Archive of Our Own

HEAVEN

SHORTLY AFTER THE GREAT CIVIL WAR

“It's quite a shame, really. Lucifer was always one of God's most loyal.”

A group of archangels and a lone principality stand at the edge of Heaven's gates, where the last of the traitors are falling into a vast pit of darkness below, far beyond where the light of the stars could reach.

“Yes, well. Let this be a lesson to you, Aziraphale. And to all our survivors.” Gabriel's booming voice echoes throughout all of Heaven. “We must make an example out of traitors. Any and all who follow in Lucifer's path will meet the same fate as the others!”

The other angels cry out, voicing their agreement. Aziraphale, visibly shaken, slowly nods along. He was mostly just relieved to see that it was finally over. Angels murdering other angels- it was senseless, is what it was- no matter how much Gabriel and the others tried to justify it with "this is the Almighty's will". 

It can't be. Aziraphale likes to think that he knows God well enough to know that She would not ask this of them. But even so- even if She did- it's a request he simply cannot honor.

Angels are fierce warriors, of course. He knew that. They had to be, in order to protect God's kingdom.

But they are beings of Love, above all else.

“Yes, jolly good, that. Just- one question,” he says. “Purely out of curiosity, of course, um- where exactly… did the fallen, um… go?”

Gabriel looks at him as if he's grown a second head. Aziraphale doesn't think there's anything too preposterous about the question, but...

“Rumor has it that God cast Lucifer and the Fallen down somewhere special,” Sandalphon adds. “Lots of sulfur from what I hear.”

“Oh, sulfur!” Gabriel smiles brightly, clapping his hands together. “That's a nice touch. I'd expect nothing less of Her.”

"Whatever it is, it'll be a proper place for the wicked," Michael says with a firm nod.

Sulfur, judging by the unpleasant smell, doesn't seem very proper, but it's not Aziraphale's place to question it.

“You see Aziraphale," Gabriel says as he puts a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, "they're gone for now. But we'll have to settle the score eventually.”

“...Settle the score?”

“Oh, of course. The war won't truly be won until we completely eradicate the damned.” The hand on his shoulder pats his cheek enthusiastically. "But you needn’t worry about that right now. For now, we move into the next phase!”

“...Er, y-yes!” Aziraphale says enthusiastically. “...Which is..?”

“God's newest creation, of course!” Gabriel says. “You remember looking at the plans for them, don't you? She's calling them humans.”

THE GARDEN

LONG AFTER THE WAR IN HEAVEN

Being assigned as a guardian was a role that Aziraphale took very seriously. It meant that the Almighty was trusting him to protect her Creations.

But the first human still isn't expected for quite some time, and the Garden is still a work in progress. But it all looks rather lovely so far, and Aziraphale can't help but be a bit excited to see how it all comes together.

His job is simple enough. Keep track of any new additions to his assigned section of the Garden- and keep out any hellish intruders.

“You are to smite any threat that comes to the Garden, no questions asked.”

He's not much of a smiter, in all honesty. No one has encountered one of the Fallen for centuries, and he hopes that it stays that way.

The Almighty is still working out the kinks on the whole “day and night” thing, so time still moves a bit disjointedly in the Garden. Nonetheless, Aziraphale makes his rounds, making notes of anything that seems new, whether it be a patch of grass or a brand new "animal".

So far today, he's noticed that there are more “flowers”. Such fragile little things- but very vibrant. Aziraphale thinks they may be among his favorites of the Almighty's creations so far.

“Quite the artist, isn't She?”

Startled, Aziraphale jumps and turns to the source of the voice. “You!”

The eyes are... new, but he would know those fiery red curls anywhere.

Not that he... knows this person, or would ever associate with a traitor.

That would be inappropriate, of course.

“It's… you,” he says again, relaxing ever so slightly. “I… didn't think I'd ever see you again.”

“Yes, lucky you.” The intruder reaches down and plucks one of the flowers out of the ground. “This is what the Almighty is working on? It's nice and all, but I think She can do better, personally.”

Aziraphale snatches the flower out of his hand. “You fiend! You dare to sully this Holy Garden?! Wait- how did you even get in here, no one knows about it except us!”

The former angel grins. “Oh, is that what you think? You think this is some top secret project? We've known about this place for a long time, angel.”

“How?!”

He shrugs, staring down at his nails.

“It would be in your best interest to share,” Aziraphale advises, doing his best to put on a threatening voice.

“Or what? You'll smite me?” The demon slinks past him to lean against a tree. “Aren't we past all that by now?”

“No! You're an intruder and I'm obligated to report this to-”

"Tattle-tale."

“Wha- I am no such thing!” Aziraphale says indignantly.

The demon waves a dismissive hand. “By all means, tattle away. But I’m just following orders. Isn't that what you said during the Great War?”

The comment makes Aziraphale flinch a bit. “...Following orders? From who?”

“Who do you think?” he retorts. “Nothing special. Just told me to sneak up here and investigate, but they neglected to mention it was guarded.”

“Yes, well…” Aziraphale opts not to dwell on Lucifer. "You should consider yourself lucky it was me you ran into. Any of the other angels would have smited you by now.”

“Mm, they could certainly try. You could, too.”

There's a challenge in his eyes. Aziraphale maintains a fierce glare, but otherwise stays firmly in place. “I am not going to fight you. And if you leave now, I won't breathe a word of this to Gabriel.”

“You're bargaining with me? Hasn't anyone ever told you that's a bad idea?”

“Perhaps, but-”

“Besides, there's nothing here right now that Hell would be particularly interested in.” The demon glances down at another one of the flowers, quirking a brow. “How does this thing work, then?”

“The flowers? Oh, well- it's my understanding that they come from the ground, see?” Aziraphale points to the stem. “They draw nourishment from the soil and energy from the Light,” he explains. “And I believe the Almighty is working on something else to help them along…”

“Hm…” The demon narrows his eyes at it. “Needy little things, then. Perhaps some motivation would help.” He leans down and hisses viciously at the flower, causing it to shake violently.

“Ha! Look at it, it's terrified!”

“You didn't need to do that.” Aziraphale bends down and traces a finger over its petals, soothing it. “There there now, you're alright. That dastardly fiend won't get to you- not while I'm here.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, angel- you're too soft on it. How do you know the Almighty isn't threatening them so they grow better?”

“Because God has love and mercy for all of Her creations,” Aziraphale reasons. He doesn't actually know if that's how She does it- all he knows is that it works and he ought not put too much thought into the how and the why. “...Even you.”

“...Yeah.” The intruder glances back down at the ground. “...Right.”

"In any case..." Aziraphale straightens up and gestures towards the gate. "You'd best be on your way, before one of the others spots you. If the Almighty sees you here I'll be in a world of trouble."

"So soon? It's nice up here."

"Obviously, but it's no place for one of the fallen."

"Seems awfully rude. I found a nice basking spot right over there, see?" The demon points to a large rock sitting behind a few bushes. "Lot more comfortable than hellfire."

"That's not- how long have you been coming up here?" 

"A while. You just happened to catch me this time." The demon flashes him a smirk before sauntering over to the gate. "See you around?"

"Let's hope not," Aziraphale grumbles.

WHICKBER STREET

2024

Muriel's cream-colored attire is almost too bright to look at directly. The sight of it makes his eyes twitch, even from behind the sunglasses.

“Mister Crowley, you’ve been, ah… drinking the same bottle of wine for six weeks. Don’t you think it’s time for a new one? Or… something else, maybe? Like… water?” 

“What are you, a cop?” 

Muriel opens their mouth to correct him. Crowley holds up a hand.

“Nevermind, don’t say it.”

Muriel is all smiles as they vaguely gesture towards the opening at the end of the alley. “How about I bring you back to the bookshop for a cuppa? Miss Nina taught me how to make it. I still don’t think I like drinking things very much- but you seem to like it.” 

Crowley slowly sits up, unkept curls of red hair falling into his face. He blinks slowly and peers up at Muriel, waving the bottle he was holding in their face. “A few sips of this and you won’t have any more hangups about consuming things.”

Muriel takes a frantic step back like the bottle burned them, and Crowley lets out a howling laugh, nearly flopping back onto the ground.

“Your face! You looked juss like Aziraphale did when he saw wine for the first time. Oh, that was a riot, let me tell you. Let me tell you.”

“I, um…” Muriel fidgets with the hem of their coat. “I know you must miss the Supre- er, Aziraphale. But… try to understand, what he’s doing in Heaven is-” 

“Yeahhhh, I’m gonna stop you right there,” Crowley says. He musters all of his strength and coherence to look Muriel right in the eye- which is a challenge when you're three wine bottles deep within the last twelve hours or so. “Let me tell you what I think of Heaven, and Hell, and whatever the hell-heaven Aziraphale is doing.”

“...Okay?” 

Crowley holds up his fists. He makes a cranking motion with one, and his middle finger slowly begins to rise on the other. “Let me just… oh… oh… oh, there it is! Yes! I think… yup!” With his middle finger fully risen, he shoves it in Muriel’s face. “There."

Muriel stares at him blankly. “...You’ve done that before, but… I still don’t really know what that means.”

“It meansss…” Crowley leans in closer, “it means… it means what the hell does a demon have to do to get a drink around here?! What good are you, Muriellll?” He jabs his index finger in their face. “What does Aziraphale have you doing anyway, huh? Dusting his books?” 

“Well… yes, actually. Among… other things.” 

“Like?”

“Like looking after you,” they tell him. “He said… he wants you to be safe. Um, forgive me, but I feel like I’ve told you all of this before..?”

“I dunno. Probably." Crowley shrugs. "But I’ll tell ya what- if you really wanna help me out…” He grabs one of his plants and slides it over to Muriel’s feet. “Babysit for me while I hit the bar. And do not be nice- they’ll sense your weakness and they won’t respect you.”

He staggers to his feet, pats Muriel’s shoulder, and heads off towards the bar.

“...So... I’m beginning to think it’s worse than I thought," Muriel says as they pretend to sip the cup of tea Nina had prepared for them.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Nina grumbles. She tosses the rag she was cleaning with over her shoulder. “Almost a year now since Mr. Fell left and still all he can do is mope around? You know, I almost thought he was getting better when he agreed to monthly karaoke nights with Maggie and I.”

“Well, a year isn’t actually that long,” Muriel points out. “Also, what’s karaoke?”

Nina shoots them a look. "It's... my God, you really are new to Earth, aren't you?"

"I am," they say with a sheepish grin. "Thank you for noticing."

“...Well, you can’t expect him to just get over six thousand years of being in love,” Maggie says as she emerges from the kitchen. “And I’m sure it’s not easy for Mr. Fell right now either…”

“Not easy, huh?" Nina says sourly. "He left that bookshop and his ex behind like it was nothing.” 

“Well hold on a minute, you don’t know that it was easy for him, he was obviously fond of Mister Crowley,” Maggie argues. "I don't think it's as simple as he made it out to be."

"Oh, don't fall for all that, Maggie. Him and Mr. Fell- they want you to think their problems are so complicated just 'cause they're not human. Well I don't buy it, not for a second." Nina turns her attention back to Muriel, seemingly having made up her mind. "Do you know where he is? I'm gonna go give him a piece of my mind. All this moping is bad for business. He's gonna end up driving my customers away with all his..." She makes a vague, messy hand gesture. "...You know."

"He said he was going to the bar." Muriel holds up the plant Crowley gave them. "I've been tasked with babysitting, but I don't quite know what that means. What should I do with it?"

"Great." Nina ignores the question and walks over to the door, flipping the "open" sign over to "closed". "Maggie, with me. Muriel, out. I'm closing up shop for the day."

"It is closing time though, love," Maggie says as Nina reaches for her hand. "Actually ten minutes past. You've really got to start remembering to flip the sign."

HEAVEN

2024

“It’s about- love, at the end of the day. Is it not? Love for all creatures, great and small. From the- the elephants and the- the goats, to… to the trees and… the flowers! And the bees! For Heaven’s sake, we can’t forget about the bees- we lose them and we lose our ecosystem!”

“Of course, Supreme Archangel.” The scrivener angel looks down at their tablet and begins typing. “Okay, so… elephants… bees… flowers…”

“No, that’s not- nevermind, okay. Sure. Jolly good.” Aziraphale runs a hand over his face. “That was my fault. I didn’t articulate properly. What I’m trying to say is- the Second Coming doesn’t- it doesn’t have to be all… fire and death and… well, death. It can be something else, it can be… good! Joyful! Peaceful, even.”

“Peaceful?”

“Yes! Peaceful," Aziraphale says with a tight smile, nodding at the other angel.

“Um… I don’t mean to question your authority, your Holiness, but-”

Aziraphale nods again, still smiling. “Right, peaceful. Jot that down, will you? And underline it, please. We’ll need to in order to make sure Michael and Uriel understand.”

The angel nods and begins typing again, opting not to mention that they were using a tablet and not a notepad.

“If I can convince them... if I can successfully pull this off we’ll save billions of lives.” Aziraphale says as he stares at the whiteboard. Admittedly, right now it's more of a collection of smaller ideas with the details still a bit unclear, but it's a start. A step in the right direction. The Metatron had told him this was essentially his project, that it could go however he saw fit as long as a few key requirements were met- with the main one being the return of Jesus.

He's not sure how true that is. He's far from foolish enough to give the other angels his complete trust. They did, at one point, desire war just as badly as the demons did. Aziraphale hasn't forgotten that, contrary to what someone else might think.

But if he can convince them that this is the better way, then maybe he can do more. It could open up doors, create possibilities to change the way angels and demons see the world- and each other.

It's a gamble. A risk worth taking to save humanity. That's what he says to himself when he finds himself humming earthly tunes that he doesn't hear anymore, or when he's craving a coffee or a good meal.

It'll all be worth it, because it has to be.

“I just need-”

“U-Uh, S-Supreme Archangel…”

Aziraphale quickly whips around. The scribe shakes their head and points across the room.

“Muriel!” he exclaims as his eyes light up with recognition. “What- my dear, what are you doing back here? I thought I told you to keep an eye on my bookshop, among…” He clears his throat, voice growing quiet. “Among other things…”

“I am, but…” Muriel shifts their attention to the scribe angel. “I’m sorry, but the Supreme Archangel and I need to have a private conversation. Could you maybe go away, please?”

Aziraphale smiles politely at them. “You are dismissed, Cassiel. Thank you.”

Once the other angel leaves, Muriel frantically gestures towards the elevator. “I understand you’re busy preparing for the Second Coming, but… it’s Mister Crowley. I don’t… I don’t think he’s been doing well.”

Aziraphale holds up a hand to silence them. “Muriel, for the last time, I told you that he’s sleeping, not dead. Occasionally he likes to sleep for weeks, months, sometimes years at a time, you’ll get used to it.”

“No, I mean… he’s really not doing well. He’s intoxicated all the time.”

Something unpleasant twists in Aziraphale's stomach. Crowley has been known to go on benders before, but...

“That… doesn’t sound all that unusual for him.”

Muriel makes a pouty sort of face, and Aziraphale sighs in defeat. “Have you checked on him? Is he alright?"

“I’ve been checking up on him, just like you asked me to, but he won’t talk to me. He just sort of… mumbles and ignores me, most days.”

