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‘You poor thing, you… you must be so tired,’ said Aziraphale with a pointed took to Crowley, who nodded minutely in silent understanding.
Easy now. They only had one shot at this. One wrong move, one wrong word, one cock-up and the Book of Life would end up in the Eternal Flame.
‘Must I?’ asked Michael distractedly.
‘Well, you’ve been doing everything, haven’t you?’ said Crowley. ‘For so long.’
‘And… and no one ever said “thank you”, did they?’ said Aziraphale. He knew that feeling all too well. But he was lucky. He had Crowley. And later sweet Muriel.
‘Not once, ever,’ said Michael, welling up.
‘You must have got so tired being overlooked. Not being appreciated.’
‘For thousands of years! Somebody had to make things work!’
‘Oh, and… and you were so got at that, so capable,’ said Crowley.
‘I was, I was. And they were so stupid.’
‘Mm.’ Crowley could help but agree with that, a little.
Michael pointed at Aziraphale. ‘You were, Aziraphale. And Gabriel, and the Metatron… Do you remember the Metatron?’
Another page cast into the fire. Another piece of the universe lost.
‘He’s here somewhere, I think. Be quiet!’ Michael snapped suddenly to someone who wasn’t there.
‘Quiet, right,’ said Aziraphale gently.
Michael clutched their head. ‘I’m the only one who remembers. I remember everything. All the strands, all the possibilities, everything that happened, everything that didn’t, I remember it all, it’s all in my head. Ahh, it hurts!’
Aziraphale took an instinctive step closer to comfort them in their torment, but Michael instinctively hugged what remained of the Book of Life to their chest, a warning finger keeping him back.
‘The Metatron did it first. He used to just… used to just fiddle with things in the Book, get them how he wanted them.’
‘What thing’s?’ asked Crowley. ‘Tell me.’
Michael smirked. ‘What? What memories did he delete? What questionable out of character choices were made? Why? To ease your guilt? To exonerate Aziraphale? Where would be the fun in that, Demon, if I told you which of your misfortunes “Mr Big Floaty Head” had a hand in? Or maybe I’m lying. You both bollocked everything up perfectly well yourselves, even without his help.
‘But I thought maybe I could do that, maybe I… I... I’m only angel who can make the original plan work! The Great Plan.’
‘I do understand,’ said Aziraphale.
‘I just wanted to fix things.’
‘Yes. Yes, me too. But through love… and hope. Michael.’
‘What?’ said Michael exasperatedly, just wanting Aziraphale to just his stupid mouth and stop talking. Why hadn’t they just erased Aziraphale’s page first?
Aziraphale kneeled down. ‘There is only ever one way to fix things. And I’m… I’m going to do that now.’
Michael scoffed. ‘What? What are you going to do?’
‘Don’t,’ mouthed Crowley warningly. Don’t do it, Aziraphale. Don’t detonate the ticking bunny boiler time bomb with the F-word.
But Aziraphale used a different F-sounding-word. ‘Thank you.’
Both Crowley and Michael’s eyes widened in shock. Neither of them expected that.
‘Thank you, Michael. Thank you for performing God’s great work so… heavenly all these years. Dotting the ‘I’s and crossing the ‘T’s… Devotingly deploying Her every decree. You know, I told the Metatron myself that you were the best candidate to succeed Gabriel as Supreme Archangel of all Heaven.’
‘You did?’ said Michael keenly, flattered by the recommendation.
‘Oh yes. I could think of no one better who could’ve replaced Gabriel. Not only are you capable, you wanted, it. And you would’ve brought about Armageddon II sooner.’
‘I would have,’ agreed Michael. ‘God’s will be done.’
‘Yes. And such dedication and efforts above and beyond the call of duty deserves a reward. You know what you need? A nice long nap.’
Michael looked terrified at the very thought. ‘But I must finish God’s work!’
‘God’s work will still be here,’ Aziraphale assured them. ‘Safe in your capable hands. You won’t even feel it. It’s what human call a “power nap”. For bat the blink of an eye, and just like magic, it’ll be as if you’ve slept for a thousand years. You’ll be bright and refreshed and raring to go.’
Michael considered this. They would need to look presentable when they received God’s praise, when she had completed her mission. And presently they looked as if they’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. ‘I’ve… I’ve never slept before.’
