Chapter Text
…why make me complete and take him away…
…I can put it all back…
…can we talk…
…You know what I want…
…I want a real universe…
…we’ve come to a decision…
…Well, what have you decided?
They clasped hands, Aziraphale feeling the warmth and softness of Crowley’s hand in his, sending shockwaves of electricity up his arm. A multitude of feelings, exploding like fireworks zinging across a night sky, danced along his senses. Flashes filled with hues of grace and tenderness, dappled with longing and forbidden desire. It was the beginning and the end, and it felt in a word, wonderful. A bittersweet wonder overshadowed by the grave and impending resignation to fate. 6000 years of history poured into a simple physical human gesture vibrated along his skin, a heavy consolation for the sacrifice they were about to make. Were they really about to make this choice? Ask for erasure? Start everything anew, even after all they fought for? Doubt seeped into his heart as questions rose thick and fast. Surely this can’t be the end? Can there be another way? How can we possibly say goodbye? How could Crowley, the one always filled with questions be so readily silent now? But before Aziraphale could tease out the thread of his doubts, Crowley gently squeezed his hand, indicating now was the moment to reveal their decision. Aziraphale looked to God and Satan, appalled by their oblique faces shrouded by a mask of bored anticipation. He realised now they had been challenged to choose between servitude and oblivion, like it was any kind of real choice. Aziraphale felt the weight of their stares bearing down upon them, stone after heavy stone of judgement piling atop his chest, each new mass daring them to decide. Speak now or forever hold your peace.
Glancing down to where their hands joined only served as a reminder of how much time had been wasted, how much had been sacrificed because Aziraphale effectively chose to do “the right thing” for the sake of the world, for the sake of humanity, for Crowley’s safety, only to still end up here; a universe destroyed, all they had fought for gone, and themselves standing in final judgment before those that ruled creation, threatening their entire existence.
A bitter realisation that he could have spent eons holding that hand, committing every tiny hill and valley of its palm to memory, exploring every perfect imperfection, reverently kissing each knuckle and fingertip, placing that hand over his heart to convince its owner how it beat only for him, stung Aziraphale to his core. And now he was about to ask for that hand, along with its owner and everything that had ever mattered to him, to be erased forever. It made Aziraphale sick to his stomach, the bitter words of their decision catching in his throat, wrestling with the bile that threatened to fight it’s way to freedom.
Come up with something, his own voice echoed in roaring fury from the past, or you’ll never speak with him again.
It was true that Crowley had taught him what it was to be brave, and now was the time to show it.
“We want you both to leave.”
Aziraphale felt Crowley stiffen, his hand gripped harder in surprise. “Wh-what! Angel, that’s not-”
“We’ve had quite enough of your meddling, and now it’s time to go.” Aziraphale was calm and measured. He broke free from Crowley’s grasp, leaving a desperately cold absence burning into his own palm. No matter, if this worked, he’d never have to feel that absence again. He picked up Bleak House, now the Book of Life from where he’d left it and, flourishing a pen, began to write.
Crowley, hot on his heels pressed himself against his back, the warm assuring presence giving him strength and courage.
“…they had been given a choice,” Aziraphale read out in a deliberate, halting manner as he wrote, “but the choice was an illusion. As Crowley had mentioned, the decks were always stacked against them. A universe where God held all the cards, and the lady was hidden from sight. It was always going to be an un-winnable situation, especially when the dealer knew where every card in the deck lay. But now they knew what they had to do. Now it was time for them to flip the table.”
“Angel, you might want to get to the point,” Crowley murmured.
“Yes, dear I was just getting to that. Nothing like a bit of creative licence.”
God remained unfazed, seated crossed legged, hands clasped casually upon Her knee, and smiling the bored smile of one who still thinks they hold the upper hand.
Aziraphale smiled back, that genial smile he so often gave customers that outstayed their welcome within his shop, and continued his tale, “God smiled insincerely at the angel and former demon, inwardly amused at how they could possibly think they were at all a match for Her power and ineffability, not when Her oldest and greatest adversary sat dumb and ineffectual beside Her.”
“Hey!” Satan cried indignantly, flexing his fingers, and displeased to discover all that Aziraphale had written was true.
Crowley scoffed gleefully. The laughter was music to Aziraphale’s ears, spurring him on with great alacrity to finish.
“A small square table appeared, God seated at one side calm and steady, Crowley seated on the other, looking confused and bewildered as he took in his surroundings.”