“Muriel, I understand Crowley’s methods of self-soothing aren’t exactly… healthy. And it’s not… you must know, it’s not that I don’t wish to see him, I just… I’m close to a breakthrough with the other angels, you see. I can get them to see things my way if I just present it correctly. So I’m asking you to please hold out a little longer, and… don’t let Crowley get into any trouble. I’ll come talk to him as soon as I can. But if I leave now all of what I’ve been working towards could be jeopardized. I have to do this right. Do you understand?”

“...Yes.” Muriel nods. “Yes, I… I understand. It's... for the Second Coming, right?”

"Yes. For universal happiness.” Aziraphale beams at them. “Thank you. You've been a great help, just... keep at it for a bit longer."

If asked, he'd say he wasn't avoiding Earth. And technically, he wasn't. The past few months really have been hectic.

But he'd be lying if he said that Crowley wasn't at least partially the reason why he hadn't popped down for a cup of tea or a good book. As the Metatron had said, it was within his jurisdiction to visit Earth whenever he saw fit. But as much as a part of him wants to see the bookshop, to see him again...

He needs this to work.

Just a little bit longer.

Crowley may not understand right now, but Aziraphale hopes that perhaps one day he will.

"It's quite dangerous, though isn't it? Hope."

"Sometimes. But I think it's quite beautiful, too."

"Mm."

"I think, deep down, you've got enough hope for the both of us in there, even if you won't admit it."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Crowley's far too intoxicated to care when Nina and Maggie slip into the open seats on either side of him at the bar.

"Good Lord, what'd you have to tip to get the bartender to leave you the bottle?" Maggie asks.

"Nothing. The bartender was suddenly feeling very gracious and could tell I needed it more than him," Crowley grumbles. He still hadn't ever quite explained miracles to them and wasn't really in the mood to do so.

"Right. Look, Muriel told us you haven't been doing well, and... take it from someone who’s been through a few rough breakups- you can’t let yourself get like this," Nina says.

“Like what?”

“Like… this.” Nina gestures to him. “The alcoholism, the moping…" She squints at him and dusts something off his shoulder, "the not washing your clothes, apparently...”

“Alcoholism is not a thing for us demons,” Crowley reminds her. “That’s a human problem.”

And technically, that's true. Demonic and angelic bodies are only human to an extent. It also helps, of course, that he can sober up at any time- something that he once drunkenly admitted to the two of them on karaoke night, and something that Nina also admitted to being a bit jealous of.

Maggie gently pries the bottle out of Crowley’s fingers and sets it down on the counter. “What she’s saying is that maybe the way you’re coping is… doing more harm than good.”

“Yes, that. And it’s time for you to put your grown-up pants on and move past this. You’ve licked your wounds long enough, now it’s time to let them heal, yeah?” Nina smacks him on the back. "Time to get back on the saddle."

Crowley stretches out languidly across the counter, laying his head on his arms. "No thanks, 'm good."

"I'm not asking," Nina says sharply.

"Nina..." Maggie says.

"No, he needs a little tough love. Listen to me, skinny jeans." 

Crowley halfheartedly perks up. "Skinny jeans?"

"You and Mr. Fell think your problems are so beyond our feeble understanding but they're not. You're upset because you feel like he chose his job over you and you miss him. Seems pretty straightforward to me."

“I… well… there’s…” Crowley sputters, cheeks warming. "'S a little more-"

“Right. Listen, I had days when all I wanted to do was drown myself in alcohol and lay in bed. I wasn’t able to, because I have to work for a living, but I wanted to. But you have to be the one to decide that enough is enough.”

“I don’t think I’ve had enough,” Crowley reaches for the bottle. Luckily, Maggie manages to slide it just out of his grasp.

“Mister Crowley, I… I know how hard this must be for you, but Nina’s right. You shouldn’t be doing this to yourself. You deserve better.”

Nina grins mischievously as an idea comes to her. “Speaking of deserving better- have you ever heard the saying ‘the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else’? I didn’t believe in it until I actually tried it, and now I’m engaged.” She flashes her engagement ring at him.

If he had more energy, he might have made some kind of snide comment about Nina rubbing his failed relationship in his face by showing off her successful one. But admittedly, he can't help but feel a strange sense of pride that his ideas actually worked, to some extent. Perhaps the "sudden rainstorm" wasn't the worst idea after all.

“Yeah, you’re welcome by the way."

“The point is, maybe a different guy might help you take your mind off things. If you, you know… clean yourself up a bit and put down the bottle for a little while, you could probably score a few dates.”

"Just give me five minutes with a brush and a razor," Maggie adds hopefully.

Nina and Maggie mean well. Crowley knows that, deep down, underneath the ounces and ounces of liquor in his system. He can even see the merit in what they're saying, to an extent.

But what they fail to understand is that presently, all throughout the history of ever, and for the rest of the foreseeable future, Crowley has only ever wanted and will only continue to want one person.

And that person broke his heart to go shove his head even further up Heaven's metaphorical ass, so.

“Some meaningless fling isn't going to fix this. How am I supposed to just pretend- I mean, I've never even-"

As if his body sensed that he should stop talking before his brain did, his mouth snaps shut, but it's already too late. The damage has been done.

Nina’s eyes go comically wide, and Crowley immediately senses that he's made a mistake. “You've never hooked up with anyone? Seriously? You’re a demon!” 

“So what?!” Crowley retorts. “I- look, you think in six thousand years I never got curious enough to try? I just… could never go through with it, ‘cause…"

“Aww,” Maggie coos, “oh Mister Crowley, that’s so sweet...”

“No, it’s not." Crowley whips around to hiss at her. "SSStop that. Stop that face, and that voice.”

“It is! All this time you’ve been waiting for Mister Fell-”

“No. Stop it. Shut up.”

“She’s only teasing. I get it, it’s not for everyone. But you’ve got to do something. The stormcloud you’ve got hanging over your head is bad for business. You’re scaring away my customers."

“If I say that I’ll think about it, will you leave me alone?”

“Sure, sure. After Maggie and I have a glass of wine. It's been a long day."

Crowley lowers his face further onto the counter and groans loudly.

“Does this list really need to be so… extensive, Aziraphale?”

“Of course. It’s the only way we can be absolutely sure that nothing will go wrong, yes? Right.” Aziraphale claps his hands together. “Where was I?”

“The end of humankind and life on Earth as we know it?” Sandalphon says.

“Ah… no. No, that’s… no. Bad suggestion.” Aziraphale turns back towards the screen. “No, my Second Coming is going to be… different. None of that genocide nonsense.”

“Don't be so dramatic. It’s not genocide, Aziraphale, it’s ascension. Nobody’s killing anyone- if anything we’re saving them!” Michael says.

“Ah, but you see, Michael- on Earth, humans refer to death on a massive scale as... genocide. We'll call that the word of the day. Genocide. It's bad, very bad. It doesn't matter if the deaths are swift and merciful, it's still... death, you see. And they don’t need to be dead for eternal happiness and peace on Earth."

“Why? It’s not going to make much of a difference in the end anyway, right? It’s still paradise,” Saraqael argues. "Dead or alive, the outcome is the same, right?"

“But we-” Aziraphale pauses to take in a breath. Yes, this might in fact be close to the fiftieth time he's had to explain this to them, but patience is a virtue, which is supposed to be one of his strengths. “...We have no right to decimate their home. God created the Earth for them, not us.”

“You talk as if they care so much about it. Look at what they’re doing to it.” Saraqael waves a hand and the presentation screen shifts to Earth. Wildfires, trash piles in the oceans, data centers. A compilation of humanity's greatest hits. “Maybe you’re right, Aziraphale. Maybe we don’t need to destroy it. Looks like they’re already doing it themselves.”

“...It still belongs to them. Whether they destroy it or not, it’s still theirs. A-And…" Aziraphale feels their disapproving gazes growing fiercer by the second. “A-And, well- once we achieve universal happiness, these things won’t be a problem anymore!”

“I’m sorry, but can we even call this the Second Coming anymore?” Sandalphon asks. “Because it just sort of feels like-”

Aziraphale's response is swift, his tone dripping with venom. “We can, and we will, because I’m in charge and I said so. Do we understand each other?”

If looks could kill, Aziraphale would surely be dead.

Sandalphon slowly nods. “...Yes, Supreme Archangel.”

“Good!” Aziraphale beams. “Any other questions? Concerns?”

“Yes, I’ve got one. Shouldn’t Jesus be awake by now? Where is he?” Uriel asks.

...Ah. Right. That. “Yes, that… that is a good question. Who did I assign to that?”

The angels glance at each other. When none of them say anything, Aziraphale sighs again.

“...I didn’t assign anyone. Of course.” He points at Sandalphon. “Sandalphon. Keep an eye on Jesus. As soon as he wakes up, tell me.”

“...Of course.”

“Thank you! Now then, I need you all to just… trust me, and trust this process. We’re going to have a marvelous Second Coming!”

Muriel likes to think of themself as quite good at observing. It’s part of their job, after all. Even before they earned their human “Inspector Constable” title, they had to be observant as an angel as well. Checking heavenly (and in some cases hellish) documents was no simple task.

And so it would stand to reason then, that Muriel should probably be concerned that Mister Crowley, who they had observed around the bookshop for the past year or so, is suddenly nowhere to be found.

Yes, Aziraphale had mentioned that Crowley liked to disappear to sleep sometimes, but ever since he’d left, Crowley hadn’t strayed very far from the bookshop. Why start now? He’d actually made it clear to them once before that he had no intention of leaving.

That line of thinking had led them here, to the doorstep of a stranger. They owed it to Aziraphale- and to Crowley- to investigate, right?

“‘Ello ‘ello ‘ello! I’m Inspector Constable Muriel. Are you the one they call Mrs. Sandwich?”

The woman- presumably Mrs. Sandwich- looks them up and down. “You can, uh… drop the role-play around me, love. Not sure who hired you but I don’t need the theatrics. Believe me, if it's one of my clients you’ll be getting paid.”

Relieved, Muriel beams at her. Admittedly, sometimes the human act can be exhausting. “Oh, really? That’s a relief! You see, I’m not actually an Inspector Constable.”

“Oh? Say it ain’t so. Never would’ve guessed.”

“Yes, see- I’m actually an angel, I’ve been here looking after the shop for Aziraphale while he’s in Heaven trying to plan the Second Coming!”

Mrs. Sandwich nods slowly, eyes going wide. “Oh… is that so..?”

“Yes! Oh, it’s a relief to be able to talk to another human about this! Listen, you wouldn’t have happened to see Mister Crowley around, have you? He’s a demon, by the way. I was instructed by Aziraphale to keep an eye on him, see, and- well, normally I don’t have a problem with that because he’s always here! Except now he’s not, and I really need to find him. Can you tell me where you last saw him, please?”

“Right…” Mrs. Sandwich backs up behind the door. “Come to think of it, I... saw him with some lads in strange outfits earlier, but I assumed they were friends of his.”

Muriel pulls out their notepad and begins jotting things down. “Strange… outfits… oh, could they have been demons, by any chance?”

“Yeah, I… I’m sure they were, love. Um… I’m gonna go… do something else now, but… you have a good night, and… don’t get yourself into trouble.”

“Okay! Goodnight! Thank you very much, you were extremely helpful!”

As the door shuts in their face, Muriel flips through their notes. Of course. Of course.

Crowley’s gone back to Hell!

“Alright then, now I just need to report my findings to Aziraphale, and-”

“That won’t be necessary. From now on you will report to me.”

Muriel flinches as Michael snatches their notepad out of their hands. “Michael! What are you doing here?”

“Just… tying up a few loose ends before we kick off the Second Coming,” she says, not meeting their eyes as she flips through it. “The Supreme Archangel is busy, and he can’t be bothered with trivial matters. We need his undivided attention.”

Typically, Muriel is not one for arguing with their superiors, but... “But Aziraphale specifically asked me to look after Crowley,” they tell her. "It's a very special mission given to me by the Supreme Archangel. I can't disobey."

“Is that so?” Michael snaps the notepad shut. "Muriel, do you know what the word 'distraction' means?"

"Well, yes, it's-"

"It's what the demon Crowley is to the Supreme Archangel," Michael says. "Crowley makes his mind wander. And we need Aziraphale to be focused. Ready. Don't you agree?"

“Well of course, but-"

"Then you understand why you can't be bothering the Supreme Archangel with this, yes? Crowley is one wayward demon- Aziraphale has the entire world to worry about."

Muriel thinks back over the past year. Aziraphale hasn't come to Earth once, not even just to visit. Muriel always had to be the one to visit him and their conversations seemed somewhat... rushed. They were always in the middle of or on the tail-end of long meetings and blessing reports. "I... now that you mention it, Aziraphale has seemed a bit stressed lately..."

"Yes, I'm sure he is. So from now on, why don't you report your findings to me? I'll ensure that anything important is relayed back to the Supreme Archangel."

"Would..." Muriel looks down at the ground anxiously, "would that really be alright?"

Michael nods reassuringly. "You'd be doing Aziraphale a great favor. Trust me."

SOMEWHERE IN HELL

Hell is remarkably unchanged. Dingy and far too damp and smelling of something terribly unpleasant- or maybe that was just Dagon.

Crowley twists his wrists beneath the duct tape, flexing his hands. Great invention, duct tape- always good to have. To fix something, make one of those ugly wallets, or in this case: to kidnap a demon.

“You know, at least Shax had the decency to phone. Where’s she off to now anyway?”

“She’s got better things to do than run around chasing rogue demons,” Dagon hisses.

If Crowley had to guess, he'd say that Dagon has been running themself ragged trying to keep up with Hell's demands- especially with Shax in charge. “Oh, and you don’t?” he retorts.

Dagon waves their hand. “Eric, hit him.”

Eric looks over at Crowley, who raises an eyebrow at him. Daring him to try.

“Um…”

“Well?” Dagon gestures towards him. “Hit him, I said!”

“Well, what if he gets out of his restraints and hits me back?” Eric steps back away from him. “Snakes are naturally very flexible, you see, and-”

“For Satan’s sake, you’re useless!” Dagon shoves him aside and fists a hand in Crowley's shirt, yanking him closer. “Look, Crowley. I’ve brought you here to remind you of the demon you once were. Once the Second Coming begins the Earth will become our battleground and we will finally triumph over Heaven!”

“Second Coming?” Crowley asks. Right. That. He'd only ever heard rumors about it until now. The backup plan in case the whole Antichrist thing went tits-up. Ha. “That’s what this is about?”

“Yes, obviously! We’ve been hearing whispers from upstairs. It’s about to begin soon, and when it does, we need to be ready!”

“...Okay,” Crowley mumbles. He settles back into the chair, yanking his shirt out of Dagon's grip. “So the world’s ending again. Great. Wake me up when I care.”

“You- wh- you should care! Listen, Crowley- Hell is willing to overlook your history of treason should you heed our request. We have long suspected that you have previously worked with Supreme Archangel Aziraphale, so we need you to-"

“Not gonna work. Aziraphale and I are no longer on speaking terms, so find another demon to do your dirty work.”

“Believe me, we tried. But upstairs has shut us out. They’re not communicating anything reliable to us anymore. We need to find out what’s really going on, and… you’re the only one of us with a true connection to a servant of Heaven,” Dagon admits. “We know that Aziraphale won’t talk to anyone except you.”

“So?”

“So, you can no longer continue to mope around like a… a…. I don’t even know! But you can’t do it anymore! It's time for you to remember who you are and join the winning side!"

“The winning side.” Crowley laughs dryly. It truly is God's best, longest-running joke. It's funny, in a really messed-up sort of way. “Right, sure. I’ll get on that.”