‘We’ll help,’ said Crowley. ‘I’ve done it for thousands of years. I can sleep anywhere, me.’
‘Will I enjoy it?’
‘You’ll have lovely dreams of whatever you like best, Supreme Archangel Michael,’ said Aziraphale.
Aziraphale and Crowley place a hand on each of Michael’s shoulders, as she gazed at Aziraphale with wide eyes, like a child.’
‘Once upon a time –’ began Crowley.
Shing!
The combined miracles of Aziraphale and Crowley plunged Michael into a deep and much needed sleep. Michael slumped to the ground like a puppet whose string had been cut. As Aziraphale hastily caught the Book of Life before it fell into the fire, the side of Michael’s head hit the stone rim that walled the Eternal Flame and hit the floor with an almighty Thunk!
‘Crowley,’ said Aziraphale sternly.
‘Whoops,’ said Crowley unrepentantly, almost proudly.
Aziraphale patted Michael’s head, healing the wound with a wave of his hand. ‘I forgive you.’
Crowley cocked an eyebrow. ‘If an angel forgives a rouge angel and the rouge angel isn’t conscious to hear it, are they truly forgiven?’
‘Well, God heard it.’
‘How can you possibly forgive Michael for all this?’
‘Because I look at them and I see myself.’
Crowley whipped off his shades at that, his snake eyes blazing. ‘You are nothing like Michael! You’re the exact opposite of this wanker! You’re a million miles apart! Lightyears apart!’
‘Exactly. That’s me, if I had never been sent to Earth; if you hadn’t shown me the wonders of the world – wonders I would otherwise never have appreciated. You made me a better angel. Not an indentured servant.’
Aziraphale ran a thumb across Michael’s forehead with a miracle shing!
‘What’re you doing?’
‘Just some good dreams.’
‘Seriously? They decimated half of creation and you’re giving her dreams of unicorns and rainbows? What if they got Muriel? Or Mrs Sandwich? Or Maggie and Nina?’
‘You do want them to stay asleep, don’t you?’
‘Fine.’ Crowley stooped and performed a small demonic miracle of his own. ‘Just a few dreams to make them want to rethink her attitude when they wake up.’
‘Nightmares?’
‘You forgiving them on a loop; her archangel victims giving her hell; you-as-me coming at them out of a bathtub of holy water, like a creature from the Black Lagoon.’
They looked at the Book of Life, which resembled a novella.
‘At least we have the bookshop.’
‘With blank books, I’m afraid. No novelists, no written word.’
Aziraphale went pale. All that history, all those poems, all those great works of literature, all bound in first editions he had spent two hundred years procuring. ‘Even the Dickens.’
‘Yep.’
‘What can we do?’ asked Aziraphale.
‘Nothing. They were destroyed by the Eternal Flame. We can’t turn the clock back. Time’s up.’
‘Time… Time!’
Aziraphale flicked through the remaining pages – Nina and Maggie – Oh, praise be! – Muriel – Thank God! – a rubber duck, a snow globe, sushi – finally landing on a picture of a clock entitled Time.
‘Hold it up.’
Crowley took the open book. ‘Which way?’
‘Well, just hold it up. Like that. Perfect.’
Aziraphale looked down at a sleeping Michael. He placed his fingers on their temples and carefully extracted their halo, lifting it above his head.
‘What’re you doing?’ said Crowley.
‘Michael said all memory of the universe and all its possibilities was inside their head. Perfectly preserved. Waiting to be transmitted.’
Aziraphale lowered Michael’s halo as if placing a crown on his own head. He gasped in pain as it sank into his mind.
‘Aziraphale –’
‘It’s fine!’ Aziraphale gasped. ‘Supreme Archangel affords certain privileges. Think of it as extra backup space in my hard drive.’
‘You can’t store for infinity! It’s infinite!’
‘Which is why we need to be quick!’ Aziraphale staggered towards Crowley, one hand touching his temple, supporting the Holy Mother of all headaches. ‘Now I’m going to need your special tool.’
Crowley squeaked, his eyes bulging full yellow as, without warning, Aziraphale plunged his hand down the front of his black skinny jeans and pulled out the crank that had started up the engine of the universe. How fitting it should perform such a noble act again.
‘Is that my –?’ Crowley started to say, but Aziraphale was already inserting the crank into the centre of the Grand Clock of Time.
