Chapter Text
They didn't usually hold hands; it was simply something they didn't do. But in that instant, where the horror of the end of times manifested imminently for Aziraphale, nothing felt as warm as Crowley’s hand. His demon, whom he considered beautiful and brave, had always possessed a great capacity for improvisation, but seeing him thrust his hands directly into the pristine fire to save the only place where the angel had ever felt a sense of belonging was an event... ineffable.
Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand the moment he told him, and he did not doubt that he would keep him safe because he knew what was coming, and that no matter what happened, the redhead was not going to abandon him.
He closed his eyes and sobbed, unable to help it. He experienced with total precision the exact moment he lost his connection to the spiritual plane of the ether and the ability to perform miracles; that physical and energetic transition was the closest thing in existence to the original fall. It would have been gentler if his wings had been torn off.
He didn't need to have his eyes open to know it for certain.
The book of life eliminated Heaven and also erased Hell from existence.
He thought of Muriel, of how much she represented everything he desired from heaven: hope, goodness, kindness. Of Saraquel and her eternal capacity to support others in times of darkness. He thought of Uriel and Sandalphon, that their loyalty to heaven was an invaluable virtue, one that he himself lacked. He thought of the hundreds of millions of angels and demons simply vanishing, of all the souls resting in paradise or tormented in hell, of all the lives lost on Earth.
He even thought of Michael, and how she had dragged him into this. To end everything, even heaven. It was not a war to be fought, it was the end of times, of everything.
And he could do nothing to prevent it.
He only let himself be saved once more by Crowley, the first of all those he had failed.
With a gasp, he landed in the last place in the world, and the entirety of reality was reduced to a surface of a few square meters. What before this event was known as the bookshop "A.Z. Fell & Co." became, from that second onward, the nucleus and center of everything.
It was all that existed and the only thing left standing in creation.
Aziraphale felt a physical impact and a dull pain in his knee joints as he fell directly onto the wooden floor. He welcomed that sensation of pain with joy upon opening his eyes, as the physical stimulus meant he was still alive. Crowley was also on the floor, in the exact same room and right beside him, his eyes wide with horror, so he could feel how he too had disconnected from hell.
Aziraphale moved closer to Crowley. The demon remained completely motionless, the sclerae of his eyes entirely yellow and his glasses thrown to the side, manifesting a physical state identical to catatonia. The angel narrowed the distance between them with slow, careful movements.
"C-Crowley...?" Aziraphale was unable to emit a firm sound; his voice sounded like a thin thread.
No. They didn't have the habit of touching, but in that space devoid of time, the actions of the past lost their relevance. Aziraphale reached out his hands and gently rocked Crowley’s body. The demon reacted immediately, flinching away as if Aziraphale burned, backing away across the floor with an expression of horror.
"I-I'm sorry, dear... I didn't mean to startle you."
"Aziraphale?" Crowley asked, with a mixture of pain and disbelief. "Are you still here?"
"I'm here... I'm still here, we are still here..."
Crowley stood up slowly, as if testing his legs, though he manifested a temporary loss of balance and a feeling of dizziness. Aziraphale imitated the action of getting up and used his hands to brush off the dust accumulated on the fabric of his trousers at the level of his knees. It was mostly ash, and that horrified him even more.
The bookshop showed no visible structural damage at first glance. Aziraphale walked toward the windows as he felt a knot in his chest. The outside had an appearance similar to night, but the reality was that outside the walls there existed only a total and permanent darkness that occupied the entire exterior, like a black canvas.
There was no pavement, no pedestrians, no shops, no flower shops, or coffee shops. Mrs. Sandwich was not seen giving orders to her girls from her porch, and in front of the bookstore, what used to be Nina's coffee shop was now simply nothing. None of those elements existed. Nor was the figure of the Messiah observed walking with a look of astonishment down the street as he did the last time he saw him.
He should have done more for him, he should have guided him, protected him, directed him. Just another one on the immeasurable list of lives that because of him had disappeared.
The Bentley wasn't parked in its usual position next to the glass display window either. That specific fact caused a tear to fall down the angel's cheek.