“What’s the matter with you?” Dagon asks, growing frustrated. “Don’t you want to finally claim your revenge? It’s because of them that we’re stuck down here!”

“...I’ve made peace with what I am,” Crowley says. He no longer had any illusions or misgivings about what he was. Whatever doubt or anguish he might have had wasn't going to scrub his wretched essence of sin. He'd spent many days and nights trying, too. When he'd went to Lucifer, asking him if he'd known this would happen, his answer was simple.

"It matters not what we are. It only matters that we take back what's rightfully ours."

Any hope he might have had in the Morningstar, the Lightbringer, was shattered at that moment.

"Maybe you should too. And consider a shower, while you're at it. Smells like..." He pauses to sniff the air, "burnt hair and old cheese in here."

“You really are useless,” Dagon mutters lowly. “If you weren’t once so respected by the legions of Hell I’d kill you where you stand.”

“Yeah, well, you keep talking and you might get the job done. I’ve already got a migraine.”

“Ugh!” Dagon turns away from him. “Eric, get him out of my sight."

“...Yes, my Lord," Eric says. "...But he is right. It does smell a bit like burnt hair and old cheese in here."

"Out. Now."

“Good Lord, Aziraphale. You could leave some of that for the scriveners.”

Aziraphale looks up from in between the stacks of papers weighing down his desk. “Metatron! What are you, ah-”

“Just working out the last few details before Jesus awakens. Do you… have everything ready?”

It was rare to see him even now. Aziraphale had once thought this was their project, but quickly came to realize that it was in fact his project.

“Yes!” Aziraphale exclaims, far too excited than he meant to sound. “Yes, I just- I’m still working on the grand speech that I’m going to have him give to humanity but I’m sure I’ll have it done before he’s set to, um… ‘make his debut’, so to speak. Again, that is. Just… admittedly, um… I have a few… concerns.”

“Concerns?”

“Yes, um… the other angels, see… they still seem to want to go with the frankly very old and outdated idea of… using the Second Coming to turn Earth into a wasteland. To, ah… ‘settle the score’ with Hell, and... I’m just not sure how to tell them that that’s not what this Second Coming should be! I mean, you understand, right? This is meant to be a joyous occasion! We should be using Jesus to usher in a new era of universal peace, not to kill everyone!”

“The Second Coming is… whatever you need it to be, Aziraphale,” says the Metatron. “As long as we fulfill the basic requirements- bringing Jesus back and all- the rest is… in your very capable hands.”

“...Oh,” Aziraphale breathes a heavy sigh of relief, beaming at him. “Oh, thank you. You don’t know how happy I am to hear that, I just- oh, it’s been a nightmare! Trying to plan all of this and keep the other angels in line! Between that and the blessing reports it’s just- it’s been bothering me, truly.”

“Yes, well- you needn’t let it trouble you. The others will fall into line eventually. In the meantime- universal happiness, yes?”

“Yes, of course. Um... I've been meaning to ask, does... does the Almighty..."

“She already knows. She has foreseen all of it and She has chosen you to lead us,” the Metatron assures him.

Aziraphale hadn't thought much about what role the Almighty played in all this- but if She hadn't stepped in by now, then surely... She must at least want to see what Aziraphale does, right? That had always been more Her thing anyway. Tip-toe around and watch to see what numbers the dice landed on.

But another thought suddenly occurs to him before he can ask anything else about it- about Her- and his smile quickly fades. “I've actually been doing some thinking about what we are to do going forward, after the Second Coming has been set into motion, and... well, do you remember when you told me that it would be within my jurisdiction to restore Crowley back to an angel? Well- I've been giving that some thought, and... it's just that Crowley doesn't want to be an angel, and... I can't force him, nor would I want to, so... I was thinking, it might be beneficial for us to show that an angel and a demon can successfully work together-"

"You wish to bring a demon into the kingdom of Heaven?" the Metatron asks.

"...Well, he... he doesn't align with Hell anymore-"

"But to align with Heaven he must be an angel." 

"I'm not saying he has to align with anyone, I just... look, the point is, if the other angels and demons can see Crowley and I successfully working together, we could change things. Gabriel and Beelzebub was just the first step, but Crowley and I, we could bring about real change-"

"Aziraphale," the Metatron interrupts, in a tone not too dissimilar to a disgruntled parent. "You are not like Gabriel. He had no interest in trying to save humanity- it was only ever about what he wanted. You are different. And Crowley will see the error of his ways eventually. Once he sees that Hell has no chance of victory and your Second Coming has succeeded, he'll realize what you were offering and he'll come back to you. But in the meantime you must stay focused."

Aziraphale feels his heart sink at those words. "I... what? But- but he made it quite clear, and... I don't need Crowley to be an angel, I just... I only wanted that for him if that's what he wanted. I... only ever wanted him to be happy. I thought... I was making him happy."

He feels like a fool trying to justify himself to the Metatron, of all people. But so far the Metatron was one of the only angels willing to even listen to him, who didn't laugh at him or brush him off.

…Until now, that is.

"That is what we do. It's only in your nature to want to help others- even the damned. But Crowley is a stubborn old fool, and-"

Aziraphale is speaking again before he has the chance to think. "I beg your pardon? Crowley is no fool. Stubborn, yes- but not a fool."

He recognizes his mistake as soon as the words come out of his mouth. But although he regrets the rash defensiveness in his tone, he can't find it within himself to regret the words altogether.

Crowley is many things. Stubborn. Creative. A little bit nice. But certainly not a fool.

The Metatron is looking at him curiously, the expression on his face unreadable. Aziraphale can't tell if he's about to start laughing or smite him where he stands.

"...You're awfully fond of Crowley, aren't you?" He turns around and snaps his fingers. There's a dinging noise, and suddenly the elevator doors slide open across the room. "How about you pop down to Earth for a while? Clear your head? Grab a coffee. You seem like you need it."

"Could I really?!" Aziraphale exclaims, before quickly clearing his throat and calmly rising to his feet. "Er, I mean- that would be lovely. Thank you."

"What was that little shop over there? The one about coffee and death? I liked that place. Tell that young lady I said hello."

Muriel, as kind and well-intentioned as they are, has no idea how to run a bookshop. Aziraphale hadn’t expected it to be in the best state whenever he did finally see it again.

But much to his surprise, it’s almost as if it's remained frozen in time. No dusty shelves, no sign of a rodent infiltration- as a matter of fact, it was exactly as it was when he left it.

Could Muriel really have..?

No. There’s no way. Is there?

Even so, despite its curious state, he feels a sense of overwhelming relief to be back in the bookshop again. To be somewhere where things make sense again. Heaven's blinding fluorescent lights and startling lack of color really do make one appreciate the variety that Earth has to offer.

He’s just about to whip up a nice hot cup of tea, when he abruptly hears the sound of books clattering to the floor.

“S-Supreme Archangel!” Muriel stammers. “E-Er, I mean- Aziraphale! You’re back- what are you doing here?! You aren’t supposed to be here! Michael said-”

“...The Metatron advised me to pop in for a visit. To clear my head,” Aziraphale says as he waves his hand and returns the books to their proper places. “What did you say just now? About Michael?"

“Oh, um…” Muriel’s gaze quickly darts to the floor. “Nothing. She said nothing. I’m just being dim again. Because I’m dim. Please disregard that.”

“...Muriel,” Aziraphale says gently as he steps closer to them. “I don’t know what the other angels have told you, but you are not dim. What did Michael say to you?”

“I…” Muriel shifts their weight nervously back and forth, unable to look him in the eye. “I… I’m not supposed to tell you. She said if I told you she’d find out and she’d… she’d erase me…”

“Erase you? You mean… from the-”

“The Book of Life, yes!” Muriel exclaims, frantic. “But she can’t, right? No one is allowed to edit the Book of Life.”

Not entirely true, as he'd come to find out. The Metatron was allowed to make "revisions", so to speak.

"There's no way she would... it would be catastrophic."

“But what if she does have it?!"

Good question. If she does have it, there's currently nothing stopping her from disrupting the flow of time and space and warping reality to her liking, except for what little may remain of her own morals. And given the Almighty's "hands-off" approach as of late, who's to say if She would even intervene?

The apocalypse is bad enough. A Michael version of the apocalypse might just be worse.

“...Muriel, it’s alright,” Aziraphale says soothingly, trying his very best not to think of the very worst case scenario. “Please try to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, I promise.”

Muriel takes in trembling, uneven breaths. “I-If she starts erasing things-”

"We just need to ensure that Michael doesn't feel like she has to use the book then, yes? That means that for now, you stay calm, alright? Stay calm, and continue doing as you're told. We continue on as if nothing's wrong, we keep everything moving and going as planned. I know Michael- she won't make her move until the time is right." 

He allows Muriel a moment to catch their breath before they finally meet his eyes and nod shakily. If Michael really has it and she's not using it, she must be waiting to make her move.

"Good. Now can you tell me where Crowley is? I need to find him, I... could really use his help."

"He's…" Muriel wipes at their eyes, "last I heard, he… was in Hell."

"In Hell? What would he be doing there?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Sandwich said she saw Crowley with some strangely-dressed individuals. It would have to be demons, right?"

"Not necessarily, but in this case it's most likely demons. The question is why."

"Well, unlike you, I didn't turn tail and run back to them as soon as they dangled a shiny new promotion in my face."

Aziraphale surprises himself with how quickly he turns around.

His hair's grown out a bit, a few curls falling into his face, and he's neglected shaving for a bit- but otherwise he looks the same. Handsome as ever, as he always has been.

"Crowley," Aziraphale murmurs, the name falling from his lips before he can stop himself. "You… how did you know I was here?"

"You didn't seriously think you were being covert, did you? Everyone saw you."

Ah. Right.

Aziraphale clears his throat. "Muriel, if you wouldn't mind giving us a moment-"

"No, by all means. Let them stay. Whatever you have to say to me you can say it in front of them," Crowley says, gesturing over to where they're standing.

But rather than smile and wave or ask any questions, Muriel looks over at the door, as if it's suddenly incredibly interesting. "Actually, I um… I think I'll just… go away for a bit."

As they scurry out the door, Crowley shrugs, seemingly impressed. "They're getting better at reading the room."

"Crowley, I um... I didn't think you were working with Hell, for what it's worth," Aziraphale says. Even after everything, he can't bear to have Crowley think that he thought so little of him. "I was worried about you. Worried that they had done something to you."

"Oh, now you're worried about me?"

"I've been worried about you. But I couldn't check in myself, at least… not yet. That's why I had Muriel keep an eye on you."

"Right. Well, if you don't have anything important to say, then I'm going back to the bar-"

It would perhaps be worth mentioning that Crowley followed him over here, not the other way around. Nonetheless, the only thing Aziraphale can seem to focus on is the mention of the bar.

"Is that what you've been doing?" he asks. "Drowning yourself in alcohol?"

"Oh, you're gonna give me the alcoholism speech too, are you? Of course you are. You don't drink now." He flashes Aziraphale a devilish grin. "Too good for that."

Admittedly, there's some truth to it. He hasn't touched so much as a drop of coffee or tea in the past year, let alone wine or food. He was advised to "set an example", and that included "resisting temptation" and "rising above" hedonism.

The sharp pang of hunger stabs at him again. "Crowley-"

"Too good to drink. To eat. To fraternize with a demon."

"I didn't come here to discuss this," Aziraphale says dismissively. "I came to make sure you were alright, which you clearly aren't-"

"Yeah, well, you've done your little wellness check. I'm sure they're missing you so why don't you pop back up there, yeah? How ever will they do the Second Coming without you?"

"For your information, the Second Coming is going swimmingly. O-Or at least... it's going much better than it would've been without me. It's going to be a new era of universal peace. No death, no war, just- peace and happiness."

"Oh, is it now? And you think Hell will just fall into line? What do you thinks going to happen to your peace when a demon kills an angel? Michael, Uriel- you think they're going to let it slide?" Crowley asks.

And well- yes. That thought had occurred to him, obviously. He's not an idiot.

"I've accounted for that," he says informatively. "I've arranged for official negotiations with the highest ranking individuals in Hell. If we can reach an agreement- no one needs to die. I believe that Jesus can help create a world for all of us- but most importantly, for the humans. And you could be a part of that-"

"Negotiations." Crowley lets out a dry, humorless snicker. "Right. You haven't learned anything, have you? When are you going to realize that you can't change anything?!"

"Well someone has to try!" Aziraphale argues. "Because while you're down here drinking your sorrows away, the Second Coming is imminent and the entire planet is on the verge of destruction! Our home, our entire existence- gone."

"Yup," Crowley says simply, "and I don't know about you, but that seems like the best time to get absolutely sloshed."

Aziraphale twitches a bit as a miserable sense of despair settles over him. His chest feels awfully tight. All of this coming from the same demon who once had to convince him to try and save the world.

"What's happened to you?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "You came to me not so long ago and asked me to help you save the world. What happened?"

"Yeah, well, not so long ago the world had you," Crowley murmurs. "And then it didn't."

A sob nearly wrenches its way out of him. "...Crowley-"

"Forget it." Crowley turns around and heads for the door. "I don't even know why we're having this conversation."

"Crowley, wait-"

But, before either of them can say or do anything else, the phone rings.

Crowley freezes and slowly turns back around.

"It shouldn't be ringing when you're closed. Why is it ringing, did Muriel do something?" he asks.

"I… don't think so."

Aziraphale anxiously approaches the phone. He casts one look back at Crowley, who nods at him.

"…Hello?"

"Aziraphale, it's Michael. You're needed back in Heaven immediately. There's an emergency."

"An emergency? What's going on?"

"It's Jesus. He's missing, and… so is the Book of Life. We suspect… that he may have taken it."

"Missing?! But I thought I told Sandalphon-"

"Well, obviously that was a mistake! You need to return to Heaven. Now."

"Yes, of course. I'll be there shortly, just… try and keep everyone calm."

Aziraphale sets the phone back down, nearly missing the base, and slowly turns back to face Crowley.

"Everything still going swimmingly then, I take it?"

Looking back now, he should have known better than to assign Sandalphon to that task. The old saying "if you want something done right, do it yourself" rings true once again.

It takes a while, but Aziraphale eventually manages to settle all the other angels and agree on a plan: Michael and Uriel hold down the fort upstairs, while Aziraphale and Muriel search for Christ on Earth.

"I believe it to be our quickest solution. Muriel and I know Earth best, after all. We'll find Jesus, find the Book of Life, return it to Heaven, and we can properly kick off the Second Coming."

All easier said than done, of course.

"So, I suppose we should start by asking around Whickber Street. Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll be right under our noses!"

Admittedly, Aziraphale couldn't help but admire their infectious optimism. "Yes, I suppose it couldn't hurt- problem is, we don't exactly have a means of getting around quickly. We could take a train if we needed, but we're on a bit of a tight schedule…"

"Oh, you mean a car. Mister Crowley's got one!" Muriel says helpfully.

"Yes, he does- but I very much doubt he'll be willing to help. After I told him what happened he said I was on my own and stormed off."

"Oh, he does that a lot, but usually he just goes into that nearby alleyway and sulks for a bit. Maybe if you talk to him again he'll come around. To be honest, this is the liveliest I've seen him in quite some time. I know you said you feel like you're making him worse, but respectfully Supreme Archangel, I disagree."