‘Right. Ready?’
‘For what?’
Aziraphale cranked the crank counterclockwise, causing the clock to light up and its hands to move backwards. A page flew out of the flame and returned intact to the book. The universe had air fryers again. A further few cranks and a flurry of pages, and among the pages Alpha Centauri blinked back into existence.
‘No way – It’s back!’ Crowley exclaimed. ‘We can have cocktails!’
‘We can fix it,’ muttered Aziraphale excitedly, his blue eyes becoming animated with possibility in his head and in his hand. ‘We can fix everything!’
Crowley grinned. ‘Well, what’re you waiting for? Crank it up, Angel!’
Needing no further encouragement, Aziraphale turned the crank. Crowley rushed to one of the arches to watch the spectacle. Pages flew back into the Book of Life. Constellations, people, places, concepts came back into reality to the victory anthem of Queen’s ‘We Are the Champions!’ singing loud and proud from the Bentley.
But Aziraphale didn’t stop, he kept going as if he was on a roundabout with no exit; winding, and winding, and winding, until the crank got stuck. Aziraphale put all his strength behind it, trying to force it to keep turning. But it resisted.
‘No, come on,’ Aziraphale heaved.
‘Angel, it’s fine,’ said Crowley coming back over. ‘That means that’s it. Wound back to the beginning. You’ve done it. Everything’s back.’
‘No,’ Aziraphale grunted. ‘There’s still a block.’
Frowning, Crowley looked down and saw his own demon face looking back at him. Below his picture the page was shifting, the words morphing into the outline of a familiar angel, creating a ying and yang effect on Crowley’s page: the angel and the demon –
‘Angel, stop,’ said Crowley at once. ‘It’s too far in the past. I’ve made my peace with it. I rose, I fell, I have you and the world. That’s all I need. I am complete.’
‘You deserve your memories. You deserve to know who you are.’
‘Angel – argh!’ Crowley made to place his hand on Aziraphale and received an enormous electric shock, the power of the Supreme Archangel and of Time forcing him away. Yet Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice or feel it. ‘Aziraphale? Can you hear me?’
‘You – have – to – know!’
The crank turned jarringly, creaking and grinding as it was forced to move every quarter rotation. Crowley gasped as images flashed in his mind – the Great War – Furfur – Lucifer – the Rebellion – all the way back to the Beginning, when he was the Star Maker. How gorgeous Aziraphale looked. Hopeful, wide-eyed, innocent.
Crowley looked to Aziraphale now. He looked ancient, fixated, like an angel possessed by a demon – his inner demons – cursed to wind the clock of time back for eternity. What if he had taken on more than the memory of the universe from Michael’s halo? What if he an unintentionally taken on Michael’s recklessness and vain ambition? That combined with the intoxicating power of Time itself in the palm of his hand, making it harder to hear Crowley’s voice, let alone his own the small voice of reason.
Crowley had said that the road to Hell needed repaving. Now he was actually witnessing it with Aziraphale’s good intentions.
The ground shook violently as everything around them became a spinning blur of shapes.
‘Angel, that’s enough. You’ve done it. Now stop,’ pleaded Crowley, looking scared.
Aziraphale didn’t hear him. He was shaking, sweating, his glowing blue irises reflecting the clock turning back time.
‘Just let go.’
‘Keep going…’ Aziraphale muttered feverishly. ‘Must keep going… Have to save us…. Have to save…. Have to save.’
‘You already have. We’re together right now. It’s done. Please! Let’s just go home.’
Aziraphale suddenly smiled blissfully, though he looked in agony, oblivious to the blood running down from his nose, clear sign he was dangerously close to a cerebral haemorrhage, looking past Crowley.
‘We are home, dear. We’re almost home…’
Crowley looked at where – when – they were, and felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, as if he were already being erased from existence.
They were back in the bookshop in 2023 during the most painful fifteen minutes of their lives. In reverse slow motion they watched past-Crowley and past-Aziraphale moved paradoxically forward back into the kiss, giving the illusion of an anguished past-Aziraphale wanting desperately to kiss his beloved demon and never come up for air again as past-Crowley’s hands returned to the angel’s lapels, dragging him back to his mouth.
Present-Aziraphale raised his hand like a sleepwalker, reaching towards their past. White-gold particles separated themselves from him, pouring into his past-self, making him wrap his flailing arm around past-Crowley and opening his mouth to him, returning the kiss.
