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“Can we talk?” Crowley asks after God makes them an offer to put everything back the way it was.
“Very well. I’ll give you privacy.”
And now it’s just them, alone in the bookshop, the Tree of Life between them. Aziraphale knows what he wants. But he also knows that Crowley, despite the pain that still lingers between them, will still agree with Aziraphale without argument. So he asks Crowley what he wants, letting him speak first.
“You know what I want,” Crowley says, stepping closer to Aziraphale. “I want a real universe. I want the people to have a chance. I want Free Will to be a real thing. People deserve the chance to live in the real world. Even if there are no angels. No demons. No us. Ever again.”
Aziraphale nods, his eyes welling with tears. It’s a beautiful idea, in a sense. The idea of humanity getting a fresh start without supernatural interference does hold a certain appeal. He thinks of what he said earlier, how they’re really all just characters in Her book, even all the humans from the world that is now gone. Perhaps their story has ended, and he and Crowley get a say only in what happens in the next world. But Aziraphale doesn’t want to accept that, and Crowley had just said to Her face that he didn’t either. He turns away, looking out into the endless nothing. What if there is a way to bring it all back?
“Did I say the wrong thing?” Crowley asks softly.
Aziraphale turns back, the seed of a plan forming in his mind. If they’re just characters in a book, maybe they can turn the pages back and rewrite the story. “To be certain I understand you correctly…if we ask for this new universe, do you mean everything in the old universe will stay gone forever? Eight billion human souls dead?”
Crowley frowns at this. “I didn’t think of it that way, but…I suppose so. But if God puts them all back…there’d still be Heaven and Hell and Her ineffable meddling. It won’t change anything.”
Aziraphale nods. He sees the dilemma, but if he’s a character in a book…books have threads of plots, recurring motifs that tie everything together. He remembers the moment that set them on this tragic path. Can he return to it with the knowledge he has now? He isn’t sure, but he has to try.
He closes his eyes and imagines a paper cup in his hand that contains a warm beverage. He conjures up the smell of oat milk and almonds. He finds it a bit strange he can recall those, given that those memories should be gone with the Book of Life, but he sets that thought aside for the moment.
“Did you just…conjure up a cup of coffee? You don’t even like coffee!” Crowley protests.
“Well, I prefer it over death, anyway.” Aziraphale steps closer to Crowley, taking his hand. “I have a plan. We’re going to rewrite these last few chapters. Starting with this very cup of coffee.” He talks through the plan with Crowley, who is sceptical but willing to try it, because what do they have to lose? Then Aziraphale pulls Crowley in for a kiss, their first proper kiss. This time, there’s no anger in it, just a powerful love and trust that this time, they’ll see it through, together. And if it doesn’t work, if all goes tragically wrong again, at least they’ve shared this moment.
“Now, let’s drink.” He presses the cup to Crowley’s lips. Crowley takes a sip. Then Aziraphale takes a sip, squeezes his eyes shut, and imagines turning back the pages of a metaphorical book, just a few chapters, to the last time this coffee played a role in the narrative.
He opens his eyes. The Metatron is standing in front of him, waiting expectantly for him to drink the coffee. He turns around to see Crowley, lounging back in the chair as he had the first time. Does he remember the new plan? Aziraphale can’t tell, but he certainly hopes so. He turns back to the Metatron, pretending to take a sip.
“Now, Aziraphale, I think we need to have a bit of a chinwag.”
“Yes, I believe we do.” He follows the Metatron out of the bookshop, letting him give the same grandiose speech about how only Aziraphale can assume the mantle of Supreme Archangel. He goes back, steeling himself to discuss the offer with Crowley. For a moment, he worries the rewind trick didn’t work for both of them, that Crowley will be in the same emotionally fraught state as last time, not remembering the plan.
But when he opens the door, he sees Crowley sitting on the chair as he had when he’d left, though his glasses are off now. There are no tears in his eyes, no trembling body as he prepares a romantic speech.
“So, have you heard the good news yet?” Aziraphale asks. If this Crowley remembers the previous timeline, he should know what that means.
Crowley does something with his hands. Aziraphale sees the world outside the bookshop freeze. “Yes, you had a nice chat with the Metatron and now you have to leave.”
“And you can’t come with me.” Aziraphale doesn’t love this part of the plan. He’d hated being separated for so many years, only managing a brief reunion before everything was destroyed. But it shouldn’t be for long, and if it works, there will be many happy years together.
“I understand,” Crowley says. “Just as well as you do.” He points a finger to the sky. “You hear that?”
Aziraphale strains his ears. He hears it, however faint it might be, and smiles. “A nightingale.”
“Maybe if things work out this time, we can get ourselves a nice cottage in the countryside. Somewhere nightingales sing all the time,” Crowley says, his smile hopeful.
“I like the sound of that,” Aziraphale says. “Now, you can look after the bookshop while I’m gone?”
“Of course.”
“Then I suppose there’s nothing more to say,” Aziraphale says, echoing his lines from before. But instead of turning away, he pulls Crowley into an embrace, holding him tight the way he’s always wanted to. Then they kiss again, because if time is frozen, why not steal one more moment of closeness?
“Suppose we should run everything through again, same as last time?” Crowley asks.
“I believe that’s best,” Aziraphale says. He doesn’t relish the thought of reliving this particular conversation, but it makes sense to avoid suspicion.
They get into position, then Crowley restarts time. They reenact every horrible, tragic word, culminating in that desperate kiss.
“I forgive you.”