Aziraphale draws in a shuddering breath. Okay. So. In the span of twenty-four hours everything that could possibly go wrong has gone wrong. Jesus Christ and the Book of Life are missing, and Michael and probably some of the other angels are plotting against him. But Aziraphale figures at this point he should be used to this, considering nothing can ever seem to go right for him.

No matter. He'll just have to swallow down his feelings- like he's been doing for the past six thousand years- and work with Crowley. No feelings- strictly business to save the world.

He can do that. He's a professional, after all.

Aziraphale is relieved to find Crowley somewhat sober this time. "Crowley, I've come to… to ask for your help," he says. "I'm not… ignorant to everything that's happened between us. But I am asking if we could just set that aside for now and work together."

"You need my car to find him," Crowley says flatly.

"No! Well… technically, no. If I wanted to I could be wherever I wanted to be. But... if I continue to use teleportation miracles Heaven will be watching my every move. I figure… in the Bentley, perhaps with a little miracle, I could… avoid being tracked."

"Oh, now you're concerned about Heaven?"

As if he hasn't spent much of his immortal life concerned about Heaven. "I'm concerned about Michael, in particular. She made a threat to Muriel. I didn't believe it at first, but now… I mean, if Jesus did vanish, it'd be quite easy to shift the blame. But if she does have the Book of Life, she can't know that we know. At least, not yet. If she feels threatened she may retaliate and do something rash, so for now I'm playing along. We need time to get Jesus back, so until then everything has to go according to plan."

"Right. And say she does have it. What are we meant to do if she starts erasing things while we're hunting for the Beloved Son?"

Aziraphale smiles. "Ah!" He holds up a finger, as if he'd thought of that. "I… don't know," he admits.

"Oh. Right then."

"But I suspect that as long as she believes she has control of the situation, she won't use it… to a catastrophic degree, anyway. If she uses it too much she'll get the Almighty's attention, and she could lose her only bargaining chip."

"Maybe that's what she wants," Crowley counters. "I mean, She left Gabriel in charge. Gabriel. Having him as your boss for millions of years is enough to drive anyone crazy… if they don't Fall first, that is."

"So you think this could all be a stunt for attention?"

Crowley shrugs in a such a way that looks far too loose to be natural. "Doesn't matter what it is, we just need to find Jesus and figure out how we're gonna get that book away from her."

Aziraphale's face lights up like a Christmas tree. "We?"

Crowley flushes red, cheeks now matching his hair. "Er-"

"You said 'we'," he continues, elated. "You're going to help me!"

"Jesus was a friend, alright? That's it- it's nothing else, nothing to do with you!" Crowley insists. "Wipe that smile off your face- I'm not doing it for you!"

"Of course." Aziraphale nods along. "Right. I suppose our first move will be to see if anyone around here has seen him, by any chance-"

"Hold on. What are we gonna do with Inspector Constable?"

It's not a good idea. Aziraphale knew that before he even put his plan into motion.

But he doesn't have the best hand right now either, so he'll just have to make do with the cards he's been dealt. "When life gives you lemons", or however the saying goes.

"You want to leave Muriel to handle Michael?"

"I don't love it either, Crowley, but they've gotten a little better at the art of lying during their time on Earth. As long as they can convince Michael they're loyal to her and everything is going exactly the way she wants it to, it should buy us enough time to find Jesus. She's not going to be looking for him."

Crowley looks at him for a few seconds before Aziraphale sighs in frustration, throwing his hands up. "Don't give me that face- do you have a better idea?"

Crowley pouts. "...Alright, fine. Let's go find the missing Messiah."

The first stop of their trip leads them to a familiar coffee shop.

"You've sure got an awful lot of nerve showing your face 'round here again," Nina quips from behind the counter. She tilts her head in Crowley's general direction, smirking. "Took him back that fast, did you?"

"I did no such thing," Crowley insists, glaring at her from behind his sunglasses.

"...It's good to see you again, Nina," Aziraphale says warmly, despite her attitude. It's only reasonable that she'd be upset. "I'm terribly sorry I departed without saying anything. After the way Crowley and I interfered with you and Maggie, I… suppose I do owe you an apology."

"Yeah, well. Don't be too sorry." Nina flashes him her engagement ring, and Aziraphale gasps.

"Oh, how wonderful! Congratulations!" he exclaims, delighted. He gently grabs her hand, admiring the ring. "Oh Nina, it's stunning!"

"Yeah yeah, if you want an invitation to the wedding you should start off your apology by explaining where the hell you went. And don't lie to try and protect me from the truth, we've already crossed that bridge."

Aziraphale wrings his hands anxiously, unsure of how to explain it. "Well… I suppose you're right that there's no point in keeping it from you any longer. You see, I was… offered an opportunity I couldn't refuse, in Heaven. Crowley and I had a… disagreement, and-"

"-And he planted one on you, yes, we heard."

"You-" Aziraphale feels his face heat and he quickly whips around to look at Crowley. "You told them?"

Crowley leans back against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. "…In my defense, I was incredibly wasted."

Aziraphale heaves a sigh. "…Yes, well, I can assure you I'm not whatever horrible monster Crowley has made me out to be. And the kissing was quite nice, actually!"

Crowley makes a noise that sounds an awful lot like choking on his own spit, while Nina's expression could only be described as thoroughly amused.

"...Good to hear it?" she says through a chuckle. "But you should know he never spoke ill of you. He hated what you did, but he never hated you."

"Excuse me, hi, yeah- I'm still here." Crowley waves his hand in the air. "I'm still in the room and would very much appreciate it if you didn't speak for me."

"Well, clearly someone's got to, you two are rubbish at this. Especially you," she says, pointing to Aziraphale. "Although kissing someone out of the blue isn't great communication either..."

Aziraphale clears his throat, already feeling like he's said too much. "Nina, forgive me, but we're in a bit of a time crunch. We came here to ask if you've seen… a young man around. He'd… be about this tall…" Aziraphale holds a hand up next to him, "dark curly hair, probably looking a bit lost?"

"I see tons of people who look like that, Mr. Fell. Every day. You're gonna have to give me a bit more to work with."

"Did you see any casual miracles?" Crowley chimes in. "Like… turning water into wine, or something? That was one of his favorite party tricks."

"Water into wi- are you talking about Jesus? The Jesus?" Nina asks.

"That would be the one, yes," says Aziraphale. "I was going to try and ease you into it…"

"God- yeah. Right. Okay. God your lives are weird." She sighs heavily. "No, I didn't see anything like that. The only one fitting your broad description that sort of stood out to me was… this man, I don't know, he was a young man. Good-looking, too. He came up to order and was just… fascinated by everything on the menu. I gave him a coffee and he started rambling about how much better it tasted now..? I don't know, I just thought he was eccentric. Then when it was time for him to pay he didn't have any money, but the gentleman behind him was kind enough to cover it for him. He talked to a few other people in the shop, said something about how he had to find a redhead and…"

The words die in Nina's mouth as she comes to a realization. She turns to look at Crowley. "He meant you, didn't he. He- he meant you."

"...Lots of redheads out there," Crowley says nonchalantly. "Could be anyone."

"But there's only one that he knew before he was crucified," Aziraphale points out. "Crowley, he's looking for you!"

"Well- what the hell would he be doing that for?!"

"Because you knew him! You're probably one of the last people he remembers talking to!"

"I didn't even see him after his first grand resurrection. I got called back to head office for a little while and-"

"Crowley-"

"...Nina, did he say where he was off to?" Crowley asks.

The two of them watch as Nina goes pale, her eyes widening. "…Oh no."

"What?" Both Aziraphale and Crowley ask simultaneously.

"I… may have accidentally sent Jesus Christ of Nazareth to America."

The shop goes deathly silent for a moment, save for Crowley making an unintelligible noise of shock.

"…Ah," Aziraphale finally says, "and uh… how did you do that?"

"He was telling me about this nice man he met with unique eyes and so I said 'well, there's plenty of fish in the sea', and then he says 'oh, I wasn't talking about a fish, I'm looking for a person,' and then, jokingly, I said 'have you tried America, I hear redheads are pretty common over there', and-"

"What the fuck," Crowley mutters, "you- you sent God's son to America. Wow."

"I didn't mean to, I thought he would know what a joke is seeing as how, you know, I didn't know I was talking to Jesus Christ himself!"

"Alright, let's- let's try to stay calm," Aziraphale says through panicked breaths. "H-He couldn't have gotten far, could he? I mean- he has no money to take a plane. Or- oh good Lord, can he teleport?"

"Why are you asking me?! He's one of your lot, isn't he?" Crowley retorts.

"Jesus is… a very special individual, but he is not an angel. God made it very clear She wanted him to be human."

"Right, whatever, we've got to figure out which airport he ended up at, assuming he didn't board a plane already. Having no money isn't going to stop him."

"And why's that?" Nina cuts in.

"He's got a sort of way about him, people want to give him things- I don't know, the point is, he'll get there eventually one way or another, so we've gotta move. Angel, let's go."

"Hold on, Crowley," Aziraphale says, "we can't leave Nina and Maggie… vulnerable."

Crowley looks at him and sighs before waving a hand. "There. Your shops should be hidden from any nosy angels… or demons."

"Wait. Is this… is the world in danger again?"

"Eh." Crowley makes a 'more or less' motion with his hand as he heads for the door.

"We've got it under control, I promise, just- try to keep calm!" Aziraphale flashes her a thumbs up and follows Crowley out the door.

Nina watches them go and sighs.

"Well, better see if there's any way we can move up the wedding to before Armageddon."

Aziraphale has not been in the Bentley since he took it to Edinburgh. And although she certainly doesn't seem to have an issue with him, Crowley has mostly kept silent, a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel as he drives far faster than he really needs to.

"Do you think she missed me?" he asks, mostly in an attempt to make conversation.

Crowley ignores him, of course, keeping his eyes firmly on the road.

"I'd like to think she did. I was very good to her, you know."

More silence. Aziraphale sighs and glances down at the radio. "…I think I'd quite like some music. Even bebop will do."

"I'm good," Crowley grumbles before Aziraphale can even reach for his collection, which mostly consists of Best of Queen albums that didn't start out being Best of Queen albums.

"You're…" Aziraphale settles back in. "Alright then."

Uncomfortable silence sits awkwardly between them as Aziraphale watches the world speeding by him through the window. He wants to halfheartedly reprimand Crowley for speeding, but suspects it probably wouldn't go over well.

At least, not the way it usually would. Usually Crowley would blow him off and make a comment that Aziraphale would try his best not to chuckle at.

"Crowley, is this- is this how it's going to be the whole time? Silence?"

"I said I'd help you find him. I didn't say we had to talk."

"Yes, but…" Aziraphale wracks his brain for a rebuttal, "we… should have an actual plan, shouldn't we?"

"We do have a plan. Find Jesus and stop Michael."

"Yes, but-"

"By any means necessary." Crowley turns to look at him for the first time since they hit the road. "You understand what that means, yeah? Or are you just gonna run back to Heaven again as soon as they ask?"

Aziraphale had filed that under "things he didn't have time to think about right now".

"I... I don't know, alright? I don't know much of anything right now except that the Book of Life and Jesus Christ are missing and I have to find them before things start disappearing!"

"So you've just got it all under control, then?"

"You know for a time, Crowley, I did! I had to run myself ragged to do it but things did seem to be going my way! For once! If you can manage to believe it I wasn't constantly- what's a phrase you'd use- screwing things up. I had a plan in place, I had angels that would actually listen to me for once instead of laughing in my face, and-"

"And how's it going now, hm? Do you think it's going well? Hell certainly seems to think so. Do you know what they said to me when I had my little chat with them? Dagon told me that Armageddon is set to begin once Jesus makes his grand comeback. Does that sound in line with your plans?"

"It doesn't matter what they think, Hell has already agreed-"

"You're missing the point! The point is that it was never going to go your way! You're not daft, angel, don't act like it!"

Crowley's face softens as soon as the words leave his mouth, but he doesn't take them back. For a moment, the Bentley is deathly silent.

"Stop the car."

"What?"

"I said stop the car!"

Crowley does as he's told. He pulls off to the side of the road.

"...I am sorry for raising my voice at you. But if this is how it's going to be, I don't want to go any further with you, and I'll continue on my own," Aziraphale says coldly.

"Angel-"

"No, I am not going to sit here and be berated by you this entire trip for trying to do something. Because if it weren't for me, Armageddon 2.0 probably would have been kicked off by now. I didn't leave Earth because of any promotion- I left because I thought that maybe, just maybe, someone could see things my way and- if that was true then there was a chance things could be better. If you truly believe that I left out of a selfish desire for power, then… I regret to inform you that you do not know me at all."

"…You said we were the bad guys," Crowley says somberly. "You made it clear that the only way you could ever… accept me, is if I went back to something more palatable for you. What was I supposed to think?"

"Is that really what you think?" Aziraphale asks, horrified. "You really think so little of me? It wasn't about changing you, it was about keeping you safe! It was about righting a wrong, it-"

"I don't need or want to right that wrong, angel," Crowley says, his voice surprisingly soft. "Justified or not, I am what I am because of it. And believe me, I spent years and years asking what I did to deserve it. But I have never once thought about going back, either- because being here, with you… it didn't make it go away, but it made things easier. I thought that… if you could accept me like this, then maybe I could too."

Oh. Oh. How long had he let Crowley go on thinking that?

"Crowley, even if you don't listen to anything I say ever again, please at least listen to this. Nothing about you is… wrong, or broken. The only version of you that I want is the one sitting with me right now. I... made you that offer because all I could think about was how it never should have happened in the first place, but... I was wrong. The truth is, I quite like you the way you are now, and I wouldn't have you any other way. But... I see now that I've hurt you, and… that's the last thing I wanted to do, you must know." Aziraphale places his hand atop Crowley's, searching for his eyes behind the sunglasses. "I will not apologize for leaving. But… I shouldn't have said what I said, about… you being the bad guys. I'm not blind to what Heaven has done, I just... wanted it to be so much more. But above all I should never have made you feel like you have to change yourself for me. And for that I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"

Crowley anxiously taps the steering wheel with his free hand. "...You can't just expect me to forgive you as soon as you ask. I laid all my cards on the table and you just walked away like it was nothing."

"It wasn't nothing. I almost went back more times than I can count."

"But you never did."

"Because I had to try," Aziraphale insists, squeezing his hand. "I had to. But I've spent nearly every moment in Heaven thinking of you."

A choked off, high pitched noise escapes Crowley as Aziraphale inches closer to him. 

"Demons can't really forgive," he finally says after a moment. "Not in our job description. But you're not gonna let it go, are you?"

Aziraphale hopes that the defiant look on his face is answer enough.

"...Yeah. Thought so." Crowley nods and finally meets his eyes. "No promises, but… I'll work on it."

Aziraphale smiles tenderly at him, admittedly feeling a bit relieved. "Thank you."

"And I'm still mad, just to be clear. And I reserve the right to be angry as long as I see fit if we somehow manage to pull this off."

"Naturally."

"And I… shouldn't have called you daft. You're… frustratingly clever, just… naive, sometimes, so. Sorry."

"It's quite alright, my dear. Can we at least agree no more silent treatment?"

Crowley nods. "Yeah, alright, fine. No more silent treatment."

The silence between them slowly starts to feel a bit less suffocating. Crowley's hand moves to restart the Bentley and Aziraphale quickly pulls his own hand back.

The right thing to do would be to wait in line. Unfortunately, they're in a bit of a rush. A bit of divine interference to make sure no one questions the two gentlemen cutting in line is all well and good if it's for the right reasons.