Aziraphale felt the muscles of his throat constrict even more, as if he could collapse at that precise moment. He walked toward the main entrance and changed the sign on the door to "Open," experiencing for the first time the real desire for a buyer to enter his bookshop to buy any of his books.
He would sell them all if in exchange there were at least one person he could have saved.
"Open?" Crowley’s voice seemed to echo among the bookshelves. He had his glasses on.
The angel tried to crack a smile, but failed. "In case someone wants to buy a book," it sounded like irony, but it was the desire in the angel's heart.
Crowley sighed, his neck tense. He looked around and said almost in a whisper, "As far as I know, all that's left of creation is us and this bookstore..." He walked around haughtily as if he hadn't just masterfully saved the angel's ass. "I don't think many customers will come."
There was no certainty either that they wouldn't disappear at any moment. So Aziraphale decided he was not going to waste any more time and stepped a few paces closer to Crowley, hoping to at least do one thing right, now that everything could succumb in an instant.
"Crowley..." The demon turned toward him with an inquiringly raised eyebrow. "Crowley. Before anything else happens... there is something left to fix."
"What...?"
"I need you to forgive me..." Aziraphale asked, just like that.
Crowley made a face of distaste, as if there were no longer time for such concessions, when time was probably all they had now. "Please, angel..."
"I need you to say it..." Aziraphale pleaded. "I don't want to disappear or, for that matter, have you do it, knowing that you hate me..."
"I could never..." the demon interrupted.
"Please, Crowley..." but he only made a face and looked away. And Aziraphale tried to dance an apology for him, but again, he was interrupted.
"No, don't do the dance."
"So it's like that... we are already too far gone to fix this with a dance, aren't we?"
The silence that followed his own words felt dense. Aziraphale looked at his own shoes and then fixed his eyes on the wooden floor.
He decided he was not going to run; there was no longer any point in trying to find a way out, because he had nowhere to go anyway, except to get lost in the immense outside darkness that lurked behind the glass. But if he had one absolute certainty in that instant, aside from knowing he had screwed up enormously, it was that he did not want to be away from Crowley ever again. The end of the universe was a terrifying weight, but the prospect of spending it in the same room as the demon gave him back a firm ground to stand on.
He gathered his courage, straightened his back, and walked toward his adversary.
"Well, if you don't want a dance, you'll have to listen to me."
"I don't want to talk about this," the demon growled, turning away completely.
"Well, we have nothing better to do, nor anywhere else to go," the angel countered, taking another determined step toward him. "You can stand there or lie on the floor if you prefer, I don't care, but you are going to listen to me."
"Azira—"
"I'm sorry, Crowley, I really am sorry..." he interrupted him, and upon pronouncing his name, inevitably beginning to cry. Tears blurred his vision, but he did not avert his eyes from the demon's back. "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness... Because I didn't just abandon you when we could finally be... 'us'. I did it because I was proud and truly believed I had the capacity to do something good for heaven, for humanity, and even, maybe, for hell... But no. I am just a stupid angel, incapable of doing anything right if you are not by my side..."
Upon hearing the insult, Crowley’s shoulders tensed noticeably. He turned his head in profile, halfway between indignation and pain.
"You're not stupid..."
"Please, dear, let me finish... I beg of you," Aziraphale asked with a broken voice. "I... would have gone with you anywhere in the world. To Alpha Centauri even, if you had asked me at any other moment of our existence. But truly, with all my heart, I only wanted you and the humans to be safe from the plans up there..." His smile faltered and he looked at the ceiling, searching for an answer that would never come. "But I was wrong. I am not capable of doing much on my own, I am naive and I need you so much, Crowley... but I was too stubborn to realize it in time."
Crowley lowered his arms slowly, disarmed by the angel's honesty, and turned halfway. "Aziraphale..."
"I'm sorry for ruining everything," the angel continued. "I had the authority to stop Michael or whoever it was, I could have hidden the Book of Life, sent it away with Muriel, I could have replaced it with any other volume from the shop... and I didn't. I was a complete idiot for trusting that I could fix such a broken system, and because of that, everyone must now pay an immense price. I failed, I am a..."