And as it was written, the warmth at Aziraphale’s back disappeared, a table was conjured, and God and Crowley sat across from each other, God seated straight and serene with hands folded gently on the table in front of Her, Crowley looking around in confusion and bewilderment.
“Angel! Warn a demon next time!” Crowley scolded, fixing himself in the chair in a most uncomfortable looking position, arm slung over the back and legs crossed at ridiculous angles.
“Former.” Aziraphale quietly reminded him, grinning fondly in spite of the situation.
God turned to Aziraphale giving him a penetrating stare, “And how, my little angel, do you suppose this will fix anything?”
Her question dripped with sarcasm and disdain, causing Crowley to bare his teeth and growl a low threatening warning, the insult finally releasing his previously dormant protective streak. Aziraphale snapped the book shut, sheathing his pen in his waist coat and strode confidently across the small space to stand behind Crowley, placing a soothing hand upon his shoulder. Matching God’s arrogance, he raised an infamous bitchy eyebrow. “A game of skill and chance of course. You like games. It’s only fitting we play one to determine what happens next.”
God sat silently a moment. A shadow seemed to skitter across Her passive face, as the bookshop’s lamps dimmed and flickered. A palpable tension pulsed around them, pressing in from all sides, like someone taking in a deep, slow breath right before exhaling a wailing scream. “Very well then,” She conceded with a smile, calm and still. The lights righted themselves, and the tension eased into a somewhat less viscous consistency, “if you’re so insistent on destroying yourselves, then who am I to deny your fanciful request,” a click of fingers, and a deck of cards manifested in Her hand. She fixed Crowley with a unwavering glare, “But I warn you, the stakes will be high. Your existence for mine, demon.”
“Former.” Crowley and Aziraphale bit back in unison.
God’s eyes flicked between them. Aziraphale felt an unpleasant bulging within his core, like he was being observed from the inside at a molecular level. He could tell Crowley must be feeling the same, as he appeared to be holding back a grimace, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. God said nothing, and started slowly shuffling the deck. Then with a twinkle in Her eye, She cut the deck into three, and twisting the smaller piles around each other in quick succession, reshuffled them once more before fanning them out to show how mixed the deck had become. Crowley watched transfixed, drawn in by the swirling, writhing kaleidoscope of distracting colours adorning the back of each card. Aziraphale gently squeezed his shoulder, bringing his attention back to the game at hand. Drawing the cards back into a neat handheld pile, God pulled the top three cards, placing them face up on the table: the two of clubs, the queen of hearts, and the two of spades. The rest of the deck was placed in a pile upon the table. God then moved both hands over the pile, fingers splayed in a showy waving movement, before pulling them apart to reveal the deck had disappeared.
Aziraphale couldn’t help but stare enviably. He never could get the hang of card tricks.
“It’s a simple game Crowley. I believe you’re quite familiar with it,” God carefully creased each card down the middle, then flipped them over one by one, “Find the lady and I will be no more. Fail to find her, and you both cease to exist along with what’s left of your ridiculous universe.”
Crowley pursed his lips into a thin line, and pressed both hands firmly on both sides of the table, leaning forward and fixing his gaze to the cards. God began the routine.
To Aziraphale’s dismay the speed at which the cards moved back and forth was a blur. He himself had immediately lost sight of where the lady was passed to. He thought back to the time of Nefertiti and the cowry shells, how he had made it just difficult enough for her to be both amused and delighted, but not so difficult as to humiliate or demean her. As the cards shifted back and forth beyond comprehension, a trail of sweat collected at Aziraphale’s brow. He saw how Crowley’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the edges of the table. Finally the cards stopped and God, spreading Her hands wide, sat back triumphantly.
“Well Crowley, one chance. Find the lady.”
Satan cracked a grin full of sharp, glistening teeth - reminding Aziraphale very much of a shark about to consume its prey - and, folding his arms across his chest, leant back in smug satisfaction too.
Crowley stilled, staring unblinking down at the cards. He stared for what felt like an eternity, though it was probably closer to 30 seconds. It was hard to tell in this time beyond time.
Aziraphale held his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, drumming loudly in his ears. His entire corporation tingled with a strange electricity, pulling up from his core and dancing along his skin. He would have thought it pure anxiety but the feeling was not unpleasant, like the warm embrace of a statically charged blanket. The Book of Life, which he’d forgotten he still held, seemed to vibrate slightly with the zinging sensation currently filling his body. He held it slightly closer to his chest, just as he unconsciously gripped Crowley’s shoulder extra firmly.