"What can I do for you?" the cheery woman behind the counter asks.

"Hello miss, we were actually hoping if you could tell us if you've seen someone who looks like this come through here recently." Aziraphale holds up the sketch he did on the way. "He… may or may not have the beard. It's been a while since I've seen him."

The woman narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. "Um- are you guys cops? Is this guy a suspect?" She leans in to get a closer look at the portrait. "I'm assuming you're the sketch artist." 

"Oh, no, you misunderstand, we're not-"

"He is. A sketch artist," Crowley says smoothly. "And I'm Detective, uh... Bentley. I can't disclose the details but we do believe he may be a person of interest in a high-profile case."

"Oh, shit- I mean, shoot. Sorry, um- I can go get my manager if you have any questions..." 

"Not necessary, just need to know if you've seen anyone matching this description."

"Whoa, that drawing is really good," another young woman comments, walking over from her line to get a closer look.

"Oh, really? Thank you! I was a bit nervous about how it would turn out," Aziraphale admits. Then, after Crowley nudges him in the ribs, he clears his throat and corrects himself. "Er, I mean... I... was fairly confident, being a sketch artist and all, but..."

"Yeah, he looked just like that- but no beard," she says casually. "He came through my line asking for a ticket to America."

"So you saw him. Where did he go?" Crowley asks.

"I asked him where he wanted to go and he said he didn't have a specific destination in mind, so he told me to surprise him. Thought it was a bit of an odd request, but… I booked him a flight for New York."

"Why New York?"

The woman shrugs. "There weren't a whole lot of options for any flight on such short notice, let alone a flight that actually had some availability. I just picked the first one I saw."

"Has it taken off yet?"

"Yeah, not too long ago. Why?"

"Then we have no choice." Aziraphale fishes around in his pocket. "If you could be a dear and get us on the next flight to New York-"

"No," Crowley interrupts. "I don't do planes, angel. A bunch of humans all packed in like sardines in the sky, sharing recycled air? No thanks, I'll pass."

"Crowley, you're being dramatic-"

"Your name is Crowley Bentley?" the other girl asks, smirking. 

Crowley fixes her with a harsh glare. "Yes, yes it is. Given to me by my mother. Raised all eight of us by herself while my piece-of-shit father ran off with the secretary. She's in hospice now in the final stages of her life and my siblings and I try to hold on to every moment we have left with her. I take great pride in my name, miss. A great woman gave it to me."

"...Oh," the woman shrinks back behind the counter, mortified. "Sir, I am... so sorry, I didn't mean anything by it, I just-"

"Thank you both for all your help, we'll be leaving now," Aziraphale cuts in before dragging a grinning Crowley off towards the exit.

"You didn't have to do that," he chastises, biting back laughter. "The poor dear got so red..."

"She made fun of my name, I was just having a bit of fun," Crowley says defensively, still looking quite pleased with himself.

"Yes yes, Detective Bentley. But last I checked the Bentley is a car, not a plane. How do you intend to get to America? Surely we're not taking a boat. A plane would be much faster and won't make me seasick."

"The Bentley will do whatever I need it to do in any given moment, angel," Crowley says. "So if I need it to fly, it will fly."

"...I do hope you're right. I don't want to have to cut the line again."

As it turns out, the Bentley does, in fact, fly.

Whether or not it flies well, is… a different question.

NEW YORK CITY

THE UNITED STATES

New York has undoubtedly earned its reputation as "the city that never sleeps". It was overwhelming the last time he was here in the sixties- but it's flourished even since then. Endless crowds, advertisements everywhere- a place to eat on every block.

"I haven't been to America since the sixties! Look at how much New York has grown!" Aziraphale gushes. "When was the last time you were here?" 

"Popped in back in '99 to do a quick temptation. It was trivial, didn't wanna bother you with it," Crowley says nonchalantly. "So, elephant in the room, I'll say it: there's no way in Hell we can search an entire city without using a miracle or two."

"Well he couldn't have gotten far- he doesn't have a car. And even if he did, traffic wouldn't allow him to make much progress. Speaking of which- we'll need to leave the Bentley parked and go about this on foot. I'm afraid we won't make good time if we're constantly having to stop."

Crowley makes a face at that, but begrudgingly agrees, throwing the Bentley into park and snapping his fingers to feed the meter. "I say we put up a reward," he suggests. "Ten thousand dollars for anyone who can find him and bring him to us- alive and unharmed, of course. We can convert currency here, right? Should be easy."

"Wha- absolutely not!"

"Yeah, you're right, ten grand isn't much these days. Let's double it. Twenty."

"The money is not the issue! That would traumatize him! Not to mention we'd catch the attention of the human authorities, and I'd rather not have to deal with them."

"It'd be effective. Would save us the trouble of having to hunt him down. Aren't you the one that said humans are good at finding other humans?"

"Crowley, we are not putting up a bounty for the Son of God and that's final."

Crowley sighs and throws his hands up in defeat. "Fine, suit yourself. What's our next move, then? Split up, cover more ground?"

"No!" Aziraphale blurts out in a panic. "...Er, I mean- no. That… won't do us any good. The flight was probably a good eight hours, assuming there weren't any delays. That means it's been over twenty four hours since Christ has been on Earth, which means he's got to be getting tired by now. My best guess is that he went in search of somewhere to lay his head."

"A hotel? Seriously, how much have people been giving him out of pity? No one extended me any generosity when they saw me living out of my car."

Aziraphale goes pale. "You lost your flat? I thought Shax gave it back so she could be the new Duke of Hell!"

"She did, but it's the paperwork. Hell still has to process it and you know how slow they are so in the meantime until they put the flat back in my name I'm still stuck in my car."

"Well- why didn't you just stay in the bookshop? You know you're welcome there. I gave you a key, for Heaven's sake."

"I… tried," Crowley says hesitantly, "but… every time I walked in there I just… remembered it."

Aziraphale looks at him miserably. Time doesn't move quite the same way in Heaven as it does on Earth, but there wasn't a moment spent there where the memory of Crowley wasn't all over him, in his head, consuming his every thought. The firm grip of his fist in his coat, the slight flinch when Aziraphale touched his back, the glasses sitting askew on the bridge of his nose-

"…So did I," he says quietly. "All the time."

"Was it… I mean…" Crowley's cheeks flush red. "Did you… did you hate it?"

"Not at all."

"Oh." Crowley nods. "Right. Okay. Cause... your face, afterwards. It..."

"I was rather upset at the time, in case you've forgotten. But it wasn't... I didn't hate it at all, it was... it was nice."

"Just nice?"

"Well it's not as if I have a whole lot to compare it to, do I?"

"I don't know, do you?"

"No! I mean, I've... done some reading, on the subject, but..." Aziraphale coughs and points across the street. "L-Look. The, um. There's a hotel, here. I was thinking we could check here first. And if he is here, we could get room service! Breakfast in bed!"

"Sorry, what use do you have for breakfast in bed?"

"Well, I'm a fan of breakfast, regardless of the location. I've never had it in a bed, but I'm open to it."

Crowley waves a hand. "...Doesn't matter. If he's somehow managed to scrounge up enough change to get a room, it's certainly not at this place. You really think he can swing what they charge for a room?"

Disappointed, Aziraphale turns back around in his seat. "Ah. That… makes sense, I suppose. So… where would you suggest we look?"

"We'll start by eliminating fancy hotels," Crowley says.

"Perhaps you could ask your friend Sari to bring up motels in the area?"

"Siri, angel, and she's not my... nevermind. Yeah."

"Oh, this one isn't too bad. I quite like the decor. Very cozy."

It's a bit too much, for Crowley's taste- but everything in America is just sort of Like That, from what he can tell. Or maybe it's just New York.

The redheaded woman behind the desk is all cheer and customer-service smiles as soon as she spots them.

"Good evening, welcome in! Just so you know, we are offering a couple's special- rooms with a king bed are fifteen percent off!"

"Thanks, but we're not a couple," Crowley grumbles as he approaches the desk. "Just need to know if you've seen-"

"Oh, forgive me for assuming, but… you are holding hands."

Crowley looks down. Fuck. When had Aziraphale grabbed his hand?

"Don't look at me, you reached for my hand," Aziraphale insists. "It was busy, you seemed worried that you were going to lose me."

"I wasn't…" Crowley pulls his hand away, far rougher than he needed to. "Anyway, we're looking for someone. Can you tell me if a man matching this description entered your establishment?"

The woman stares blankly, awaiting a description. Crowley nudges Aziraphale, and he gasps out a tiny "oh!" before digging around in his pocket to retrieve the drawing.

"Hm…" She leans in to observe, eyes narrowed. "That's a good drawing, but unfortunately company policy prohibits me from sharing any information about guests."

"So he is a guest here," Crowley says.

"No, I've never seen that guy before. But even if I had, I couldn't tell you. Policy and all."

"…Right." Crowley turns around and makes a beeline for the door. "Thanks for your time, miss."

"Wait!" she calls after him. "If you guys do find him, could you like- see if he's single? And if so, send him my way- as long as he's not like a serial killer or something? He was really cute."

"…Yeah. Sure. We'll get right on that."

"Are you sure he's not here?" Aziraphale asks as he follows him out the door.

"He's not. Let's keep moving."

By the tenth motel/hotel/whatever the fuck, Crowley is already exhausted, tired of New York, and ready to go home. Admittedly, he isn't as patient with the front desk clerk as he should have been.

Then again, perhaps "clerk" is a bit too formal of a term. The kid looked like he was barely out of high school, his name tag is a sticker, and the motel they're currently in is about half the size of a Holiday Inn- and that's being generous.

"I'm sorry sir, I just don't really understand why you're asking-"

"It doesn't matter why I'm asking, just tell me if you've seen-"

"I'm sorry, you'll have to forgive my fiancé, he's a bit jet-lagged from all the travel," Aziraphale smoothly cuts in, gently shoving Crowley off to the side. "We're currently in New York in search of a wedding venue, you see. We're getting married next year."

The clerk- James, according to his name tag- nods along. "…Right. It's no problem, I'm used to it working the night shift."

"Listen, we're both exhausted and I think we're ready to turn in for the night. Do you have a room available, by any chance?"

Crowley forces a smile. "What are you doing right now, honey?" he asks through clenched teeth.

"Helping us relax, darling. We'll need our rest, we've got a long day ahead of us," Aziraphale answers, without so much as looking at him. Bastard.

"Yes, but we've still got quite a lot of searching to do, and we really don't have time for-"

"One king or two queens?" James asks.

"Two roo-"

"A king, please."

James glances back and forth between the two of them before returning his eyes to his screen. "…Okay, so… with the fees it's gonna come to ninety-four even. I'll need your ID as well."

"Oh, that's not bad at all!"

Having been left with no other choice, Crowley quietly fumes as Aziraphale fetches his wallet. It seemed the decision had been made for him after all.

"Listen," Aziraphale says once they make their way upstairs, "I know you didn't want to stay, but you're starting to get frustrated."

"Frustrated is basically my whole personality."

"A night to wind down will do us both some good," Aziraphale continues, like he hadn't heard him. "Besides, you can have the bed. As long as I have a chair and a good book I'll be quite satisfied."

"No, yeah, that's great. I'll go to sleep and you can sit in the corner and watch me, and that's totally normal and not weird."

"Who said I'll be watching you? You won't even know I'm there, promise."

Unlikely. Crowley can already feel his heart beating a mile a minute and they haven't even opened the door yet. It's one thing being stuck in the Bentley for hours with Aziraphale, but to be in a room with him, alone, with one bed…

He had said they were married. Was Crowley supposed to just be normal about that?

To his surprise, the room does have a TV… from roughly 1992, if Crowley had to guess. And no books other than the Bible, which Aziraphale probably isn't in the mood for.

There is a stack of magazines on the coffee table though, which catches his eye. He takes the top one off of the stack and flips through it. "Top ten ways to please your man in bed..?"

Crowley snickers bitterly. "Well, no use for that one, right?"

Aziraphale shoots him an icy glare before moving on to the next magazine. "Oh, this one's got recipes. Didn't you try your hand at cooking a few times?"

He had. More than once. "I don't have the patience for it."

"Simple home-cooked meals… oh, Crowley, we must stop at a diner after we find Jesus- you know I've never had an authentic dinner in America at an actual diner? New York must have one, yes? Oh, I'm starving. I mean- not literally, but… well, I've held off from food since I've been away."

"Right," Crowley says as he sits down on the edge of the bed. "Have to set an example. Can't do any of those icky Earth things like eating food, am I right?"

"I had to reassure them that I was dedicated to the cause. I wasn't going to give up food forever," Aziraphale argues. "Speaking of which…"

He walks over to the coffeemaker and waves a hand to get it brewing. "Some caffeine would be lovely, don't you think?"

Crowley snaps his fingers. The TV is playing an old movie- one he must not have ever gotten around to watching. As the coffee is brewing he tries to immerse himself, to turn off his surroundings for a bit and focus- but he has no hope of managing that with Aziraphale humming a tune a few feet away from him while he searches for a cup.

"You…" he starts, but quickly shuts his mouth.

"Hm? Did you say something, dear?"

No. Nothing. Nothing at all. "Why'd you tell him we were married?"

"You mean the boy at the counter?" Aziraphale asks as he finally manages to find the sleeve of cups tucked away under the desk. "I thought he might give us a discount, like that other nice young lady."

"…Oh." Crowley clenches at the blankets. "…That's it?"

"Well if it bothers you that much-"

"It's not- it's not bothering me, it's-"

"It clearly is." Aziraphale walks over and seats himself next to Crowley on the bed. He doesn't say anything further, but the intention is clear.

Talk to me.

"I…" Crowley instinctively inches away, heart about to pound out of his chest. "It's… it's you. Being all… you, about this, like this is normal. You're gonna share a room with me, find Jesus Christ with me, save the world with me if we're lucky… and then what? You're gone to complete your holy mission and I'm… here. Again. On my own."

"Crowley…"

"And I knew that, and I still agreed to help you anyway." He lets out a humorless, weak laugh. "Shit."

"Crowley, to be honest… right now I have never felt more uncertain," Aziraphale admits. "I… thought I was, but… everything has been slowly falling apart for a while now. Everything I'm doing now is a last ditch effort to prevent the worst from happening. But… the one thing I do know, above all, is that I can't imagine a future without you. I… even thought of ways I could still see you, if I managed to succeed. I thought I could convince you to work with me- as a demon- and we could… change the way things are done, for the better."

Crowley considers this for a moment. It's almost too inconceivable to imagine- millions of angels and demons that have hungered for battle for thousands of years just putting their weapons down? For the two of them?

"You can save your comments, I know you think it's idiotic. I just… I suppose, in a strange sort of way, Gabriel and Beelzebub gave me hope that it could be done. But… the Metatron didn't seem too keen on the idea, and… since I've been on Earth I've started thinking about why he even chose me in the first place." Aziraphale looks down at his hands. "I'm beginning to suspect that he may not have had any faith in me at all."

"For what it's worth, angel," Crowley says, "I don't think it's a terrible idea. But is that really how you'd want to spend your eternity? Being the middle man to keep both sides at bay?"

"No, of course not! Not at all, but… I didn't know what else to do, so… I thought of the only thing I could to make it… bearable," Aziraphale says. "…I don't have a choice. It's either this or the annihilation of humanity as we know it."

"Yeah, well. Annihilation might be coming sooner than you think," Crowley murmurs.

