Chapter Text
[THE GREAT FIRMAMENT. Vast and largely empty, strewn with distant galaxies and nebulae like jewels discarded in haste during a robbery. Aziraphale sits alone on a spit of rock, bowed and weary, leaning on his sword with long hair lying over his shoulders and back. Two blips of light approach at speed and materialize into Michael and Uriel; Aziraphale’s face contorts briefly with a haunted sort of trepidation before settling into bland resignation.]
Aziraphale: Is it done?
Uriel: Nearly, General. That final offensive was brilliant.
Michael: Just a few final holdouts to rout. Our great victory is at hand.
Aziraphale: [quietly] Yes, lovely. Splendid.
Uriel: Your orders have been carried out to the letter. I confess, I was skeptical that a Principality could direct the Host, but I was wrong. Even Gabriel is impressed.
Michael: [muttering] Like it takes much to impress him.
Uriel: [ignores her] There is the matter of the prisoners, General.
Aziraphale: [looks up, startled] There are prisoners?
Michael: Several seraphim were holed up near here, but we overcame them. The cherubim don’t have the stomach for the task, though. I’d be glad to see to it personally, General.
Aziraphale: [troubled, and then his face hardens with sudden decision] No…no, that won’t be necessary. I’ll handle it personally. [stands and hefts the sword] Where, did you say?
[Uriel points. She and Michael stand back respectfully as Aziraphale flies in the indicated direction.]
[At the standoff point, Aziraphale dismisses the soldiers who have been standing guard over the kneeling, bound prisoners. Aziraphale looks them over slowly, and then uses the tip of his sword to flip back the hood of the seraph at the end of the line. It is an angel we recognize, his red hair shoulder-length and ragged, snarling defiantly up at him.]
Seraph: [with clear disdain] Aziraphale.
Aziraphale: [startled] You know my name?
Seraph: Everyone knows Heaven’s big fancy general. You and that bloody sword.
Aziraphale: [wilts a little, glances guiltily at the sword] Ah. Right.
Seraph: Look, just do it, will you? No more mucking about.
[Aziraphale looks at him, raises the sword just a little…and then lowers it again. He walks behind the row of prisoners and uses the sword to cut their bonds, one by one. They flee immediately; he does not watch them go. The redheaded seraph is last. When he is free, he stands and whips around, fists at the ready, but Aziraphale makes no move to defend himself. He even sheathes his sword and stands there empty-handed. They look at each other for a long, tense moment.]
Seraph: What’s your play here?
Aziraphale: No play. You’re free. Go and live the life that seems best to you.
Seraph: [scowling suspiciously] …What sort of general lets prisoners go free?
Aziraphale: The sort who is very, very tired. And…I’m not sure what this is. It’s almost a pain, right here. [He rubs a hand over his chest, his brow knitted.] It’s so very heavy. I wish…oh, I wish none of this had happened.
Seraph: [scowl slowly fades] Sad. That feeling is ‘sad.’
Aziraphale: Ah, thank you. ‘Sad.’ Yes, that fits.
Seraph: You’re sad for a bunch of rebels?
Aziraphale: Sad for all of it. [He gestures helplessly at a skirmish visible in the far distance.] We all sang together, and not so very long ago. We worked side by side. And now…this. She’s going to cast you lot out, you know.
Seraph: Yeah, so I hear. What, don’t we deserve it?
Aziraphale: It just… It seems to me that when something precious gets broken, it’s worth mending. Not throwing out. She made us—you and me both. Is there no mending us? …Or are we not precious to Her?
Seraph: [fully staring now, rattled]
Aziraphale: [sighs] You should go.
Seraph: …S’pose I could tell everyone what you did here. Maybe you’d get thrown out with the rest of us.
Aziraphale: [hangs his head] I suppose you could.
[The seraph backs away slowly…and then departs in a burst of speed. Aziraphale watches the distant fighting for a moment and then unsheathes his sword with a pout of determination. He gathers his long hair and begins chopping at it. The result is clumsy and messy, but he kicks at the discarded locks until they dissolve into light that scatters and vanishes. Then he runs a hand through his shorter hair.
Aziraphale: Never again.
[Slow pan upward from behind, past Aziraphale’s head, as the flashes of the battle wink out one by one.]