‘Do it again…’
Present-Crowley gasped and pressed his fingertips his tingling lips. He could feel it as though it was happening to him right now. Which relatively it was. Then he saw his fingertips disintegrating, too, flowing into his past-self. Then came the sound of splintering glass. The time window was cracking. And Crowley realised that this was a fixed event in time. This suffering had to happen so that they could save everything. And if they changed the past, they’ll destroy the future!
‘Angel, stop!’ present-Crowley shouted desperately. ‘This goes beyond memories! This is a violation!’
Crowley seized Aziraphale’s charged shoulder, his hand assaulted by painful holy zaps, and stepped in front of him, filling his vision.
‘Angel?’
Aziraphale started, shaken from his trance by the sight of Crowley looking wide-eyed and fierce and desperate. Why was he crying? Couldn’t he see this was a good thing? Wasn’t it a good thing?
‘Look at me. Don’t look at them. Look at me. Right here and now, on this plain. In this moment in time. This is the moment that matters. Listen to me. At least hear me. I understand. Somebody knows I understand, but we can’t. If we change the events we fucked up, the events that brought us here, we will never come here to un-fuck-up those events. Never mind erasing the universe, the whole timeline will disintegrate. And you’d be right – you’ll be no different than Michael. We can’t change time.’
‘Time was stolen from us,’ whimpered Aziraphale, bloody tears running down his pudgy cheeks.
‘And you’re stealing time itself,’ said Crowley gently.
Aziraphale looked past Crowley at their Past. At the pivotal moment that shook the world. What could’ve been. But his loss of concentration had restarted the events in reverse as past-Crowley pulled back, stepping away, releasing past-Aziraphale’s jacket as he turned his face away, screwed up in grief and heartbreak.
‘Six thousand years… And I wasted it.’
‘So did I. D’you think I don’t regret all the things I did and didn’t do? All the things I didn’t say and should’ve said to you? 2023? 2019? Hell, even that night in 1941! Angel, please… I know why you’re doing this. It’s okay. You can stop torturing yourself. I f-ngk –’
Aziraphale blinked, momentarily distracted. He tore his eyes away from past-Crowley walking backwards from his silently crying past-self and looked into present-Crowley’s pleading eyes. ‘W-What?’ he said, not sure if he had heard him correctly.
‘I fo-gggrrr –’ struggled Crowley, the word stuck in his throat.
‘Please, Crowley,’ whispered Aziraphale. He had to hear Crowley say it. With his free hand he began to perform the apology dance, ♫You were right, you were right – ♫
‘No, no, don’t do the dance.’ Crowley took a deep breath. ‘I forgive you. Okay? I forgive you. Honestly? I had already forgave you for everything you did, and everything you could do, long before that day. Do you think I care for you so little that leaving me would make a difference? You are forgiven. Always and completely forgiven. My Angel. My best friend… My whole world.’
Aziraphale smiled in inexpressible gratitude. ‘Thank you.’
He released the crank which spun rapidly clockwise taking them back to the present-day centre of the universe, blood retreating back into his eyes and nose before Aziraphale collapsed into Crowley’s waiting arms. He would always catch Aziraphale. He would not let him fall, too. Forgotten on the ground at their feet, a ring of light glowed around the circumference of sleeping Michael’s head and faded, indicating their halo had been returned to them, emptied of the universe now restored to the Book of Life.
‘I’m sorry!’ cried Aziraphale, clinging to Crowley. What had he done? What had he almost done? Oh, the shame of it! He had left to save everything, and he had almost destroyed everything! ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!’
‘It’s okay, it’s okay, Angel, you did. You did it. You saved everything.’
Automatically, Crowley reached up and wiped away Aziraphale’s tears –
‘Crowley, your hand!’ breathed Aziraphale in horror.
Crowley looked down and saw that his hand was charred and blackened. Aziraphale took Crowley’s withered hand delicately in his and pressed kiss to it, healing it in a trice.
‘Touch of an angel,’ quipped Crowley, admiring his unmarred hand.
‘I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry I made you think you had to become an angel to be worthy of me – that was not my intension at all. I’m sorry I compared you to the Bad Guys – you may be a demon, but you were never one of Hell’s demons. I’m sorry I almost destroyed the universe… our whole history.’