"…Yes," Aziraphale says softly, leaning in closer. "It might."

"I-I mean, we…" Crowley folds and unfolds his legs. Aziraphale is close enough that he can feel him, feel the warmth emanating from him. "Could get, like, evaporated. Right now. If Michael felt so inclined."

"Quite right."

Is he misreading this? He can't be. He's sitting so close their legs are touching, for fuck's sake. He has to know. He has to.

"I'm not- I mean, I'm just… I'm just saying, it… I mean, we're… any time, we could-"

Aziraphale silences him by placing his hand on his thigh.

Shit.

Holy shit.

"Yes," he says. "I know."

Crowley swallows heavily. Last time he did this, he fucked it up royally. But he can do it right, he knows he can, he just needs another chance. He'd let Aziraphale lead this time. He'd let him set the pace, let him take and take whatever he wanted. As long as Crowley was able to give it, he would. Even if he can't, he'll find a way, because he can't not give Aziraphale what he wants. It's not possible, not for him.

"Angel, I-"

"Oh God, oh God! Yes, yes-"

Crowley's mouth abruptly snaps shut. Both of them turn to look at the wall behind them- the source of the voice. The pleading is accompanied by a faint thumping sound, and an occasional groan.

"…Oh dear," Aziraphale says.

Crowley growls in frustration and bangs on the wall. "Keep it down, for fuck's sake!"

"Crowley, dear, there's no need. They'll… finish soon."

He snaps his fingers, and the noise thankfully stops.

"…Thanks," Crowley mutters.

"You're, ah… quite welcome. I'm going to, um… get back to the magazines, if you'd like to head to bed for the night."

While the couple next door continues on, blissfully unaware, Crowley stays put. He doesn't yell anything, doesn't bang on the wall again, but when they wake up tomorrow and find their belongings ruined from a spontaneous leak in the roof, well- that'll probably be a real mood-killer.

Aziraphale was about to kiss him before they had ruined it. They should consider themselves lucky that that was the extent of Crowley's revenge.

Aziraphale's not sure how long it takes Crowley to fall asleep. But once he hears him breathing soft and steadily, he pauses the movie he was only partially paying attention to and walks over to the bed.

Gently, he sits upright beside where Crowley is sprawled out like a starfish, almost completely face-down in the pillow. He smiles fondly and gently pushes a few curls out of his face. With the glow of the TV he can see the bit of stubble he's kept, the lines around his eyes, his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes. They don't need to breathe, not even when they're sleeping, but Crowley looks quite lovely when he does it. Like when he's watching a play, or driving, or stopping time- or doing just about anything, really.

"Look at you," he murmurs. "Gorgeous."

Crowley kissed him eleven months, two weeks and six days ago, on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. For the past eleven months. two weeks, and six days, the memory of it hasn't left his mind. Aziraphale has relived it hundreds, thousands of times in his head but it's never as good as that first time. Their first kiss.

With his free hand, he reaches up and touches his lips again. His insides twist sharply as he gently caresses Crowley's face.

It shouldn't have happened like that- born of pain and desperation. But Aziraphale cherishes it regardless. Perfectly imperfect- it's theirs and no one can take it from them, not even the Almighty.

If he'd had a chance to do it right, he would've gotten over his initial shock and kissed him back properly. He's not had much experience with that beyond one or two curious human encounters, but he's a quick study- and like he told him, he was well-read on the subject. He could learn- learn what Crowley likes and dislikes. He could slide a hand in Crowley's hair and lock his fingers in his curls. He could use his other hand to wrap around his waist and bring him closer.

He could do it right, if he had another chance. He's sure he could.

But you rarely get do-overs in life, whether you're human or not so human. Even if everything worked out in the end, would Crowley want a do-over?

"Somehow, I'll find a way," he whispers into the darkness of the room. "A way we can get it right."

Crowley is awakened for the second time that morning by the sound of the door clicking open.

"No continental breakfast- but they had donuts on a little table by the front desk. I would've brought you one, but I know how particular you are…"

Crowley slowly sits up, rubbing at his eyes. He's sure he looks a mess, and Aziraphale- the bastard- looks perfect as ever. "Those… probably weren't for guests, angel. They were more than likely having a staff meeting and you robbed a donut."

Aziraphale looks down at the donut in his hand shamefully. "…Oh."

"You just think any old donut you find is complimentary?"

"There wasn't a sign or anything!"

Crowley throws his head back and laughs loudly. "Properly demonic, you are. You find any good recipes in those magazines last night?"

"Oh, quite a few! I wouldn't mind trying my hand at cooking again. I hope they don't mind, but I think I'll take that magazine with me."

"Right. Well, we gotta get moving," Crowley says, tossing the blanket off of himself. He uses a quick miracle to make himself presentable and grabs his keys off the nightstand. "The sooner we start the more ground we cover. It's a big city and he could be anywhere."

"No time for coffee?"

"No, did you grab our keycards?"

"Yes, yes, I have them right-"

Aziraphale abruptly falls silent. Crowley pulls the door shut and turns to look at him. "Angel?"

Aziraphale isn't at his side. He's slowly walking down the hall- creeping, almost.

"Angel," he says again, "what exactly are we looking at?"

"…The vending machine," Aziraphale finally says in a hushed whisper, "look at the vending machine."

Crowley does.

Standing at the end of the hall, in front of the vending machine with a serious, contemplative look on his boyish face was none other than Jesus Christ, in the flesh- seemingly deciding on which flavor of chips to go with.

"You're kidding me," Crowley says, stunned. "He- has he been here the whole time?"

"How should I know?"

"Well, you go talk to him."

"No, I might scare him off. He knows you- you talk to him."

"Why are we talking about him like he's a frightened animal?"

Aziraphale gives him a stern look and points at the end of the hallway, and Crowley sighs in resignation.

Now that he's seeing him up close, he does look better without the beard. Crowley's sure he told him once that it aged him. But he's still got the same expressive eyes and the same full head of curly hair.

"…I'm a fan of the spicy ones, personally," he says in an attempt to break the ice as he leans against the side of the vending machine.

"…It's a difficult dilemma. You see, I'd like the cheese ones. I've discovered I quite like cheese. But if I buy them, I'll be out of money…"

A difficult dilemma indeed. "I'll show you a fun little trick. But don't tell anyone."

Crowley taps the glass a few times, and suddenly every snack in the machine falls to the bottom.

"How did you do that?!" Jesus drops to his knees and begins pulling out snacks. "That was amazing!"

"You're welcome."

Jesus finally turns to face him, preparing to thank him, but as soon as their eyes meet he drops the bags he was holding.

"You… you're him… the redhead…"

"The one and only."

Jesus plucks the sunglasses off Crowley's face, exposing his eyes. "Yes, I remember now. You had the remarkable eyes!"

"Well, 'remarkable' is a bit…"

"I'm so glad I found you, I've been searching everywhere for you!"

"Jesus," Aziraphale pops out from behind Crowley. "Ah- hello. We haven't officially met- I'm Aziraphale. I'm an angel. I understand you were looking for Crowley...?"

"Crowley, now I remember!"

"Yes, well, he's actually not an angel, he's-"

"A demon, yes. It… was sort of obvious." Jesus gestures to his eyes. "But that's okay. Crowley was very kind to me. And ever since I left Heaven I've been searching for him. Everyone else I knew is dead, but I figured as a demon Crowley must still be around, so… I went looking for you, and here you are!"

"No no, we were looking for you," Crowley tells him. "You were aimlessly wandering around with money you collected through sheer dumb luck."

"Oh, I'm sorry. If I knew you were looking I would have stayed put."

"…Are you hungry?" Aziraphale asks. "We'll treat you to a meal, if you'd like."

His boyish face brightens instantly at the mention of a meal. "Yes, that would be wonderful!"

They find a small restaurant around the corner. It doesn't exactly fit the aesthetic that Aziraphale had in mind, but the menu at least looked promising.

"Order whatever you like," Aziraphale says as Jesus eagerly flips through the menu.

"See, that's the thing, I'm not quite sure what I like. Can't remember. I only just recently rediscovered my fondness for cheese."

"Well, that's the fun part. You get to rediscover!"

"That's so exciting! Let's see…" Jesus looks down at the page, squinting. "…Oh, I don't think I can read English."

"Wh- but you're speaking English," Aziraphale points out.

"I know! That's so weird, isn't it?"

Crowley rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers, and the pages automatically switch to Aramaic.

"Much better!"

"Angel," he says, standing up. "I need a word with you in private."

"I haven't decided what I want yet."

Crowley gives him an urgent look, and he sighs in defeat.

"Fine. Jesus, whatever you order, order the same for me, please."

Jesus flashes him a thumbs-up. "You got it!"

Crowley leads him to the bathroom which, thankfully, neither of them have ever had any need for. "Are you sure you want to turn him back over to Heaven?"

"Well, he… is sort of an integral part of it all. Why? What are you thinking?"

"I say we keep him with us for the time being. The less pawns Michael has, the better. 'Sides, they could do something to him if we take him back up there. Give him an… angel lobotomy, or something, I don't know. Point is, we keep him with us 'til the Book situation is sorted."

Aziraphale leans against the sink and sighs. "Yes, I… suppose you're right."

"Don't like that plan?"

"No, it's a fine plan, it's just… I've been thinking about what you said last night. And now that we've found Jesus…"

"What about him?"

"Well… Adam stopped the end of the world through sheer willpower," Aziraphale tells him. "He was destined to bring it all down and he didn't, because he didn't want to. Does… Jesus seem particularly enthused to bring on the Second Coming?"

Crowley hums in thought. "Well, I haven't really asked his thoughts on the subject…"

"Exactly. I didn't really get the chance to give him the rundown on it, so let's see where he stands on that. If he seems enthusiastic about the end of human life, maybe we can sway him another way."

"But Jesus isn't like Adam. Adam was brimming with dark, reality-bending power and Jesus is… mostly human, just with a few neat little tricks when the moment is right."

"Human incarnate, remember?" Aziraphale says with a knowing smile. "Besides, sometimes a few little tricks is all you need."

It's a decent enough meal. A bit overpriced, but that's to be expected in New York.

They spend the next few hours doing some reluctant sightseeing, taking Jesus through a small part of the city. He wasn't particularly hard to please and seemed to be excited by just about everything.

Admittedly, it's almost reminiscent of their early days traveling together. A part of Crowley wishes Aziraphale had been there back then.

"So, Jesus. Crowley here never actually went into detail on how you two met each other."

"Oh, gosh- it was so long ago I'm not sure I remember it clearly," Jesus admits as he pads around the hotel room, apparently fascinated with the TV.

Aziraphale turns to Crowley and, knowing that he isn't going to get out of it, Crowley reluctantly launches into an explanation.

"I found him with a healer who I was supposed to tempt. All laid up with a broken leg. The healer wasn't supposed to have any patients at the time and had already met with some of my demonic associates, so I didn't think to hide my eyes. He saw me, and I thought he was gonna freak out or try to exorcise me, but… he didn't. He figured me out and he just… smiled and waved at me. Let me go on with my temptation, and so when I was done, as a thank you, I… healed his leg."

"Oh yeah, that's right! I think my leg worked better than it ever did after he fixed me up," Jesus adds. He flexes his leg to check. "Yup. Still in proper working order."

Aziraphale is smiling ear to ear. "Oh, you old serpent. You are nice."

"No, stop it, not nice. He did me a favor by keeping quiet and I returned it, simple as that."

"But that wasn't the last we saw of each other, no? We bumped into each other a bit, and… I can't remember where exactly we went, but Mister Crowley showed me a lot of different places."

"…Ah. So you two… traveled together," Aziraphale says in a tight, clipped tone. "You never told me about that, Crowley."

Crowley looks at him, confused. "Well, I didn't exactly want to go around telling everyone that a preacher and the rumored Son of God was palling around with a demon. Least of all you- what if you reported it back Upstairs and She got wind of it?"

"At the time, I would not have shared anything that would have jeopardized God's plan for him," Aziraphale clarifies. "But… I suppose I do understand the concern."

"Perhaps we can do more traveling," Jesus suggests.

"Er…" Aziraphale says. "Um, Jesus… do you actually know what you were brought back for..?"

"Not really," he says casually as he settles onto the couch. "I was kind of hoping someone would tell me after I woke up. Then I saw the lift, and… as they say, the rest is history."

"Well, the… the other angels want to have you deliver a speech of universal peace to the humans before the um… rapture."

"…Cool," Jesus says, nodding along. "What's a rapture, though?"

"The Almighty never even told him what the rapture was and She's expecting him to lead it?" Crowley snorts with laughter. "What a shitshow. I could plan a better apocalypse."

"It… well, the idea is that you bring the good and righteous to Heaven, while leaving the sinners behind on Earth-"

"So I kill everyone?"

"Er… yes. Not violently, but… yes. Then the angels and demons will make Earth their battleground to settle the score once and for all."

"…Oh." Jesus looks down at the floor. "That's… what I was brought back for?"

"Yup," says Crowley.

"…Oh." Jesus straightens his shoulders a bit to look Aziraphale in the eye. "That seems quite sad. Do I… have to?"

Aziraphale and Crowley exchange relieved glances. Aziraphale smiles gently and leans forward. "No. Crowley and I want to ensure the Earth keeps spinning, so my version of the plan doesn't have any of that rapture nonsense. The humans get to live and we offer eternal paradise to everyone."

"Well that does sound better, but… how will you sustain it?" Jesus asks as he shuffles around in his pocket and pulls out a cookie. "Stuck between two sides, trying to keep them from killing each other for all eternity? That's no good either."

Crowley smirks to himself.

"Yes, I… I agree," Aziraphale admits. "But right now it's all we've got. I don't know how else to stop the Second Coming, so I thought… if it had to happen, I could… do it a better way."

Jesus smiles at him. "Well, I think that's very kind of you, Aziraphale."

"…Thank you," Aziraphale says, preening a bit. "So, just… to be clear, you're… not on board with the end of times?"

"No, not really. That's… one thing I've never understood about the Almighty. I knew well of Her wrath, Her anger, but… I didn't imagine that She would want me to do this."

"I don't know what God wants. None of us do. But it's what the angels want, and it's what they'll try to make you do if they get their way. So if you want all of this to stick around," Aziraphale says, gesturing widely to the space around them, "then stick with us."

Jesus nods, finishing his cookie. "Sure. Now that I've found Mister Crowley I don't have anywhere to be." He smiles and looks over at him. "What about the demons? Is this their plan?"

"More or less, except they think they're gonna win," Crowley says with a shrug. "You believed us so quickly. How do you know we're not lying?"

"You've never lied to me before, and… you're a demon in the company of an angel. That is an oddity. I like oddities," Jesus says simply. "I'm not sure what I can do, but if there's any way I can help, I'll help. I… I want to see the world, and… I want to see my family again."

"Even if it means going against the Almighty?" Crowley asks.

"…I have to believe that She'll understand," he says, adamant. "She always does."

Having Jesus on board is one thing. The thing is, if asked what exactly he was boarding, Aziraphale's not sure he could say.

He does, however, have a lot to say about the Bentley, as it turns out. Before they left he'd spent ten minutes gushing over it, and Crowley apparently didn't mind humoring him.

"I've seen quite a few cars since I've been here, but none quite like this."

Of course, it's all to be expected- he's still adjusting to the twenty-first century, after all. It hadn't taken him very long to fall in love with the Earth. They all had that in common, it seems.