[OPENING CREDITS]
[WHICKBER STREET. Much more run-down than we recall, several empty shops with broken windows, a few familiar faces glancing around warily as they all but flee up and down the pavement. Long shot traveling down an alley beside a certain bookshop—its curtains drawn—before coming to rest on a pile of surprisingly clean blankets in a dead end beside the rubbish bins. Crowley lies there, flat on his back, lenses askew, a half-empty bottle by his limp hand. He groans quietly, but we aren’t shown his face yet.]
[HEAVEN. Slow pan down from the high, bright ceiling to the floor where Aziraphale stands, addressing the archangels and several seraphim. He’s wearing one of Gabriel’s old suits, and it doesn’t fit him well at all.]
Aziraphale: …And that will be any minute now! I will personally be there to greet the young man, and to make sure that he’s ready to fulfill his destiny. …With maybe a few little tweaks.
Uriel: [quirks an eyebrow, looking caught between boredom and suspicion] Tweaks?
Aziraphale: [with bright confidence] Well, yes! I know that some of my changes have been unorthodox, but you’ll all just have to trust me on this. I am an excellent strategist, you’ll recall.
Michael: [arms folded, openly antagonistic] That was a very long time ago.
Aziraphale: Be that as it may, the Metatron bestowed upon me the authority to carry out the Great Plan as I see fit—
Michael: And where is the Metatron? Shouldn’t he be here for this?
[There are shufflings and glances all around. This is clearly an uncomfortable subject.]
Aziraphale: [delicately] The Metatron has his own duties. I’m sure he has good and important reasons for spending so much time in his office…where we are not allowed to go… [He collects himself and recovers his smile.] It is not our place to question him.
Sandalphon: So long as everything goes according to plan. Fire and flame.
Michael: Finally.
Aziraphale: Yes, the plan, er, exactly. And how is our progress on that checklist, eh? Keeping you all very busy, is it?
[Uriel, deadpan, flicks a scroll which unrolls to a comically huge length; most of the items are checked off.]
Uriel: Nearly there.
Aziraphale: [startled by the progress] Ah. Yes. Excellent. Now, ah, if you’ll all excuse me, I must prepare for the awakening. Be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.
Sandalphon: Good. Er, what’s a lamb?
[Aziraphale opens his mouth to reply, thinks better of it, and scurries off. When he’s out of sight of the others, his cheery façade falls away to reveal terrible weariness, doubt, and fear. He leans against a wall and rubs a hand over his chest; his lip trembles. Then he straightens and looks around to be sure he’s unobserved before drawing from an inner pocket of his jacket…an old and very familiar photograph. He stares at it longingly, clearly lonely and miserable as he traces Crowley’s face with a finger.]
Aziraphale: [in a whisper] I wish you were here. Or that I were there. I wish none of this had happened. I’ve done what I can, but…I don’t know how to stop this. I don’t know how to save the world. Not on my own.
[From off screen comes a polite throat-clearing. Aziraphale jumps, badly startled, and stuffs the photograph back into his pocket. A prudent distance away stands a scrivener holding a transparent tablet with letters made of light scrolling constantly across it; she is smartly dressed, and has lovely golden eyes.]
Aziraphale: Ah, Aurial. Hello.
Aurial: [brightly] Hello, sir! All is in readiness, just as you asked.
Aziraphale: [forcing a smile] Excellent.
[THE ALLEY. Footsteps approach from behind the camera; Crowley’s head rolls slightly as cute little saddle shoes come to a stop near him.]
Muriel: Good morning, Mister Crowley.
Crowley: [groans and scrunches his face]
[Muriel bustles about, first removing the blanket that has been lying over Crowley’s sleeping bag and then replacing it with a fresh one; they also shake out a throw pillow that has been off to one side and kneel to gently lift Crowley’s head and tuck the pillow beneath it.]
Muriel: Any sign of your car, Mister Crowley?
Crowley: [massive sigh] Sent it away. Ages ago. Told you.
Muriel: Yes, I know, I just thought—
Crowley: [low, slightly slurred] Wouldn’t shut up, would it? Kept asking, again and again. I turned the radio off. Turned itself right back on. Always with that stupid, stupid song. Tried to play some Queen, and you know what she did? ‘Love of My Life,’ that’s what she bloody did. [Muriel mouths the title along with him, looking despondent; they’ve clearly listened to this complaint many times.] Kept telling her he’s gone, that’s over, but she wouldn’t listen. As if I don’t have enough to deal with. Don’t need a great stupid nosy car that won’t let over be over.