‘You sort of made up for it today. Getting our Bentley back, stopping the Second Coming for being another Armageddon, restoring the universe. Coming back to me.’
‘I will always come back to you, Crowley. It just… took longer than I had intended.’
‘All good things take time. You can’t rush it.’
‘I’m sorry, Crowley.’
‘S’all right. I’m sorry too. You were right. This was always bigger than you and me. It was stupid to think we’d be immune to the next Armageddon. Or whenever God decided to close the Book on Project Earth. Speaking of which…’
Crowley flicked through the Book of Life to the Great Plan for Armageddon and the Second Coming. The page depicted God and Satan looking down smug and imperiously over a dead Earth. He didn’t need to tell Aziraphale what he was thinking.
‘It does solve our problems. Freewill can be a real thing.’
‘No Great Plan, nothing ineffable. It started with a Big Bang and will end billions of years later, with the Heat Death of the Universe.’
‘Or, you know, however it stops. Heat Death isn’t a dealbreaker.’
‘We’ll be the only ones who’ll know.’
‘It’s better that way. Humanity is our burden. Right?’
Aziraphale nodded and tore out the page. He couldn’t help but flinch at vandalising a book, and such an ancient book at that – the first book. Together they placed it into the Eternal Flame. And just like that, Armageddon, The Second Coming, humanities end, the end of the universe, God’s Great Plan, was reduced to ashes. As if it never existed.
They teleported away from the centre of the universe and reappeared inside their bookshop.
‘Well… that’s that,’ said Aziraphale.
‘That’s it,’ said Crowley.
They looked at each other. Crowley smiled proudly at his Angel.
‘Second Coming averted. You did it.’
Aziraphale smiled, taking Crowley’s hand. ‘We did it. Again.’
‘No scary horses.’
‘No world being smited.’
‘You made a difference. Mr Floaty Head got one thing right. You really were the best angel of the job. You were the best angel.’
‘Second best,’ corrected Aziraphale. ‘… to you.’
Crowley shook his head in contrary. ‘I was a terrible angel.’
‘No,’ said Aziraphale quietly, yet firmly. ‘No, you were the best of us. You cared so much about everything. You were an artist. You wanted to understand, to make better art. The rest of us, we were just characters in Her book. We didn’t ask questions. You were the only one of us who... genuinely believed there had to be a... a sensible purpose to it all.’
‘That’s why you’re the best angel, Aziraphale. Because I lost sight of that. You still believe in magic and people being basically good. And I just… I couldn’t see it anymore. I couldn’t see the point of it anymore. Nothing lasts forever. People, places. So why get attached? Why care? But you? You could see it. Six thousand years later and you still see it. And when you see it, I see it. And I remember that rush, that shiver of something new. And I remember why everything must keep going for as long as possible. Because this is what Life means. And it’s better than the alternative.’
‘Amen to that.’
Aziraphale glanced around the bookshop, empty except for himself and Crowley. This would always be their place. Billions of years later at the Heat Death of the Universe, there would be an angel and a former demon sitting in a bookshop. Like they’ve always been there and always will.
‘So… what’s next?’
Crowley sighed in mock contemplation, flapping his lips like a horse. ‘I don’t know about you, but I think we deserve an extremely alcoholic breakfast, lunch and dinner at the Ritz. Can I tempt you?’
‘Temptation accomplished. Crowley? Before anything else happens, there’s something I must do. Something I promised I would do when I saw you again. When we were all safe.’
Aziraphale kissed his fingers and pressed them to Crowley’s lips, and felt Crowley kiss them back. A small act that conveyed so much. They smiled at each other.
🪽💘🪽
They had dinner at the Ritz; talking, laughing, watching humanity going about their lives. They spotted several angels and demons eating together; including Muriel and Eric. With no Great Plan they had a lot of time on their hands. Full of alcohol, good food, and full of a love that spun six thousand years that they were finally, truly free to exchange, Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley’s that was resting on the table, leaned in at the same time as Crowley and their tender lips met in their official first kiss. The first of many, many more. Infinitely more. Even after they retired to their cottage, Alpha Centauri, in the South Downs
And over the noise of the diner’s, over the roar of the traffic, over the bars of Tori Amos emanating from the Bentley’s speakers and the Bookshop’s record player, a nightingale sang in Berkley Square.