Anger and desperation painted the demon's face. Crowley could bear it no longer and swiftly closed the distance between them, gripping him tightly by the lapels of his jacket, in exactly the same way, with the same desperation and urgency with which he had kissed him for the first and last time in that very place.
"Shut up. If you call yourself that again, or anything like it, I swear to you, angel, I am capable of..."
Then, Aziraphale, with a gentleness that contrasted with the strength of the grip, took Crowley’s hands in his own. He felt relieved to note that they were still warm, a living reminder that they were still there. He caressed them softly, rubbing his thumbs against the demon's knuckles, and lowered them slowly, detaching them from his clothes before Crowley’s completely surprised gaze.
The angel smiled at him tenderly, even though his eyes shed bitter tears that soaked his cheeks.
"And I am so sorry for not realizing sooner that you are my best friend, and I am even more sorry for not telling you when we still had a world," he confessed with an open heart. "I am so very sorry for leaving you alone on that street, allowing you to suffer in silence... And, above all, I am sorry for leaving you on Earth making you believe that something in you had to change, that you had to return to heaven to be worthy. Because it isn't like that, it never was. You are perfect, Crowley... just as you are."
Crowley smiled timidly. So Aziraphale had faith.
"Forgive me, please, Crowley."
A shaky sigh escaped his lips, unable to maintain his mask of indifference. With a somewhat clumsy hand, he removed his dark glasses, revealing those yellow eyes that now shone with moisture. He wiped his eyes quickly with the back of his hand, swallowing the knot in his throat.
"I'm sorry for kissing you like that," Crowley let out. "It wasn't fair to you, it wasn't the way... I'm sorry for not having more patience, I'm sorry for not being by your side when you went to Heaven... I think things would have been better if we weren't a pair of bloody idiots. Because we have saved the world together, angel. We always did it together... and now look at you, look at me... I'm a mess. I simply don't know how to be myself if you're not there, Aziraphale."
Crowley took the definitive step and grabbed Aziraphale’s hands, squeezing them tightly.
"I forgive you."
Upon hearing those three words, a wave of genuine relief washed through the angel's body. Aziraphale smiled, a smile unable to stop the last tears from rolling down his face. Moved, he lifted Crowley’s joined hands and, closing his eyes, kissed his knuckles affectionately.
"Thank you... You don't know what that means to me..."
Both laughed nervously and Crowley put his glasses back on. "We really are a fiasco at communicating..."
Crowley let out a short laugh, a clean laugh that broke the tension, drawing a beautiful smile on his face. In that instant, contemplating his relaxed and happy features, Aziraphale remembered exactly what the sun looked like on summer days on Earth.
"Yes..." the angel admitted, without suppressing the smile from his lips. "We definitely are..."
Only then did Aziraphale realize the scope of what he had done. Holding hands was one thing, but kissing the skin of his fingers... that was something incredibly intimate.
He pulled away immediately, a prominent blush staining his cheeks, and looked around in an attempt to cover it up. As he looked up, he was met once again with the complete and devastating silence, with the immense and terrifying void that awaited outside.
Nothingness.
But at least he was with Crowley. Although he felt deep down that everything could disappear at any moment, he had him. For some reason, perhaps due to the overwhelming prospect of loneliness or a desperate attempt to forget everything that had been lost, at that exact instant, that seemed to be enough.
"It's just you and me... in the middle of everything," Aziraphale said, stepping closer with a small, shy shimmy of his body, thinking that perhaps this new perspective wouldn't be so horrible for Crowley. "In our place..."
Yes, the bookstore had always been Crowley’s home as much as his own; he would have loved to make that clear with words in the past, back when it was still worth it and the world existed.
Crowley, on the other hand, looked desolated once more.
"We have nothing..." he murmured.
"We have each other," Aziraphale hurried to say, wanting to counter that somber tone. "And perhaps we have chocolate..." He tried to offer a genuine smile as he turned halfway to head toward the back room; if this reduced existence could be enough for both of them, he would give his entire eternity to prove it to the demon. "And we have plenty of books."
Crowley scoffed, unconvinced. He reached out his arm, grabbed the first volume he found on a nearby table, and upon opening it, noticed with frustration that all its pages were completely blank. With a sharp gesture, he tossed it to Aziraphale.
