Work Text:
Crowley fired question after question at God. Aziraphale felt heat rising in him. She did not deserve those questions at all, and clearly had no answers to offer.
He stepped back quietly. Slowly, he pushed the chair aside and sat down before the new Book of Life, or whatever this thing had become.
He did not look back. He did not need to.
She deserved this.
He wrote only a few sentences, and his hand did not tremble once.
Then he stood and crossed the room to his demon, who was staring at the two small piles of dust that had risen where God and Satan had stood only moments before.
“What, what’s—”
“It’s over.” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley. “We’re free.”
Crowley took his hand, tears glistening in his eyes. “You bastard. The most glorious bastard in the world.” He looked away and fixed his gaze somewhere beyond the window. “Although, as for the world…”
“Darling,” Aziraphale wrapped him in his arms. “You have many blank pages waiting in that bookshop. Let us bring back everything — and everyone — we loved so dearly.”
Crowley turned to him quickly, the worry in his eyes giving way to tenderness. “And the things we couldn’t stand, too.”
Aziraphale laughed with delight. “Exactly. But before that...” He lifted a hand to Crowley's cheek. “May I undo something that should have been beautiful, and was made tragic instead?”
Crowley clearly needed no further encouragement. He was already tugging at Aziraphale’s lapels and kissing him senseless.