[He scrabbles for the wine bottle. Muriel reaches down to replace the bottle with one they’ve been holding…which is clearly filled with water. Crowley lifts his head just enough to take a long swig; either he doesn’t notice the difference, or he can’t be bothered to care.]
Muriel: …And your miracles?
Crowley: [flutters his fingers in the air; a sound like a faint raspberry is heard] Kaput.
Muriel: It’s just because you’re feeling so low, sir, I’m sure of it! If you’ll only come inside, let me fix you some tea—I’m quite good at tea now—and maybe have a nice wash, you’ll feel ever so much better, and your miracles will come back!
Crowley: [rolls away onto his side, curling up] Don’t want them back. Don’t want tea, don’t want a wash. Heart broken. World broken. None of it precious enough to be worth mending, apparently. Go away, Muriel.
[Muriel looks stricken, but retreats with the blanket and the bottle. Slow zoom on Crowley’s face, dirty and stubbled; he looks utterly awash in despair.]
[HEAVEN. As Aurial stands respectfully to one side, Aziraphale approaches a bed that looks an awful lot like an altar, where Joshua lies asleep under a white sheet that covers him to his bare shoulders. Looking upon his face, Aziraphale gives a much more natural smile, warm and soft. He lays a hand on Joshua’s head of dark curls.]
Aziraphale: [gently] Wake, Lord. It is time.
[Joshua opens his eyes at once. He stares at Aziraphale for a moment…and then mirrors his smile, as though that initial sight has imprinted upon his spirit.]
Aziraphale: Hello, Joshua.
Joshua: Hello.
Aziraphale: How are you feeling?
Joshua: …Confused. I think.
Aziraphale: Well, that’s to be expected. You’ve been sleeping for quite a long time, you know.
[Aziraphale helps Joshua to sit up. The sheet pools around his waist; he is clearly nude, and pokes at his bare chest experimentally.]
Aziraphale: Er, if I may? [He waves a hand, and Joshua is dressed in his cute comfy clothes, cardigan and all.] There, doesn’t that feel nice?
Joshua: It does. Thank you. [looks around] Er, where am I?
Aziraphale: [smile falters a bit] You’re home, Lord. In Heaven. It’s time to initiate the plans for your Second Coming. …To Earth?
Joshua: [face lights up] Oh, Earth! I do remember Earth. Will I get to see my friends again? Where is Peter? Shouldn’t he be here? And the Jameses? They always laugh when I call them that. Please, I’d like to see them all now. What is it we’re meant to be doing?
[Aziraphale and Aurial exchange a troubled look.]
Aziraphale: …I’m afraid they’re, ah, unavailable, Lord. It’s been a very long time. Thousands of years.
Joshua: [surprised and saddened] Oh.
Aziraphale: Didn’t… [He glances around as though worried he’s breaking a rule.] Didn’t your Mother tell you about the Plan? When She put you here?
Joshua: [shakes his head, downcast] I thought I was going to stay with Her. Help out a bit. I remember wanting to, I remember feeling like I had so much to tell Her. But then She said I could do with a nap. And I was awfully tired…
Aziraphale: But you don’t remember…what it is you’re meant to do next? As in, now?
Joshua: [gives this some genuine thought, and then shrugs] I’m afraid not, no.
Aziraphale: Ah. I see. [He frowns, and then brightens.] You know, I think I’ve got just the thing.
[HEAVEN. Aziraphale guides Joshua along, holding his arm and supporting him. Joshua is looking increasingly lost and unsure, especially as they approach the archangels and seraphim.]
Joshua: So you’re all angels?
Aziraphale: Yes. And we’re going to help you.
Joshua: Then could I please see the angel with the red hair?
[Aziraphale stumbles; Joshua steadies him.]
Aziraphale: The, ah, the, ah, the, ah, the what?
Joshua: He must have been an angel. He was so kind. He showed me all the kingdoms of the Earth! We had such a jolly holiday. Could he please be the one to explain things to me?
Aziraphale: [clearly shaken] I’m terribly sorry, I’m afraid he’s…unavailable. As well.
Joshua: [sighs] Oh.