"Good luck reading them..."
Aziraphale caught the volume in midair, bewildered. "But... what...?"
Shit, the tears were returning to his eyes. He rushed desperately toward his favorite shelf and pulled out his beloved book with trembling hands.
"Even the Dickens..." he whispered, feeling a massive emptiness upon seeing the smooth paper. "But if everything ends in this, perhaps some book must have the answers to everything that has happened..."
"Do you realize how absurd you sound? There are a hundred thousand blank books and you think one has the answers... Doesn't sound very likely, does it?"
Aziraphale looked at him with a furrowed brow, hurt by the skepticism, but then the crisp sound of footsteps coming from the main entrance distracted him completely.
It was an impossibility.
Crowley went on guard immediately, tensing his whole body. Both walked cautiously toward the source of the noise. Upon reaching the main room, they saw an unknown man sitting quite calmly in one of the angel's beloved armchairs, casually flipping through and inspecting one of the blank books.
"I'm sorry... Can I help you?" Aziraphale ventured to say, trying to maintain his courtesy. "I'm afraid all the books are blank. Even the Dickens."
Then Crowley planted himself very close to Aziraphale, stepping into a completely defensive stance to protect him. The demon fixed his eyes on the man and practically growled the words: "I know you."
"That you do, yes," the man replied without looking up from the paper.
Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, analyzing the newcomer's features. Yes, he seemed strangely familiar to him too. "Yes, you do look familiar to me..."
The man closed the book unhurriedly, smiled sideways, and looked at them both. "The last time you saw me, I was a thousand feet tall. I was red, had a fabulous set of teeth and a lot of horns... and I was arguing with my son."
The pieces clicked together in the angel's mind, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Satan. You are Satan." The man—Satan—smiled.
"That's just my job title, 'The Adversary'; but yes, I was Satan for a long time..." Then a shiver ran through Aziraphale as the fellow flashed a toothy grin at his demon. "Hello, Crowley..."
"Why do you still exist?" he growled, taking off his glasses, visibly angered.
"Is that how you greet an old friend?" Satan asked with irony.
"We were never friends..." Crowley said, flanking Aziraphale protectively. "I want answers, and I want them now."
Satan laughed. "I don't give answers, and God gives them even less."
Aziraphale tried to lighten the atmosphere, but it seemed impossible. "So! You're the devil... I don't suppose it was much fun for you..."
"Fun? It was a matter of pride and honor..." he said in a superior tone. "It's about proving that humans aren't above us, and challenging God."
"But you were never able to, were you?" Crowley interjected mockingly.
"Excuse me? What about the rebellion, the war in heaven?"
"It was a slaughter," Crowley interjected. "You knew perfectly well we didn't stand a chance..."
"I didn't know. Just like you, I also thought we could win, which is why you joined me."
"I DID IT BECAUSE I NEEDED TO KNOW THAT EVERYTHING I DID WASN'T IN VAIN!" Crowley shouted. "I was tired, angry... And my work... mattered so much to me... but you? You were only doing what She commanded you to do..."
Satan's expression turned somber. "Are you implying I am merely a pawn in Her game?"
Crowley placed a hand on Aziraphale’s back protectively and pulled him closer. "Could you fetch me a quill?"
Aziraphale quickly brought over his box of favorite writing quills. "What kind of quill?"
"Pass me a book..."
"Which one?" Aziraphale asked.
"Any of them, they're all blank." Then he smirked at the angel. "Whichever one you choose will be fine."
Aziraphale handed him a copy of Bleak House. Then he watched as Crowley wrote in the book in a language that had been lost millennia before the world came to an end. It was a language drawn from the threads of the ether, known only to angels or demons. And what he wrote stood above all of it.
"That isn't the Book of Life," Aziraphale gasped.
"It will be if we want it to be," Crowley replied confidently. "I want answers."
"I don't know if you can do that..."
Satan stood up with a growl, but Aziraphale and Crowley took a step back.
"Of course we can," Crowley told him with a massive grin, and he held out the half-written book to Aziraphale. "Would you do the honors?"