Aziraphale looks over at Crowley, smiling fondly at him as he explains the Bentley's "music preferences", when all the sudden a terrible feeling coils around him, gripping him tight. His heart drops into the pit of his stomach, ice flooding his veins.

A sickening sensation that can only mean one thing.

"Something's wrong," he blurts out. "Something is very, very wrong."

"Angel?" Crowley moves in closer to him, unsure of whether or not he should touch him, "what's wrong, are you alright?"

"It's the alarm, in Heaven. But it's not the usual alarm, it's-"

The feeling intensifies, gripping him like a vice. Every instinct in his body is screaming danger, telling him to run.

"…She's used it," he realizes. "I didn't recognize it at first because it's never happened before, but… she's done it. She's started it."

"What has she done? Who did she use it on?" Crowley asks.

"I don't know, but it's begun. We need to move, we don't have much time before-"

As if on cue, Crowley's phone rings.

Crowley doesn't tear his eyes away from Aziraphale, fully prepared to silence it with a miracle, but Aziraphale nods at him. "…Answer it," he says. "It's alright."

Crowley nods and pulls his phone out of his pocket. The caller ID says Aziraphale, but the only person in the bookshop right now is…

"It's Muriel, answer it."

He does, preparing to try and calm them down, but a chilling voice he knows all too well stops him dead in his tracks.

"Hello, Crowley. I take it you've got Aziraphale and the rogue Son of God with you? Good, put me on speaker. They'll want to hear this too."

Crowley immediately tenses up. "Michael."

"Clever move, hiding yourself from me," she says.

"…Michael!" Aziraphale cheerily greets her. "Everything's been going well in Heaven, I take it?"

"Oh, I'm afraid not. There's a bit of a problem. It seems you've been plotting with Muriel behind my back. Didn't I ask you to leave them to me?"

"I didn't realize I needed your permission to talk to them," Aziraphale mutters. "I take it you're in my bookshop?"

"Yes. I popped in to visit Muriel, and they told me some very unsightly things about you, Aziraphale. I'm beginning to suspect that you're not fit for this position after all. Not that I ever thought you were. You know, the Metatron still never told me why he chose you over me."

"I like to think it's because I'm… a team player, so to speak."

"Mm. Well, in any case, it doesn't matter now. You've done what you needed to, so I'll cut to the chase: meet me at your bookshop, bring the Son of God with you, or I'll erase everything you hold dear. Starting with Muriel, then your bookshop… those little humans across the street that you seem so fond of… oh, and who can forget your demon lover, Crowley?"

"You listen to me," Crowley cuts in, "if you so much as lay a finger on Muriel, or those humans, or Aziraphale, I will burn it all down. The legions of Hell are looking for any excuse they can get to start a war and if you so much as breathe in their direction I'd be happy to give them one. I'll bring them all to your doorstep."

"Touchy, aren't we? Aziraphale, be smart and don't bring your guard dog. You have twenty-four hours."

Click.

"You will not meet with her alone," Crowley insists. "Whatever happens, I am staying with you."

"Yes, I will." Aziraphale places a hand on Crowley's shoulder. "Listen to me. We are going to do exactly as she says."

"Angel-"

"Didn't you hear her? She sounds like she's in a fragile state. One wrong move and we could cost people their lives. We'll do this her way."

"…She could be bluffing."

"She's not. The alarm's going off in Heaven right now and I can feel it," Aziraphale says. "She's used it. I don't know what she's erased, but she's used it. We need to move. However fast this thing can go, make it go faster."

"You know this is a trap," Crowley says.

"Of course it is. She wants us to bring Jesus to her. Afterwards I suspect she'll have no use for either of us and will probably try to erase us with the Book. Using the book to erase a demon will be grounds for war, and… that's how it'll start, I imagine."

"…And that's… your plan? Give her Jesus and get erased? Stellar, really. No notes."

"Of course not. I'll need to get the book away from her, obviously."

Obviously. Nevermind the fact that this is the single most powerful object in the universe, and Michael's definitely not going to give it up without a fight. Nevermind the fact that Aziraphale has never killed anything or anyone, and doesn't intend to start now.

"And how are you going to do that? Fight her?"

"…I could. I suspect we're on more of an even playing field now, but… even after all this, I… I don't want to hurt her. How am I supposed to show the angels and demons a better way if I give in to violence?"

"Then we do it together," Crowley says. "We don't have to kill her. But you and me, we're stronger together. So maybe we can trap her, or something. Whatever it takes to get that book away from her."

"But she said-"

"She doesn't have to know I'm there. I can keep myself hidden while you talk to her. I just need you to trust me on this. I wouldn't do anything that would get Muriel or the humans killed. You have to believe that."

"Oh, Crowley, of course I believe that. I know you." Aziraphale inches closer to him, tracing his fingers along the side of his face.

Of course, Aziraphale has always known that. Their combined miracles were enough to concern Heaven before Aziraphale became Supreme Archangel.

"Then hear me out. Do you trust me?" Crowley asks.

"I trust you," Aziraphale answers without hesitation. "Always."

The Bentley skids to a crooked stop outside the bookshop with hours to spare. Muriel, thankfully, comes running outside, looking far more panicked than he'd ever seen them before.

"Aziraphale! I'm sorry, I wanted to try and contact you sooner to warn you, but-"

"It's alright, dear. It's alright. I've got this, as the humans say." He points across the street to the coffee shop. "You can hide over there. Michael can't see it."

"But… I-"

"You've done well," Aziraphale says before they can argue. "We couldn't have pulled this off without you. Stay with Nina and Maggie, and if anyone spots them- keep them safe. Can you do that?"

"Yes, but… what are you going to do?" they ask.

"…My best." He flashes them a reassuring smile. "Go on."

Muriel casts one last glance at him over their shoulder before reluctantly heading off across the street.

"Glad you could make it, Aziraphale," Michael says as she pulls the door open. "And I see you were smart enough to not bring your demon with you. This place reeks of evil enough as it is."

"Michael," Aziraphale greets her. He side-steps past her through the doorway. "It's customary to offer visitors a beverage, but I don't imagine you'd be interested."

"No, I don't want any of your disgusting leaf water, or bean water."

"Very well. If you don't mind though, I think I'd like some tea. We've had quite a long journey. I think you could spare a few minutes before we get down to business?"

Aziraphale brushes past her, gently bumping into her shoulder on the way.

"Whoops! Sorry, must still be a bit jet-lagged."

Michael shoots him a dirty look. Aziraphale smiles with far too much sweetness and, in the interest of not leaving her alone with Jesus, goes to will himself a cup of tea.

When nothing happens, he slowly turns back around to face her. "…Alright then, down to business I see. What have you erased with the Book of Life, Michael?"

"Oh, not much," she says with a shrug. "The Metatron, Sandalphon, Uriel… and most of Canada."

"Canada? What did they do?"

"It doesn't matter, because it's all going to go," she says dismissively. "Clean slate. We're going to do this right."

"Um, hello." Jesus pops up from behind Aziraphale, waving sheepishly. "I'm Jesus, I don't believe we've met? I assume you must be Michael."

"Yes, I know who you are," she says flatly. "A spoiled rotten little boy who ran off the first chance he got. That was quite naughty of you."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to leave. Nobody really said anything when I woke up, so…"

"Doesn't matter now anyway," Michael says as she steps closer to the two of them. "None of it matters, you see. I just erased Canada, and God is still nowhere to be found."

"God is everywhere," Aziraphale reminds her.

"Oh, don't give me that. You don't believe that. If God were still around do you really think you would have been picked to be Supreme Archangel? You?!"

"God was around for when Gabriel was the Supreme Archangel," Aziraphale quips. "It doesn't seem all that implausible to me."

"Gabriel was a weak-willed, spineless fool who allowed himself to be blinded by the wiles of a demon. And you, Supreme Archangel Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, are no different. If anything, you're worse. Every day you spend on this planet you indulge in decadence and sin. Hedonist is too light a word for what you are."

"I think perhaps if you understood the simple pleasure of a nice glass of wine after a long day, you might not be so quick to judge," Aziraphale counters.

"Is judging not what we do?"

"It's not for us to pass judgment, I don't think."

All eyes in the room fall on Jesus. Michael fixes him with an irritated stare.

"It's just that- a good meal or a lovely ballad is nothing to condemn someone for. People indulge because they love those things, right? And if love is wrong, then… I think we may have lost our way, somewhere. No?" Jesus adds.

"Sorry, why is this human speaking to me?"

"That human is the son of God," Aziraphale reminds her.

"So?! Does that mean I have to listen to this inane prattling?!" Michael storms towards him and fists her hand in his shirt, yanking him close. "Listen to me, boy. You have one job and one job only- to deliver your message of universal peace and prosperity and all that. After that, I've got about as much use for you as… as a… well, doesn't matter. The point is, I won't need you."

"Do you intend to be God?" Jesus asks, entirely unafraid even in the face of angelic rage.

"I intend to be better than God," Michael says. "Humans were Her fun little failed experiments. She gifted them the Earth and they've done nothing but destroy it. So we're going to have a fresh start. No humans, no demons, no angels, just… me. And I am going to create a new universe. A better one, with better creatures."

"I… understand your frustrations," Jesus says. "It's still fuzzy, but I can remember times where I would call out to God, and She would not answer. And when I felt lost- truly lost- I needed that guidance. If I could not find it in Them, there was… my mother, and my father. But it seems you don't have anyone you can turn to. Is that why you're so angry?"

"We are angels. We are warriors, and-"

"But you're not warriors all the time," Jesus says. "Just as I didn't preach all the time. In my spare time, I was…"

He looks helplessly at Aziraphale.

"A carpenter," he supplies.

"Yes! A carpenter. I'm sure you could be too, if you like."

Michael stares at him flatly before sighing in exasperation. "Okay, I've had enough of this. Listen to me Aziraphale, from now on we're going to do this my way. Have Jesus give his speech- it's time to put the Second Coming into motion. If you want to have any hope of your demon surviving this, it would be in your best interest to do as I say."

"Oh, let's not pretend you have any concern for the planet," Aziraphale says lowly. "At the end of the day, this is about me getting a promotion over you, isn't it?"

Michael gapes at him, astounded. Jesus' eyes go comically wide as he grins from ear to ear.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, even if it was to fulfill his own agenda, the Metatron gave that power to me, and I get the feeling that it bothers you terribly, doesn't it?"

"You-" Michael's face flushes red with anger. "You seriously believe that I'm-"

"Jealous? Perhaps just a bit."

The crimson flush twists into a vibrant, heated fury. She reaches for the pin on her jacket-

And feels nothing.

The bell above the door suddenly rings, and none other than Crowley comes sauntering in, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Sorry, angel. I know I was supposed to wait a little longer but couldn't resist seeing the look on her face. Did you do it yet?"

Michael frantically feels for the pin on her jacket. "You- you thief!" she shouts. "You- but when did you- I had a miracle blocker in place!"

"No miracles are needed when you're a master magician," Aziraphale says as he holds the pin between his fingers. "And you, my dear, are up against Fell The Marvelous."

"Honestly, I really thought this was going to be a lot harder," Crowley says. "I mean- you're just wearing it? Right there? Some sleight of hand got the best of the Archangel Michael?"

"You…" Mortified, Michael pulls the miracle blocker card from her pocket and tears it in half. The pieces fall to the floor and her eyes burn gold with divine wrath. "I am going to rip you both to-"

Before she can move, she's gone. No fireworks or puff of smoke or anything, just gone.

And there, standing in her place, is God.

Angels and demons both can feel the divine presence of the Lord. It's unique, it's undeniable, it's unmistakable. Like the calm before a storm, but the sky is brimming with heat lightning and dark clouds, about to unleash the worst of what mother nature has to offer.

Or the best, depending on Her mood.

"Sheesh, talk about dramatic, am I right?" She says with a light laugh. She's dressed in 9-5 business casual- but with far more color than any sensible angel would be caught in.

"Holy shit-"

"Go on, get it all out of the way."

"…Um…" Jesus says, eyes wide. "Sorry, are you… are you really…?"

She turns to greet him. "Hello son. How's re-resurrection treating you? Well, I hope."

"It- it is, thank you! I've gone on such a marvelous journey, met so many lovely people- and Aziraphale and Crowley have been great help."

"Have they?" She turns back towards them. "Perhaps I should be saying thank you. Michael was getting a bit out of hand. It was fun watching her at first, but. Well. I figure she's made enough of a mess for now."

"Ah, right, Lord, um… one question, if I may… is Michael..?" Aziraphale trails off.

"Dead? No, just… away. Why, would you like her to be dead?"

"No! No, I just… was curious…"

"You didn't come here for Michael. Not even for Jesus. You came for the book," Crowley says.

"Can't it be all three?" She counters.

Aziraphale raises a hand. "Lord, you have never taken physical form before-"

"What? This?" She gestures to her vessel. "Nah, I get plenty of use out of this thing. You just don't see it. I was already in the area and just figured I'd pop in. Besides, it draws way less attention than a giant beam of light."

Oh. Right. So this was, like. Actually happening. Neat.

"…My Lord, Aziraphale tells me that I am to bring about the end," Jesus says. "Is… is that true?"

She paces slowly around the room, admiring the bookshop. She picks up a book off Aziraphale's desk and flips through it. For all any of them knew, She could have read it in its entirety within the five seconds it was in Her hands. "It might have come up. Thought it might be a nice way to wrap everything up. More of a concept than anything, a first-draft sort of idea, but the Metatron kind of ran with it. But I get the feeling you're about to tell me you don't want to, correct?"

"I knew nothing about my true purpose when I woke up, but… the one thing I do know regardless is that I keep coming back. I mean, I… came back to this planet with nothing to my name and I was shown kindness by so many strangers. A-And even, your angels and demons! I'm here before you now because of their generosity."

God lets out a sardonic laugh. "The angels provided you with a passport but didn't give you a pound to your name?"

"That's right. I had nothing, and so many humans were kind to me. They bought me food, gave me shelter, provided me with conversation. As they have before, and as they would do again. And so, I… I stand before you as a human, asking for a chance for them. For all their mistakes- and there are many- there are twice as many people doing simple acts of kindness every day. Perhaps in your eyes, my Lord, it doesn't make up for what they've done to your world. But as long as there are people, like the kind folks I met during my journey- people like these two…" Jesus gestures to Aziraphale and Crowley, "then… there's still a chance. They cannot be perfection, but… perhaps they do not need to be."

God smirks and settles into a nearby chair. propping her feet up on a desk that definitely wasn't there before. "Fascinating. You would reject paradise on Earth for more disease? War? Pollution? You know, the horsemen weren't even needed for that after all- do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? Oh, Lucifer would have had a field day with that one if he weren't so upset about Adam."

"Who's to say it'd be paradise?" Crowley interjects. "You're omniscient, all-seeing, but the possibility of Hell emerging victorious never even crossed your mind, did it?"

"Ha! An interesting idea. Tell me Crowley, what does paradise look like to a demon?"

That's an easy one. No angels, for a start. A world of chaos, where sin as a concept is virtually nonexistent. Murder is a hobby. Good deeds are frowned upon.

It might look cleaner than one would expect, though. Hell isn't the way it is because they all like it that way- although some have grown more accustomed to it than others.

But for Crowley, paradise looks a little different. Paradise looks a lot like Earth, on any regular day. It looks like a certain table at the Ritz, with a certain angel.

