago, when the Starmaker’s wing had shielded him from a storm of stray starstuff.
“Alright,” Aziraphale said, taking a deep breath. “Yes, I will… I will go my own way. You go yours.”
The Starmaker sighed, laboriously handing the discarded sword back to him. Aziraphale took it with a strong sense of loathing.
“Thank you for the bandages.”
Aziraphale stood quickly, checking for bystanders. “Yes, well, just don’t tell anyone where you got it.” Would he even remember? Would his memory only lose more weight when he reached wherever it was the rebels had gone to?
“Goodbye, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale hesitated, stealing one last glance at the angel, fallen to ground in a graceless sprawl. Please, he dared to pray. Please let me find him again. Please let him come to me.
Then he turned and left down the path of the Archangels. If his actions in the War had earned him any goodwill, it was time to ask for a change of job position.
He’d done enough fighting to last the Universe.