Michael: My Lord! [She kneels, and the rest follow suit; Joshua looks uncomfortable.] We have long awaited your triumphant return.
Uriel: We are ready to follow you to Earth, Lord.
Joshua: [brightens] For a holiday?
Sandalphon: [flatly] To eradicate the heretics and establish the eternal dominion of Heaven.
Joshua: [sighs] Oh.
Aziraphale: [to the angels] I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a, shall we say, a hiccup in the process. …You haven’t had the hiccups. Never mind. Joshua finds himself in need of a little refresher. I thought perhaps a quick glance through the Book of Life would do.
[There is a reverent sigh throughout the gathered angels.]
Uriel: We aren’t allowed to touch the Book.
Aziraphale: Joshua, however, is both fully Man and fully God. The Book belongs to him.
Michael: [avidly] Yes! Please, Lord, look upon the Book. I, for one, would be thrilled to learn its wisdom.
[Aziraphale eyes her uneasily, but her enthusiasm wins the day and the entire group follows her.]
[HEAVEN. The view from the end of a long room. We see Michael open the only door and enter, speaking over her shoulder as she does so.]
Michael: Of course, only archangels can access this room at all, not that we ever do, since touching the Book is strictly forbidden. So it’s just been sitting here, unavailable to us, when we could all benefit tremendously from a little clarity! Especially in regards to…certain events and plans.
[She is frowning at Aziraphale as she says this. Aziraphale frowns right back, but his retort is cut off when Saraqael cries out.]
Saraqael: The Book!
[Camera pans down to show a plinth…empty. The angels rush forward in general uproar; Joshua lingers in the doorway.]
Aziraphale: It…isn’t here.
Uriel: That isn’t possible.
[Aziraphale, comically, bends to look beneath the transparent plinth. There is literally nowhere in the otherwise empty room for the Book to be.]
Aziraphale: It isn’t here!
Michael: Well, where has it gone??
Sandalphon: No one can touch the Book. No one ever has done!
Michael: Well, clearly someone has done! This is a total disaster! The Book goes missing now, of all times? This can only be…foul play.
[General gasping and horror.]
Aziraphale: [shaken but trying to assert control] Now, everyone, settle down. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Joshua, er, Lord, is there any other place the Book might be kept? A cupboard, or… Joshua?
[As everyone looks, the camera pans up to show the empty doorway.]
[HEAVEN. Joshua, alone, is looking thoughtfully at the lift doors, and then presses the button. The doors open. He steps inside, contemplates the options for a moment, and then presses the Earth button. The doors close.]
[HEAVEN. The archangels and seraphim are shouting at each other, nearly panicked. Aziraphale waves his arms for attention.]
Aziraphale: Enough! Enough of this. I am Supreme Archangel of all Heaven, and I have a plan!
[The others go quiet and look at him expectantly. The archangels appear skeptical.]
Aziraphale: What this situation calls for is a little delegating. Your assignments are as follows. The search for the Book of Life shall be headed by… [He looks warily at the archangels, and then smiles.] …Aurial.
Uriel: The scrivener??
Aziraphale: Aurial is my assistant, and she is very capable. You’ll track down that pesky Book, Aurial, won’t you?
Aurial: [gives a crisp salute] I shall, Supreme Archangel, sir!
Aziraphale: See, there you have it.
Sandalphon: [glaring] And the messiah?
Aurial: [tapping on her tablet] The lift appears to have gone to Earth, sir.
Aziraphale: [conflicted, a thousand microexpressions between joy and dread flickering over his face] I see. …Then, as I have by far the most experience in navigating Earth, I shall see to the collection of the messiah personally.
Michael: Are you sure that’s wise?
Aziraphale: It’s my decision, and I’ve made it. You are all to assist Aurial in her search to the very best of your abilities. I’ll be back as soon as I can.
Sandalphon: And then it’s on to the End Times!
Everyone but Aziraphale: [fists raised] Destruction and dominion!
Aziraphale: [muttering] Peace on Earth and goodwill to all of humanity.
Michael: What’s that?
Aziraphale: [already heading for the door] Nothing! Carry on!