The angel hesitated, but it was only for a second. He smiled knowingly at Crowley—the same smile from when he agreed to help him raise the Antichrist, and the same one from when the demon helped him hide the former Supreme Archangel.
"Give me that quill."
Crowley passed him the pen so the angel could write in the new Book of Life. Aziraphale sat at his desk, and the redhead positioned himself behind his back without taking his eyes off Satan, guarding his rear, just as they had always done throughout the millennia.
Then the angel began to write, repeating his own words aloud:
"There were four in the bookshop that was the entire world. An angel, a retired demon, the devil himself, and someone else, who had always been there, for She was omnipresent."
Aziraphale felt reality shifting shape, heard Crowley gasp behind his back, and gently touched his shoulder. When the angel turned toward the display window, he saw that the absolute darkness seemed to have dissipated from the windows. Across from them, sitting in total tranquility, God Herself, in the flesh, was watching them.
"You're right, Aziraphale... I was always here," the first of all voices uttered, resonating with a clarity that filled every corner of the bookshop.
"But that doesn't mean She would speak to us, Lord..." Aziraphale interjected, with a hint of bitterness in his tone.
The Almighty ignored him completely and directed Her gaze toward the demon, who swallowed hard.
"Well then, Crowley, what is your question?"
"I thought you didn't answer questions," Crowley countered, narrowing his eyes with suspicion.
God settled into Her seat and crossed Her arms over Her chest.
"Time is up... and I am only going to answer one for you."
"Oh... it's a very good question..." Crowley said.
Then Aziraphale stepped a bit closer to him and, gently, caressed his hand to give him courage. "Tell Her..." the angel whispered with a smile of absolute confidence.
Crowley looked at the mother of everything and squared his shoulders, standing firmly. He spoke with a voice that did not tremble.
"Why is the end of everything meant to punish humans for being the way they are, if that is exactly how they were created by you?"
Aziraphale looked at his demon, deeply confused.
In the midst of the ensuing silence, he could not comprehend why Crowley had formulated a question like that, so focused on the fate of humanity. In his memories, the angel had always believed that if Crowley ever had the invaluable opportunity to question the Almighty, he would use that question for himself. To know what had crossed the divine mind when dictating his fall, or if there was any justice in turning the stars into simple objects with a set expiration time, sentenced from before their birth.
But no. Crowley had asked about the humans.
Aziraphale warred within himself, not knowing if the demon did it out of a genuine affection for them, or if he had actually caught the appreciation he himself held for them. However, looking at the panoramic picture in retrospect, the truth broke through: the demon Crowley had never been good at his job. It was evident that while he loved the stars, it hadn't taken him long to love the humans too.
Because the capacity to love was, ironically, one of Crowley's strongest characteristics.
Searching for an answer that would bring order to so much chaos, Aziraphale took a step forward and looked Crowley directly in the eyes.
"That is because of free will, dear."
Hearing him, Crowley furrowed his brow.
"No, impossible. That's a load of rubbish you lot invented to blame me and justify my punishment." The demon took a step forward, raising his voice with an indignation that came from the beginning of time. "Free will is a lie. It has nothing to do with evil, or Satan; humans can create beauty and horror simply by thinking it, yet everyone will have this same ending regardless of what they do."
"Then what was all of this for?" Aziraphale said. "Why end like this, why are you here? If the book of life burned in the fire of creation... we should have disappeared with it..."
"That is because She decides which cards will come out and which will remain in the deck," Satan explained. "It has always been that way."
God arched an eyebrow with a smile. "You never complained... that's why you're my favorite, Luci."
"And what about us?" Crowley said, walking over to a pillar and leaning against it with bitterness. "Are we just two more pieces on the board for your amusement? Our entire history, our existence, was just... a game to you..."
God didn't even blink; She only nodded slightly. The demon simply laughed with sarcasm and continued.
"It's like a very bad card game where you're always going to lose. You can't find the queen because the dealer is the one who decides where it's going to be."
Finishing the sentence, Crowley turned his face and fixed his accusing gaze directly on the Almighty. God ignored the question She had granted Crowley and turned toward the angel, fixing Her infinite gaze upon him.
"And you, Aziraphale, does a question trouble you?"
Oh.