Crowley finally looked up and in a precise and deliberate movement, leaned forward, stretching an arm out to reach behind God’s ear. Giving a small, quick twist of his wrist, a card manifested between his fingers. Pulling back, he gently placed the card face down on the table then, with infinitesimal speed and drawing out the movement as infuriatingly long as possible, flipped the card face up.
There lay the queen of hearts.
The devil laughed, a high tittering staccato as God visibly deflated before them.
“Wha- wait, how-” She stuttered before Crowley cut in.
“I believe this is your card,” he said, as he leaned back into Aziraphale, casually placing a hand atop Aziraphale’s where it was still attached to his shoulder.
Aziraphale wiggled in delight at Crowley’s triumph, but froze as particles from God’s form began to drift slowly away before them. It was gradual at first, little specs floating away in a sea of light, like dust cascading through a sun beam. Staring at Her crumbling hands, God’s face blanched as She realised the consequences of Her deal. Satan’s face also fell and he reached out for his adversary, placing a hand upon Her face. She turned to him, eyes silently pleading, Satan knew not what for.
Aziraphale stepped forward, asking gently, “Is there anything you want to say Lord?”
God turned to face Aziraphale, all manner of fight and previous malice drained away. She seemed a small and broken thing painted with regret and resignation. She gave a watery smile as She looked from Crowley to Aziraphale. “I only wanted to…”
She never had the chance to finish. The rest of Her form scattered like leaves on the wind, leaving an indelible mark across what remained of the universe.
Aziraphale breathed out a heavy and weighted breath. Crowley stood and wrapped an arm around his waist, the steady familiarity a comforting balm to Aziraphale’s conflicting emotions.
A dejected Satan dropped his hand, looking small and lost without his counterpart. A moment later a wicked grin spread across his face, which he lifted to fix menacingly upon Crowley and Aziraphale. They both drew back in urgency, Crowley stepping slightly forward as if to shield Aziraphale from whatever wrath they were about to encounter. Aziraphale’s face blazed with delight, thrilled at the confirmation that Crowley was still willing to rescue him. However, now was not the time to allow his vulnerable companion to place himself in danger.
“I have to hand it to you,” Satan began, looking pleased as punch, “I’ve been trying to win this war for years, and to think that all I needed to do was wait around until you two cocked it up as normal, well I would have - wait, what are you doing?”
Satan’s whiplash of triumph to concern came as a grim-faced Aziraphale simply passed Crowley the pen and the Book of Life.
Crowley had a very specific talent of staring down his opponents, the kind of eye watering feat where he could remain unblinking for what felt like hours whilst seeming to look directly into his rival’s souls. Aziraphale had seen the technique used on countless hapless humans many times, and enjoyed watching the most pompous of self-assured people crumble in misery and defeat at the unwavering glare, usually after a particularly salacious or viciously unpleasant comment had been directed at himself (admittedly, Crowley’s snake eyes probably helped, but that was besides the point). Watching Crowley defend his honour in such a quiet and subtle manner always left him feeling like his stomach was performing summersaults. After such displays of affection, Aziraphale would usually excuse himself quickly and spend the rest of the afternoon soothing himself in the backroom of his shop with cocoa and 18th century porn. And now, Aziraphale felt privileged to witness Crowley’s ultimate victim.
Crowley stared Satan down, keeping him exactly in his sights as he blindly pulled the book towards him.
“Are you sure angel?” he quietly asked aside to Aziraphale.
Aziraphale nodded severely, though realised Crowley wouldn’t have seen the gesture as he still hadn’t taken his eyes off Satan, “You write this one, you were always far more imaginative than I was dear.” He helpfully flipped to a blank page and positioned Crowley’s hand.
With steely determination, Crowley began to write. Aziraphale stood at his side, a haughty expression trained on Satan, who displayed a belligerent scowl in return. As Crowley scribbled Satan stood up in an effort to appear more threatening, but his smarmy demeanour was ruined when he visibly began to sweat. “Now Crowley, let’s not be hasty. What’s a few heated words between old friends?”
“Not friends.” Crowley bit back, punching out the consonants.
Satan looked ropable, “Fine, not friends. Master and slave then! And if you don’t stop writing right this second, I’m going to - QUACK.”
Satan froze, bewildered at the sound that leapt involuntarily from his mouth. Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up his brow. He looked to Crowley, who’s eyes twinkled with mischief, warming Aziraphale from the tip of his toes to the top of his head. There was the impish rogue he missed so much.
Satan paused, contemplating his next move. Then pointing a finger at Crowley, attempted to scold him further.