"They should be allowed to stand on their own. And there's something to be said for doing that when you're alive, I should think," says Jesus.

"How fascinating," She says again, almost sounding genuinely in awe. "Really. You have never stopped asking me to forgive them. You give me the same answer every time we have this conversation."

"I believe you are as capable of forgiveness and mercy, as you are of wrath and punishment," Jesus says. "And my answer remains unchanged because I felt it… in your humans. And I know I am of your blood, your spirit… but I have never felt more at home than right here, on this planet, with them."

"I can think of many who would disagree, on that first part," She says, looking over at Crowley before letting out a long sigh. "What a mess. Every time I try to step away I just get dragged back in. Let's not beat around the bush: what are you asking of me, my defiant son?"

"W-Well, for starters… we stop this whole Second Coming business. Restore what Michael has erased. A-And…" Jesus looks over at Aziraphale and Crowley helplessly. "E-Er, any… ideas, you two?"

"Turning to the peanut gallery for help now, are we?" She says, amused. "Go on, then."

Aziraphale and Crowley look at each other for a moment before Crowley steps forward.

"Yeah, I've got one. This whole temptation and blessing business- doesn't it just seem like busywork? I mean- Shax was telling me that the humans always come up with worse stuff than she can even imagine all on their own. Humans are gonna make their own choices regardless- we can try to sway them one way or another but ultimately they're gonna do what they want. So why do we bother?"

"Well, you were never particularly motivated to begin with, Crowley… but what about you, Aziraphale? Don't you quite like spreading peace and love and all that?" asks the Lord.

"Very much so," Aziraphale agrees. "But I don't need to perform a heavenly blessing to do an act of kindness. And I'm beginning to think that… perhaps Crowley is right. No blessings, no temptations, just… letting humans make choices. Keeping it all running so that they can. We spent a lot of years trying to guide them one way or another, but…"

"But they never needed it," Crowley adds. "And it never did a damn thing anyway, not really. Just… a job, honestly."

"I wanted universal happiness because, well- it was far better than the alternative," Aziraphale says. "And I think, perhaps too… I naively thought that I could make Heaven what I always thought it was supposed to be."

Lying to the other angels is one thing, but there's no sense in lying in front of the Almighty.

He had, at one point, thought that being Supreme Archangel was enough. If Gabriel was still around, he probably would have told him otherwise.

The side of good. Of light. He had once thought, for a fleeting moment, that he could make that a reality. To right the wrongs of Heaven, to make it live up to what he always hoped it could be.

"You asked me what paradise is to a demon," Crowley chimes in. "And I can only speak for myself. To me, paradise isn't celestial harmonies and streets lined with gold. Paradise isn't even a place, really, it's-"

"A person," Aziraphale interrupts, reaching for his hand. "People. It's the people you love that make a paradise a paradise. Crowley is the one who taught me that. And I've come to realize that… while I want to keep humanity safe… there is simply no paradise for me without Crowley."

"I believe what they're trying to say is that they've got all the paradise they need right here," Jesus adds, smiling warmly at them. "And so do I."

The Almighty crosses her legs, uncrosses them, then crosses them again.

"And you should know this- I won't spend my days mediating Heaven and Hell and neither will Aziraphale. After all that he's done- he deserves more than that," Crowley says fiercely, still tightly gripping Aziraphale's hand.

"…He deserves more," She repeats back to him, eyes steady.

Aziraphale opens his mouth to interrupt, but Crowley is quick to argue, as he always has been- especially with the Almighty. "You can think whatever you want about me. That I'm a traitor, that I turned against you- whatever. But Aziraphale deserves this, he deserves a chance. All he's asking for is a chance for humans. He's tried harder than any other angel to keep all this up and running- the creations you claimed to love so much, the ones you wanted us to love more than you."

"…I did say that," She admits. "I say a lot of things, though. Most angels chose to ignore that specific thing I said. You didn't."

"…I didn't," Aziraphale says. "For a long time, I loved them because that was what I thought you wanted. But time went on. I eventually became Heaven's Earthly Ambassador, and… the love became genuine."

"Oh, I believe you," God says reassuringly. "I mean, look around. This bookshop alone is proof of that. And the fact that you would willingly resign yourself to a life of misery just to keep them safe? First my son, and now you?"

"The lift," Jesus blurts out. "I got here through the lift."

"Astute observation," Crowley quips.

"So what if… what if there wasn't a lift?" Jesus continues. "Humans of course would still go to Heaven and Hell when they die, but…"

"But angels and demons would remain in Heaven and Hell, respectively…" Aziraphale says.

"With no way to get back to Earth," Crowley finishes.

"So you're suggesting we shut the doors," God says.

"They can't use the Earth as a battleground if they can't get to it," Jesus says.

"But then that raises a sticky question…" God points a finger at Aziraphale and Crowley. "What to do with the two of you. You are an angel and a demon. It stands to reason that you should both return to where you come from, yes?"

Crowley opens his mouth to argue, but Jesus is quicker. "They are Earthly ambassadors, my Lord. Technically, by your logic, that would mean I should return to Heaven as well."

"But you don't want to," says the Almighty.

Jesus doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't have to.

"…You two do understand that this is permanent, correct? There's no way back to Heaven or Hell once I close the gates."

"Yes," says Aziraphale.

"Absolutely," Crowley adds.

"…Very well then." The Almighty rises to her feet with a knowing smile. "Thus saith the Lord."

"Wait!" Jesus exclaims. "Wait, before you- can we add one more thing?"

The storm had passed, and the bookshop is quiet once again.

The pin containing the Book of Life, which was once sitting heavily in Aziraphale's pocket, is gone, now replaced with a note.

"I'll find a safe place for this. I never meant to leave it in Heaven for that long anyway, but you know how the Metatron is.

Neat magic trick, by the way.

XOXO,

-God"

"Don't you think leaving it with us to see what we do with it seems more like the kind of thing She'd do?" Crowley asks.

"Perhaps She's done testing us, at least for now," Aziraphale muses.

"…Unlikely." Crowley lets out a deep breath. "So this… this is it." He takes a peek out the window. The streets are packed, as per usual. "Everything looks normal so far, no acid rain or blood red skies."

"Well, that's a good start," Aziraphale quips.

"There's just one problem. None of the demons are ever going to have any interest in coming to Earth for good intentions."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure. Besides, if we're giving angels a chance, we must offer the same for the demons."

"I'm just saying, some of your former lot, some of mine… say Jesus lets them through. What if they find us?"

"Oh, I've prepared for that. Stand right there and hold out your hand."

Crowley quirks a brow, but does as he's told. Aziraphale grips his hand tightly.

"As a result of the doors being shut, our miracles shouldn't set off any alarms. So I was thinking we do another miracle together, like we did to hide Gabriel, only this time we're hiding each other. To every other angel and demon- with the exception of Muriel- we're just two regular humans. I don't think we'll end up needing this, but it doesn't hurt to be careful."

"So even if other demons or angels come to Earth, they won't recognize us?"

"That's the idea. And even if that should fail, well…" Aziraphale gestures towards one of the bookshelves. "After I gave you the holy water, I… thought about some things, and… while I still don't agree with using it, I… thought about the most dire circumstances, and…"

"You didn't." Crowley gapes at him. "Hellfire?"

Aziraphale nods slowly. "The other demons were more than happy to retrieve some for me when they thought you were immune to holy water."

"After you gave me all that shit for the holy water?"

"I'm not particularly proud of it, and I don't ever truly intend to use it unless circumstances force me to. And I figured it was the same for you as well with the holy water," Aziraphale reasons. "The point is, we'll be ready, should anyone try anything."

"…Naturally." Crowley nods along. "Is it… wrong to say that the thought of you using hellfire on an angel to protect me is kind of doing it for me?"

"…Well, no more wrong than the thought of you using holy water on a demon to protect me, I should think," Aziraphale says cheekily. "Now then, are you ready?"

Crowley tightens his grip on Aziraphale's hand. "As I'll ever be."

There's nothing to think about now, after all. The only thing either of them need to focus on is each other- and it's with this thought that their combined miracles ripple through the room, the bookshop, Soho- and quite possibly the universe.

Normally, they'd have Heaven and Hell on their doorstep in seconds with a miracle this powerful.

"I don't feel any alarms in Heaven," Aziraphale remarks. "I think it worked."

Crowley had turned off his inner connections to Hell a while ago, but he imagined it was the same there as well.

"So this… this is it, then," he says, voice wavering a bit. "We… did it."

"I… think we did," Aziraphale says, his trembling hand still tightly holding onto Crowley's. "Crowley, I…" A brilliant smile breaks out across his face. "There's… so much I want to say but… I don't quite know where to start."

"Before you say any of that, I just… I need to know if you meant what you said back there," Crowley says, shaking ever so slightly. "About paradise, about… me."

"Every word," Aziraphale murmurs. "Every word."

"Because I don't- I didn't want you to stay just to make me happy. If you… if you wanted to go back-"

"I'd be happy if I never had to see another filing cabinet or fluorescent light ever again. I want to stay, I want you, I want…" he pauses to collect himself, "…I want to go home."

"We are home," Crowley says firmly.

And for the first time in a long time, Aziraphale feels like he's home, truly home. He doesn't feel like a stranger in his own bookshop anymore- how could he, with Crowley here to welcome him home?

He uses his free hand to cup the side of Crowley's face. "I love you."

"Ngk."

"And I'm sorry I ever made you question that," he continues. "And if you'll have me, there's no one else I'd rather spend my eternity with. My wily, cunning adversary."

"If I-" Crowley ducks his head to hide his trembling lip. "Fuck."

"It's alright, you don't need to say it back, I already know-"

"No, I didn't do this right when I did it the first time. I didn't say what I really meant and- even when I tried to kiss you I fucked that up too. I…" He closes his eyes for a moment, allowing himself a few calming breaths before opening them again. "You know, when… when Lucifer gave me the order to pop into the garden and tempt Eve, it was just… work, for me. And then I saw you again, and… before long, before I had even realized I was doing it, 'work' was just an excuse to see you. So I think… even then, I…"

"That long?" Aziraphale asks tearfully. "Crowley…"

"What I was trying to say before is that I want… I want to spend eternity with you. I've… I've been in love with you since you gave your stupid sword to some stupid humans so they wouldn't get cold, and-"

He stops talking after that. The words die in his mouth, unable to escape with Aziraphale's lips pressed firmly against his own.

It lasts for a few seconds, a few days, maybe even a lifetime. But when it's over, Aziraphale only pulls away just far enough to separate.

"Crowley." He gently pushes him up against the desk. He fixes him with the most intense stare he can muster. "I want you to do it again. Show me."

Something seems to click in Crowley's head in that moment. He cups Aziraphale's face- properly, this time- and he kisses him the right way, the way he should've done it the first time.

The angle is better. And as soon as their lips meet Aziraphale melts into him, sighing with decades upon decades of relief as he pushes further into him, slotting himself between Crowley's open legs. Slow but hungry, brimming with an underlying urgency. Centuries of unspoken emotion pours out between them, and all either of them can do is old onto the other. Every time their shared looks lingered a bit too long, every time they'd do each other a simple favor, every time they'd drink themselves into a nasty hangover the next morning…

Every time they'd deliberately put space between them out of fear of seeming too close. Every unspoken confession. Every moment that could've been a kiss, if either of them had just moved the right way.

Aziraphale pauses just long enough to pull Crowley's glasses off, setting them neatly on the desk. "There we are," he says as he wipes away the tears that had leaked from the corners of Crowley's eyes.

Crowley quickly pulls him back in, more heated this time. Aziraphale opens his mouth and it feels far better than anything out of Crowley's fantasies. He pushes between Crowley's legs with his thigh, earning a whimper from the demon that he's quick to swallow. He wants every sound that Crowley makes- every breath, every moan, every whispered term of endearment. Every whine, every trembling "angel" that slips past his lips- Aziraphale tastes all of it.

He only pulls away long enough to start mouthing at his jawline. Crowley tilts his head back, encouraging him-

Crowley's eyes suddenly go wide as saucers. His body freezes.

Aziraphale looks up, feeling his muscles tense under his mouth. "Crowley?"

"Angel. We didn't… we didn't close the-"

Aziraphale finally catches sight of it. Or rather, them. Waving enthusiastically at the window. The window that they can very much see through.

"Right. Pick this back up after we give Muriel the rundown?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

ONE YEAR LATER

"Another postcard from the Beloved Son."

Crowley drops it on the table. Aziraphale glances down at the poorly cropped image of Jesus in sunglasses too large for his face.

"It's nice to see him exploring," he says. He lifts his head to look up at Crowley and just barely stops himself from swooning. He's a vision standing in the afternoon light, even in his bulky gloves and dirty shoes.

He sets the book down and pulls him in for a kiss. "How are the irises coming along, darling?"

"Stubborn little bastards, they are," Crowley says as he pulls his gloves off. "But they'll bloom."

"Don't you go using any miracles on them. That takes the fun out of it," Aziraphale says sternly.

"Never. Just a bit of gentle motivation is all they need." Crowley flops down onto the couch next to Aziraphale. "What book have you got your nose buried in today?"

"Oh, nothing new, just a bit of Shakespeare. But… I was thinking about something."

"Penny for your thoughts?" Crowley asks casually as he props his feet up over the armrest.

"Well, Muriel told me recently that more young people have been visiting the shop in search of… modern literature. And it made me realize that I… don't know much about it."

"So? You've never liked anything modern, why the sudden interest?"

"Well…" Aziraphale sets the book down. "I'm always looking to expand my collection. And in a digital world it's nice to see young people take an interest in reading, so… I suppose I'm curious to know what's captured their attention."

Crowley barks out a laugh. "I wouldn't know, but I doubt it's anything you'd like."

"My tastes might surprise you, Crowley. I went through a phase in the 1980's where I was almost exclusively reading romance novels- you know the ones."

"Yeah, the ones with the shirtless buff man with flowing hair, I know of them."

Aziraphale smirks. "Don't be jealous."

"I'm not!"

"You are."

"And somehow I get the feeling that you like it."

Aziraphale hums thoughtfully and pushes a strand of hair out of Crowley's face. "Who's to say?"

Crowley sits upright, his glasses sitting askew atop the bridge of his nose. Aziraphale chuckles and pulls them off, setting them on the coffee table.

"I take it those will be part of your ensemble for Nina and Maggie's wedding?"

"Obviously. You know you can't wear white, right?"

"Of course. I was thinking about adding a splash of color- perhaps a nice light blue. Oh! What are you wearing? We could match!"

"Black, obviously."

"You can't wear black to a wedding, Crowley. It's bad luck! Besides, if I can't wear white, you can't wear black. We'll both have to be creative."

"We could do gray," Crowley suggests. "A very dark gray."

"A light gray, perhaps. With tartan accents," Aziraphale counters.

"Absolutely not. No tartan."

"You're no fun."

"'M plenty of fun," Crowley insists. "Loads of fun, me. Come here and I'll show you."

"Wily old serpent."

"You love my wiles."

"Oh, I do." Aziraphale gently cups his face, pulling him in close. "So very much."

Unbeknownst to the two of them, there's a book in Aziraphale's study. It always manages to escape Aziraphale whenever he's browsing. He'll never see it, nor will anyone else, but it's there, blending in, sitting with the classics. A blip in the peripherals- nothing more, nothing less.

A book that never stops being written. A book that contains stories told and untold and would never be completed.

A book being kept somewhere safe.