Throughout the millennia, people didn't usually worry about what Aziraphale thought or felt. For God Herself to pause and question him at this instant felt... fair. The angel smiled; it was an inevitable impulse given the magnitude of the moment. The mere presence of the Great Mother filled him with a certain rejoicing, and knowing that Crowley was there, firm by his side at the end of the world, gave him a profound peace.
"I would have done things differently..." Aziraphale admitted in a whisper, looking down at his intertwined hands with shyness. "I only wanted to do the right thing..."
Satan scoffed from the armchair, breaking the silence with a dry laugh loaded with malice.
"I can see into your heart, little cherub..." Satan said, narrowing his eyes as he leaned forward. "You only wanted to read without disturbance, enjoy music and delicious human food..." The devil paused and shifted his gaze toward Crowley, showing his teeth in a sharp smile. "You desired to be with someone."
Aziraphale blushed, feeling the heat rise up his cheeks, but he did not shrink back. On the contrary, he squared his shoulders with courage and lifted his face with pride.
"That doesn't mean it isn't the right thing," he countered firmly.
"Aziraphale... you were the first angel to lie to me," God said inquisitively, and the tone of Her voice seemed to make the very foundations of the bookshop vibrate. "You were lazy, gluttonous, hedonistic, and proud... completely imperfect. If you had fallen, you would have ruled Hell. You were the worst of them all..."
Each divine word fell like a crushing weight, disarming the angel and striking directly at his deep guilt, making him step back in shame.
"Enough."
Crowley pushed away from the pillar he was leaning against and took several determined steps forward, physically interposing himself between the Almighty and Aziraphale. He removed his glasses with a swift motion, revealing his eyes that flashed with ferocity.
"Aziraphale is much more than that," Crowley declared, facing creation itself without a shred of fear, his jaw tense with indignation. "And that is exactly what makes him the best of your angels."
"What?" Satan let out, surprised by the audacity of his former subordinate.
"He was the bravest, smartest, and most capable of your entire bloody court," Crowley continued. He took another step, protecting the angel's space and gesturing toward God. "He didn't just limit himself to following your explicit orders like an automaton. He thought, he doubted, he felt and he questioned... and he chose to protect the world while you enjoyed the show. Aziraphale is perfect exactly as he is, and I won't allow anyone, not a demon, not an angel, not even you, to say otherwise."
Aziraphale looked at him from behind, and a moved smile broke across his face as tears welled up in his eyes once more. He felt safe, truly safe, under his demon's anger.
"Thank you, dear..." the angel whispered with an overflowing heart, seeking Crowley’s eyes with tenderness. "But you are wrong. I was the second-best angel."
"Who would be the first?" Satan asked with irony.
"Him," Aziraphale said without hesitating for a second, extending his hand to point directly at Crowley. The demon only opened his eyes wide as he stepped back. "Crowley... you were an artist. You cared so much about every single star, about what your hands were capable of forging at the dawn of time... You, my dear, were the first thing capable of loving in existence. And if that didn't make you the best among all of us..."
The angel paused, took a deep breath, and stared fixedly at the Creator, completely losing the fear that had enchained him for six thousand years.
"...well, Lord, let me tell you that your Heaven, your hierarchy, and whatever it was you lot built up there, was the most absurd thing."
God simply smiled, but that only made Aziraphale feel more adrift.
"My question is, why did you give me Crowley, made me feel complete by his side...?" then Aziraphale stepped closer to Crowley and took his hand. "...and then snatched him away from me...?"
The Almighty stood up, smoothing Her neat, white suit, took a step forward, and everyone except Aziraphale stepped back. She simply smiled, as empty as She had done until now.
"Because you were able to find what many have searched for their whole lives without ever coming across; you treasured it and appreciated it..." She said with gravity. Then She sketched a smile. "Your love for him was the most predictable, clumsy, and disastrous thing, but it always made me smile."
Aziraphale didn't quite understand whether that was a joke or a compliment. But if he was sure of anything, it was that he was never going to regret what he felt. He walked with a firm step toward Crowley and stood by his side without lowering his gaze.