“QUACK!” Satan clapped a hand over his mouth. As he went to taken another step further, Crowley finished off his sentence with a flourish. As the pen pressed down into a hard full stop, Satan seemed to drop through the floor, leaving a bundle of clothes behind. A beat later, the pile moved to reveal a small brown duck who waddled shyly towards them cheeping and quacking in earnest.
Crowley closed the book, thrusting it and the pen back into Aziraphale’s arms, and crouched down to great their new friend, cooing in a soothing type voice one reserves for animals and small children (and sometimes plants), “Oh hello there Lucy. Have you been a good little ducky? Yes you have, haven’t you.” Crowley scratched Lucy the Duck at the base of his neck, who shook his feathers in delight. “Would Lucy like some frozen peas?” The duck cheeped all the more urgently, flapping his graceful wings in a flurry of excitement.
Crowley stood and made his way to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Come on, I kept it stocked while you were away."
Aziraphale could only stand a moment in disbelief, before chasing a few strides after Crowley. “Really Crowley. A duck!”
Crowley turned on the spot but continued backwards in his regular loping fashion, “You said imaginative, Angel.” He quickly located a packet of peas, and set Lucy up in a comfortable corner of the kitchen before returning to the sitting room, where Aziraphale stood patiently waiting.
Darkness had returned to the windows filling the bookshop with dull, creeping shadows. An awkward, thick tension filled the space between them, the brutal silence cut by the quiet patter of feet and rustle of feathers coming from the other room.
“So,” Aziraphale said, nervously twisting his ring.
“So,” Crowley replied, hands plunged deep in his pockets.
They were barely three steps from each other and yet the distance felt insurmountable. All Aziraphale wanted was to just reach across and pull Crowley to him. But he could tell from the manner in which Crowley held himself, shoulders hunching down and eyes averted, that he was once again closing himself off. Even at the end of all things, Crowley’s grief was still the cornerstone of this barrier between them. Aziraphale knew he needed gentle, genuine words of affection before making any kind of grand gesture. They needed to resolve this, once and for all.
“I’m sorry Crowley,” Aziraphale started. Crowley looked like he wanted to interrupt, but Aziraphale barrelled ahead, “I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t accept erasure. Not when there was another way,” he took a hesitant step forward, “I want what you want too, and that’s the world! I want the world to have a chance. But to start it all over again? It felt too much like running away. Like admitting defeat,” Crowley’s face dropped and Aziraphale took another bold step forward, still clutching the Book of Life with one arm to his chest. He was close enough to reach out and cup Crowley under his chin, gently lifting his face up and meeting him eye to eye. Those beautiful golden eyes were filled with so much anguish, it was more than Aziraphale could bare. Time to do something about it. It was now or never. “I want us Crowley. But more than that, I want a world with you in it.”
Aziraphale drew his hand up from under Crowley’s chin to the side of his face. He swept his thumb across Crowley’s cheek, caressing it with tender care, and pouring all his feelings into a glorious smile.
Crowley’s lips wobbled, seemingly grappling with something to say. Aziraphale waited patiently until Crowley found his voice.
“The world is gone angel. So what do we do?”
“We create,” - Aziraphale gently pushed the Book of Life back into Crowley’s grasp - “a real universe.”
Aziraphale found himself wrapped in Crowley’s arms, locked in a fierce, tight embrace filled with 6000 years worth of longing and affection. The book had fallen to the floor between them, but Aziraphale realised he did not care. Having never actually hugged anyone before, at least not in such an emotional manner, all he felt for a moment was stunned. But that feeling soon gave way to something else. Happiness. Pure, peaceful, true happiness. It felt wonderful. So this is what it’s like, he mused to himself, before coming to his senses and immediately hugging Crowley back with equal ferocity, the warmth of their love building and singing through their connected chests. Crowley gripped the back of Aziraphale’s coat, and buried his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale felt Crowley shake like a leaf, and held him even closer, rubbing his hands up and down his back in what he hoped were soothing strokes. The held onto each other as tightly as possible, frightened as if at any moment a force of nature could suddenly blow through the bookshop and tear them apart. But Aziraphale at least paid no mind to his wandering fears, and instead revelled in this long overdue closeness. Not even a hurricane could tear them asunder now.
When an age had passed and they finally pulled apart, Crowley smiled. Only it wasn’t the defeated watery smile he gave under the apple tree. It was unbridled joy. The exuberance of a smile Aziraphale’d seen once before long ago, but now plastered on the face of the (former) demon he loved so very much.
“Where do we start?” Crowley said.