[WHICKBER STREET. Aziraphale materializes in a gentle pulse of light, now wearing his own worn and comfortable clothes; he adjusts his tartan bow tie with satisfaction, but his face falls as he looks around. The once cheerful, bustling street is subdued, and there are rats in the gutters and rubbish blowing down the pavement. Aziraphale gives a tentative wave to Mrs Sandwich, who glares at him and slams her door. Disturbed, Aziraphale approaches the bookshop…but he hasn’t even touched the knob when the door flies open, revealing an astonished and delighted Muriel.]
Muriel: Oh, sir!
[They hug him fiercely. Startled, Aziraphale blinks for a moment…and then hugs them back, his face creasing with emotion.]
Aziraphale: My dear Muriel. How lovely to see you. And the bookshop looks wonderful! When I saw the street, I was afraid it…
Muriel: [steps back, beaming] I’ve been doing my best, sir! Mister Crowley told me to keep it tidy, to keep the rats out, to dust every day, to—
Aziraphale: Crowley had you do this? [More complicated emotions flash across his face.] Is he here?
Muriel: [suddenly solemn] No. Er, yes. Sort of. I can take you to him!
Aziraphale: Please.
[THE ALLEY. We see Muriel and Aziraphale at a distance; Muriel points. Aziraphale takes a few tentative steps, pauses in shock, and then DASHES forward. The camera pans to follow him as he reaches Crowley and falls to his knees beside him.]
Aziraphale: Crowley! Oh no! Are…are you all right? What on earth are you doing out—
[Crowley, feeling a careful touch on his shoulder, jerks away, scrambling out from the blanket and sleeping bag to press himself against the grimy bricks of the wall. Aziraphale rises slowly to his feet and they stare at each other, in a deliberate parallel of General Aziraphale standing over his prisoner.]
Aziraphale: [softly] Are you growing a beard?
Crowley: [straightens his lenses, belligerent] Maybe.
[Another beat of tense silence.]
Aziraphale: I was hoping to—
Crowley: Go away.
[Crowley sits and curls up against the wall, side-on to Aziraphale, his arms folded on his knees.]
Aziraphale: Can’t I speak to you?
Crowley: Nothing to say.
Aziraphale: [very quietly] If every book in the bookshop were blank, and I filled them all by hand with one continuous message, it still would not encompass all that there is to say.
[Crowley’s shoulders hunch. He does not look around.]
Aziraphale: [sighs, twiddling his fingers] …Joshua woke up. He, er, he asked about you. [There is no response from Crowley.] And then he…left. Disappeared. Apparently he’s come to Earth. I’ve come to find him.
Crowley: Fine. Go and do that, and leave me alone.
Aziraphale: I could have sent anyone to fetch Joshua. I came down myself.
Crowley: So what?
Aziraphale: So I could be off looking for him. I ought to be. But I came straight here instead.
Crowley: [low, flat] It’s been almost three years, Supreme Archangel. Know where I’ve been? Right here. [He twitches an elbow toward the sleeping bag.] So if the only reason you’ve showed up, after all this time, is to ask for my help in finding your lost messiah, you can—
Aziraphale: I’m not asking for your help. I wish for your help, with all of my heart—it’s been so awful, Crowley, I’ve been so… [He heaves a shaky sigh.] But I would never ask that of you. I would apologize, if I could, but…I don’t want to lie to you. I’ve never lied to you, actually, not even once. But. I still think I… Oh, I was only trying to do the right thing! By everyone! By the world, yes, but also by you, can’t you see that I—
Crowley: [unmoved] What do you want?
Aziraphale: [deflates, teary and defeated] …I had hoped to borrow the Bentley, to go and look for Joshua. Where have you left her? Couldn’t you at least be sleeping there?
Crowley: [snorts] Can’t.
Aziraphale: Can’t?
Crowley: Gone.
Aziraphale: [alarmed] Gone?? Where is she? What’s happened?
Crowley: Let her go. Nosy bugger.
[Aziraphale’s mouth hangs open for a moment. Then his indignance overcomes his contrition and he takes a step, hands on his hips.]
Aziraphale: [sternly] Anthony J Crowley, are you telling me that you sent her away??
Crowley: [finally looks at him, scowling] I had to!
Aziraphale: Well, where has she gone?
Crowley: [shrugs] Belting The Proclaimers when she went, so maybe…Scotland.
Aziraphale: Scotland?
Crowley: Maybe. How would I know?
Aziraphale: [huffily] Well, I’m going to fetch her.