But then, God's face hardened completely and She raised a single finger, causing the outside darkness to gradually return outside the windows and the floor to shudder. Aziraphale looked at Crowley with horror; for a brief moment, he had managed to forget that their existence hung by a thread.
"However, that no longer matters. That time and that world no longer exist, and neither should you."
"Wait!" Crowley shouted, throwing his arms up suddenly and physically stepping in front of Aziraphale to protect him with his own body. "You didn't answer my bloody question."
"That does not matter," the Almighty replied coldly. "The end has come. There is no longer space or time, and nothing remains after the last page of the book."
"But Lord," Aziraphale interjected, taking a step forward and grabbing Crowley’s hand, "It's not... it's not fair!"
"It is my decision. It is over."
"No," Crowley spat, and his yellow eyes flashed with defiance. "You don't deserve to make this decision."
"I created the world."
"You only sighed," the angel snapped at Her. "It was the angels, all of them, who created the heavens and designed the lifeforms. It is not your world, nor your decision."
Satan let out a clean laugh from his spot. "So the decision is yours?"
"Well, fine by me," the Almighty replied, to the absolute surprise of everyone present. She stared intently at the couple and continued, "I will leave this decision to you... Do you want everything to be as it was before?"
Aziraphale glanced sideways at Crowley, overwhelmed by the weight of real free will falling upon his shoulders.
"Can we discuss it?" Crowley asked.
"Of course," God said with a gentle nod. "I will give you some privacy."
And in an instant everything turned a pristine white, but instead of causing them fear, a comforting warmth enveloped them, almost like an embrace.
When Aziraphale opened his eyes, he blinked, bewildered. He was in his bookshop, intact and beautiful, alone with his beloved Crowley. And, strangely, both were sitting on the floor still holding hands, sheltered under the shadow and the roots of a beautiful apple tree that sprouted in the middle of the room.
Its leaves, of a green so vivid it bordered on the impossible, whispered a melody that both knew very well. He felt the firmness of Crowley’s grip, whose fingers remained intertwined with his own, as if fearing that the canvas of reality would erase itself again if they distanced themselves by a single millimeter.
"An apple tree," the angel whispered, his voice still fogged with tears. "It's... exactly like the one in the garden."
Crowley let out a short laugh tinged with a deep and indestructible tenderness. He turned to Aziraphale, forcing him to look at him. He was no longer wearing his dark glasses; his clean, golden, serpentine eyes reflected the angel's silhouette.
"It's not the tree that makes this feel like Eden, angel," Crowley confessed. "Eden was just a garden with good greenery. What made it beautiful... what has made this whole disastrous existence worth it, was that you were in it. From the very first day, standing on the wall, shielding me with your wing so I wouldn't get wet in the rain. From even before that..."
A blush ignited Aziraphale’s cheeks once more, but this time he did not try to pull away. With his free hand, the angel dared to caress Crowley’s cheek, tracing the line of his jaw.
"I needed you so much, Crowley," Aziraphale confessed, letting a stray tear roll down his face. "When I was up there, surrounded by that sterile whiteness... I felt completely empty. I thought I was doing the right thing, I thought if I had the power I could protect us... But there is no 'us' if you are not by my side to guide me when I am too obstinate to see the truth."
"My angel..."
"You made me complete, and spending every second away from you was a true punishment."
Crowley closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his head into the caress of the angel's hand.
"We're not far apart anymore, Aziraphale. Never again, no matter what," the demon promised. "We spent six thousand years dancing on the edge of the abyss, terrified of what Heaven or Hell could do to us if they discovered our arrangement. We regretted so many things left unsaid... But the Earth, its humans, are not to blame for our doubts."
Pulling away slowly, Aziraphale looked into his eyes, keeping his hands close to him.
"What is it that you want, Crowley?" the angel asked in a soft whisper.
Crowley furrowed his brow a little, a hint of his usual shyness trying to hide behind a grimace.
"Why do I have to say it?" the demon countered.
Aziraphale smiled with tenderness, caressing his shoulders. "Because I only desire one thing..." the angel said in a quiet voice, seeking his companion's golden gaze, "and it is right here."