“Don’t bother.”
Aziraphale conjures his tears again, pressing the taste of Crowley into his lips. But then the Metatron takes him and pulls him away. He takes one look back to see Crowley standing at the Bentley. He gives a slight nod, and Aziraphale has faith that they’re on the same side this time, however things work out.
Once upstairs, the first bit of his plan isn’t much different from last time. He sends the other Archangels to work on his absurdly long checklist of “Things to get Done” before the Second Coming. Once they’re sufficiently distracted, he goes and retrieves Muriel from their post at the bookshop. Together, they wake up Jesus, catching him up on all he’s missed over the last two thousand years.
“There was another one. One just like you. He had red hair and yellow eyes. Showed me all the kingdoms of the world.”
“Yes, we’ll be sending you to him now.”
And so Muriel escorts Jesus down the lift, where this time, Crowley is waiting with the Bentley. They climb in, and the Bentley shoots into orbit. Crowley points out all the brilliant things humans have done since Jesus’s last go around Earth. He marvels at all the wondrous technology. They take a quick pit stop to New York to catch the lights of Times Square and the world’s best “elaborate bread and cheese.”
“So, it’s time to issue your Final Judgment,” Crowley says after bringing them back to the bookshop.
“You mean I must condemn them all again?” Jesus asks, a look of dismay on his sweet face.
“Well, you have to issue a judgment,” Muriel clarifies. “But it can be a positive one if you like.”
“Perhaps something along the lines of ‘humans should be free to live their lives as they please, without Heaven and Hell interfering, and now that I’ve returned to Earth and issued my Final Judgment, the angels and demons previously under the thumb of Heaven and Hell are free to lock up their old offices and figure out something else to do with themselves for the remainder of their immortal lifespans?’” Crowley suggests.
“I…I like that,” Jesus says. “Much better than the whole sentencing the sinners to oblivion thing. Now, where do I give this speech?”
“Anywhere you’d like, really,” Muriel says. “I’ve checked the playbook for the Second Coming, and it doesn’t specify a location. All the stuff about the Last Battle at Megiddo was something humans made up.”
“Yeah, they tend to do that,” Crowley remarks.
“Can I do it right there?” Jesus says, pointing to the corner outside the shop. “To anyone who will listen?”
“Works for me,” Crowley says. They step outside. “Now, Muriel?”
“Yes?”
“Ah, we’re going to need some witnesses from Heaven and Hell to verify the contents of Jesus’s Final Judgment,” Crowley says. Muriel looks at him blankly. “You know how to do the thing with the halo?”
“Oh, I’ve never done it before,” Muriel says. “But I know how it’s supposed to work.”
Stepping back from Crowley, Jesus, and any passersby, they yank the halo out of their head and toss it onto the ground. Right on cue, the Dark Council of Hell, led by Shax, and the Archangels of Heaven, led by Aziraphale, with Michael in handcuffs next to him, appear.
“Another war? So soon?” Dagon sneers. She looks at Michael and frowns.
“I was expecting it to take a bit longer, but…is that Jesus?” Uriel says. “He’s supposed to be Upstairs still. We have a checklist to complete before awakening him!”
“It sure is,” Aziraphale says, a slight smile forming his lips. “We’re here to witness His Final Judgment.” The other Archangels glare at him, but are unable to question his authority out loud.
“Hear ye, hear ye, all who care to hear my message!” Jesus says, attracting a small crowd of Whickber Street humans. Aziraphale tears up a little upon seeing Maggie and Nina holding hands. All the other humans who’d gone missing are there too: Mutt and his spouse, Mr Brown, Mr Arnold, Mrs Cheng. This is his Whickber Street, a place people can be wholly themselves. He never wanted it destroyed.
And so Jesus issues his Final Proclamation, following Crowley’s suggestion. He proclaims the humans free of Heaven and Hell, then proclaims the angels and demons free of their duties. They are to find a new purpose on Earth. Then he summons the Metatron with a wave of his hand. The Metatron arrives, the Book of Life in hand. Aziraphale holds his breath. This was the part of his plan he was most uncertain of. If it didn’t work, would they have to redo the whole tragic path that brought them back to that bookshop universe?
“Now, you claim to be the Voice of God, but I am Her Son, and I know you do not speak for Her,” Jesus said, his voice deeper and more authoritative. “The Almighty is Ineffable, but I tell you now, the six-thousand-year-plan was not Hers. It never was.” And with that, the Metatron and the Book of Life dissolve into dust. And yet nothing else changes.
Aziraphale breathes a sigh of relief. He’d suspected that the Book of Life had only worked the way it had last time because Michael had expected it to, so now that Aziraphale was rewriting the story, and he expected it to be meaningless, it was.
The next several months are busy. Aziraphale helps the displaced angels settle into a new life on Earth, and Crowley does the same for the demons. Mysterious new villages pop up around the world, ones that humans don’t have clear memories of and yet believe were always there. The demons and angels congregate in these towns, side by side, learning about the Earth for its own sake rather than as the gameboard on a cosmic game of chess. Aziraphale and Crowley don’t get much alone time during this transition, but they steal a dinner together (and several kisses) whenever they get the chance.
At last, the former denizens of Heaven and Hell are as settled as they’ll ever be. Aziraphale isn’t sure what to do with the bookshop. He still likes London, but Crowley’s new South Downs cottage is also lovely. In the end, they decide to split their time between both. And every spring, they hear the nightingales sing. It’s not as rare as before, but just as precious.