Crowley: Like hell you are! [He lurches to his feet, unbalanced and ungainly, like he hasn’t stood in some time.] That is my car.
Aziraphale: And she is my friend, and she is precious to me. And when something precious is lost…or broken…then it deserves finding. Or…mending.
[They stare at each other. Crowley’s chest heaves as he breathes through bared teeth. Aziraphale’s eyes slowly leave Crowley’s face to wander over the rest of him, and his irritation visibly melts into something trembling and tender.]
Aziraphale: [choked whisper] Oh Crowley, I’ve missed you.
Crowley: You did the leaving.
Aziraphale: And if you think for even a moment that I haven’t regretted it bitterly…then you never truly knew me at all. I cut out my own heart and left it behind, for the sake of everyone.
Muriel: But how can you be a good leader without a heart?
[Quick zoom out to show that Muriel is still standing at the head of the alley; Aziraphale and Crowley are both startled. Then Aziraphale smiles sadly.]
Aziraphale: That is precisely what I’ve been asking myself for years, Muriel. [He turns to Crowley.] I’m going to find the Bentley. I’ll bring her back when I’m done, I promise.
Crowley: You are not going to drive my car.
Aziraphale: And how am I meant to get anywhere? Just ask her politely? …Oh, actually, that would—
Crowley: I’m driving.
[He stalks toward the street, stumbling a little. Aziraphale follows, surprised and delighted.]
Aziraphale: Really??
Crowley: Shut up, before I change my mind. You. [He points at Muriel.] Bookshop. Same stuff.
Muriel: Yes, Mister Crowley! Good luck, sirs!
[They hurry off. Aziraphale inches up beside Crowley.]
Aziraphale: …You had them look after the bookshop?
Crowley: [looks away, hands in his pockets] I lost you. Couldn’t lose that place, too.
[Aziraphale puts a hand to his mouth, shrugging against tears.]
Aziraphale: Oh Crowley…I…
Crowley: Shut up.
[Aziraphale shuts up. But as he sniffles and wipes his cheeks, Crowley gives him a careful sidelong look. His mouth twists with pain.]
Aziraphale: …Are you ready?
[Crowley mumbles something, kicking at the pavement.]
Aziraphale: Pardon?
Crowley: Miracles aren’t working, all right?
Aziraphale: Oh dear! Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that! Do you suppose it—
Crowley: [sharply] Just leave it.
Aziraphale: As you wish. I suppose…if you’d still like to come along…
[Crowley sighs, snarls, and twitches out a hand to rest it gingerly on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale closes his eyes as though to savor that contact. They blip away in a flash of light.]
[HEAVEN. Aurial sits at a desk across from Sandalphon, with an expression of fierce concentration as she listens to him speak.]
Sandalphon: —and then I was with all the rest of them, for the awakening.
[Aurial taps on her tablet; we see the end of an audio recording, and then a dossier page for Sandalphon with a tab that she taps to set it to CLEARED.]
Aurial: Thank you for your time, Archangel.
[Sandalphon huffs and leaves. Aurial frowns; on her tablet screen, we see a list of CLEARED archangels. Aurial tucks the tablet beneath her arm and walks, deep in thought as she peeks beneath a row of desks (all empty, nowhere to hide anything at all) and opens the door to a stairwell; she wanders up a floor or two, hardly paying attention to where she’s going…and then stops. Her golden eyes go wide. Voices are audible in the stairwell above her. Looking up, she can see shadows on the wall.]
Michael: Sir, I…I don’t understand.
Metatron: That isn’t necessary. True understanding is given to few, Michael. You know what this is, do you not?
[Michael gasps, and then there is a pause. Aurial shrinks against the wall of the stairwell…but she also taps on her tablet, and an audio recording begins.]
Michael: Even you have never been given—
Metatron: I am the Voice of God. Authority is mine to carry out Her will. …Do you know what this is, Archangel Michael?
[Slow zoom on Aurial’s face, astonished but determined; she cranes her neck, but the shadows only show the Metatron holding up an unclear object.]
Michael: [clearly terrified] No… Oh sir, please don’t…
[Aurial watches the shadows as the Metatron retracts his hand.]
Metatron: [low, menacing] Then you will do as I say. Yes?
Michael: Anything, sir. Anything.
[Aurial ends the recording. Silent and pale, she flees on tiptoe.]
[Closing credits]