Crowley swallowed hard, moved, feeling the weight of those words. It was then that Aziraphale smiled with a hint of mischief and slipped his hand into his jacket pocket. With a subtle sleight of hand, he extracted a folded piece of paper.
It was the page from the Book of Life. The page of his bookshop.
"With this, She cannot eliminate us," Aziraphale declared, displaying it proudly.
Crowley’s eyes opened wide, astonished by the angel's audacity, and a beautiful smile spread across his face.
"You are the smartest angel that has ever existed or will ever exist again..." Crowley said, looking at him with absolute admiration.
Crowley pulled back a little and stood up, then extended a hand to Aziraphale to help him do the same, and looked around, contemplating the thousands upon thousands of volumes that lined the bookshop, full of pages that remained blank, waiting to be written. The demon smiled with overflowing confidence, a spark of that being who had once forged entire galaxies.
"The world deserves another chance, angel. A real one, without Grand Plans that end in slaughters. We have quills, we have the best ink in London, and we have a hundred thousand books."
Then Aziraphale understood Crowley’s desire and, full of joy, threw himself into his adversary's arms.
"And I'm supposed to be the smartest angel that has ever existed?" he exclaimed, hugging him tightly. "So it shall be, darling."
A double resonance—a blend of a melodious, infinite laugh and a deep, ironic chuckle—flooded the space. The privacy of the back room subtly dissolved to show that God and Satan were still watching them, seated in comfortable armchairs. Both were laughing with delight.
"A truly bold idea," uttered the voice of the Almighty, whose white suit shone with a softer light.
"I should have assumed you would know," Aziraphale said.
"I know everything... and clearly, it strikes me as an incredibly fun decision..."
Satan scoffed, crossing his arms with a vexed grimace, like a child on the verge of throwing a terrible tantrum.
"I would love to not feel left out of the conversation."
"We are going to rewrite all of reality, from the very first instant, from the very first star, using every single volume in this bookshop," Crowley replied.
Aziraphale nodded, caught up in his companion's audacity. He took a step forward and stared fixedly at the devil himself.
"But on one condition," the angel said, his voice firm and resolute. "The only absolute desire we will embody in this new creation is that you lot..." now addressing God and Her adversary, "...never lay your claws on humanity again. Never again. Humans must be truly free, without temptations orchestrated by Hell, nor restrictive miracles imposed by Heaven."
"A world without interference," God clarified with a smile, standing up. Satan did the same. "However, you must understand the consequences of what you are asking. A world without Heaven and without Hell means that you two will have no way to return to Earth."
God took a step forward, observing the shelves, and continued.
"There will be no miracles in that new universe. There will be no threads connecting you to the mortal plane, except for the primordial power that resides in this bookshop, which from this moment onward will become the new center of all creation. If you choose to isolate humanity from the divine and the demonic, you too will remain isolated from the Earth forever."
"You will live here, in this eternal interlude. Until the world comes to an end on its own accord," Satan said.
"Are you willing to accept that exile?" God asked.
Aziraphale looked at Crowley. The demon did not hesitate for a single second; he simply extended his hand toward the angel. Aziraphale placed his own on top, squeezing it with a radiant smile.
"We accept," they said in unison.
Satan looked at the Almighty and then at the couple, letting out a resigned sigh. "And now what? We can't just vanish, can we?"
God sketched an entirely human smile.
"I think Europe is exquisite at this time of year..." the Great Mother said, smoothing the lapels of Her neat white suit, "and I would love to taste a real pizza."
Satan simply smiled.
Before the angel or the demon could add another word, a soft, silver glow enveloped the figures of God and Satan. In an instant, the two entities vanished into thin air like the petals of small flowers, leaving them completely alone in the middle of the bookshop.
The silence returned, but it was no longer a devastating silence. Crowley blinked, looking at the empty space, and slowly turned toward Aziraphale. A pair of warm tears appeared at the corners of his golden eyes, but his face was illuminated by the purest happiness.
"Alone at last," Crowley said in a thread of a voice, tears rolling freely down his cheeks.
Aziraphale did not wait. He closed the distance, took the demon's face between his hands, and kissed him. The tears of both mingled in the contact of their lips, sealing an indestructible pact.
They were right where they were meant to be.
.
.
.
.
.