Chapter Text
Following the destruction of the Book of Life and the near complete undoing of the universe, A.Z. Fell and Co. stood alone in the vast nothingness left behind.
Or rather, it would have been alone, save for the two celestial beings sheltered within its walls. Aziraphale peeked out the shop window only to be met with his own reflection staring back at him against the black void on the other side of the glass. Despite the eternal expanse surrounding him, he couldn’t help but feel like he was suffocating, as if the nothing might swallow him whole if he wasn’t paying attention.
He flipped over the window sign in a bleak attempt to invite something, anything, into the world reduced to the size of his little bookshop.
“Open?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale turned to face the rest of the room.
“Somebody might want to buy a book.” He’d be willing to sell all of his books to any customer that walked through those doors if it meant that someone would actually walk through them.
“As far as I can tell,” Crowley scanned the area around himself, “the entirety of creation is us and this bookshop. I don’t think you’re gonna get many customers.”
A quiet settled between them, not quite comfortably, as Aziraphale realized that there were far too many elephants in the bookshop left unaddressed. He cleared his throat, “before anything else happens, there’s one more thing that needs fixing.” There were clearly many things that needed fixing, but he didn’t have any idea where to begin to solve the actual problem they found themselves in. This however, he could fix. “I need you to forgive me.”
Crowley scoffed, “oh come on, Angel.” He should have expected that. Leave it to Aziraphale to still ask for forgiveness even when the whole bloody universe blinks out of existence.
“Please, I need to hear you say it.”
“Mmph,” Crowley let out a displeasured puff of air, “alright, I… forgive you.” The words felt funny as they left his tongue.
“Thank you.” There was that silence again. And those blasted elephants were still there.
Aziraphale started to speak but before he could barely get a word out, Crowley interrupted him. “Actually no, hang on. You don’t get to do that.” Aziraphale was taken aback but Crowley kept going, “you don’t get to tell me to just forgive you.”
He knew that Aziraphale was sorry, though they had been dancing around this conversation for so long that it had only just occurred to Crowley that there hadn’t really been an actual apology yet.
“Aziraphale, you hurt me, you understand that, right? I mean, six thousand years of– of us,” He gestured between them, “and then the moment I actually spoke up about how I felt for once, oh suddenly you just had to run back to Heaven to become the Supreme fucking Archangel or whatever. You left me here all alone.”
“Crowley, I—”
“I’m not done, just let me say this. You said–” Crowley ran a hand over his face, considering his next words; he might as well get it all out in the open, “You said that I was one of the ‘bad guys.’ Do you remember that? You looked me in the eyes and basically told me, even after everything we’ve been through– everything I’ve done, that I was no better than any other demon in Hell. And then you left. And I know, alright? I know that you did it because you believed that you could make a difference, but that doesn’t change the fact that it was a fucked up thing to do.”
Crowley wasn’t sure exactly when he started crying but he felt a tear roll down his cheek. Aziraphale’s eyes began to well up as well, and for the first time in a long time he was at a loss for words. He started to walk toward Crowley, like perhaps if he just closed the gap between them, it would make everything alright. However, he stopped himself before getting too close; it didn’t help last time and it certainly wouldn’t work now.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale inhaled, the breath catching slightly on the lump firmly planted in his throat, “I am sorry. Truly, I am,” he wrung his fingers, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands, “and you’re right. You are right; I handled things awfully. I need you to know that I never meant to hurt you— hurt us, but I did. I don’t know if I can ever fix that, but I’d certainly like to try.”
Crowley remained quiet, his face a complicated combination of despair and resignation.
Aziraphale, unsure of what to make of his lack of response, carried on. “For the record, I don’t believe you’re bad. I don’t think I ever have, not really. In fact some days I think you might be better than I’ll ever be.”
Crowley began to protest, but Aziraphale didn't let him. “It’s true. You care so much about everything, as much as you try to tell yourself you don’t, and you’ve always seen things for what they really are, even when I was too scared or stupid to see it myself.”
Aziraphale finally stepped closer, extending his hand out like an olive branch. He did not make contact but the offering was there if Crowley was willing to accept it.
Aziraphale’s voice lowered to just louder than a whisper, ”I’m sorry for making you feel unwanted. Because you are wanted— I want you, more than anything, and maybe it’s too late now,” he broke away from Crowley’s gaze for just a moment to eye the window and the darkness looming outside, “but I need you to know that it’s true.”
Crowley said nothing at first and Aziraphale’s face fell, believing with sudden dread that he was indeed too late.
Perhaps the end of existence shifts one’s perspective a bit, or maybe he was just too tired of being angry, but either way Crowley’s resolve softened. He put a hand gently into Aziraphale’s outstretched palm, cautiously at first, the way one might pet an animal that’s bitten before, and then finally relaxed into the touch. There they were, an angel and a demon alone together at the end of all things; what else was there to do?
“I forgive you, Angel.” And he did.
A tender smile bloomed on Aziraphale’s face in a mixture of affection and relief, muddled only slightly by the bittersweet sadness that hung in the bookshop. He considered the space. “It’s a place for us, I suppose, always has been.”
“Angel, there is quite literally nothing anymore.”
“Well, yes. But there is still us.” Aziraphale tried to put on a brave face. “You and I can be together in what’s left of everything. That can be enough.” It had to be enough. They both know it wasn’t.
Aziraphale moved to a nearby shelf, and picked up a book. “Plus we have all these— oh.” It was blank. He flipped through another, and another: all blank, even the Dickens’. His heart sank further.
In a desperate attempt to lessen the ache, Aziraphale changed the subject, insisting that at the very least he should have some cocoa somewhere, and took off in search of it.
Crowley, however, made his way to the sofa and flopped unceremoniously into the plush cushions as he had countless times over. He could hear the faint clattering of tins and other containers from the other room as Aziraphale rummaged about for his hypothetical cocoa and who knows what else. It felt almost normal.
Aziraphale continued talking while he took stock of his pantry. “We have time together now, just the two of us—” A crash emanated from the kitchen, distinctly originating from a dropped something-or-other.
We have whatever that was too, I guess. Crowley thought as he rested his eyes for just a moment.
“—Or, well I suppose if time still exists, that is—”
”Aziraphale,” Crowley attempted to interrupt Aziraphale’s rambling, though to no avail.
” —Which I’m not so sure if it does anymore if I’m being entirely honest—“
”Aziraphale.” He heard another crash.
”—Alright, so perhaps we don’t—“
”Angel!”
Aziraphale stopped and there was a moment of sudden quiet before he emerged from around the corner. “Yes?”
Crowley beckoned Aziraphale over to him, scooting over slightly to give a little more space on the sofa. “Would you just sit for a sec? You’re panicking and it's making me nervous.”
Aziraphale quietly obliged and squeezed in next to Crowley, who took his hand in his. They stayed like that for a long while, pressed up against each other, side by side and hand in hand. Each point of contact between them was a lifeline tethering them to whatever remnants of reality there still happened to be.
It was nice and for a moment they allowed themselves to believe that everything was perfectly fine— simply indulging in the quiet presence of one another.
Eventually, Aziraphale interrupted the silence, “Crowley?”
Crowley just hummed in acknowledgement, not quite ready for the spell to be broken just yet.
“How are we going to fix this?” Aziraphale’s words came out sounding much more helpless than he had intended.
In the past, Crowley always seemed to have a backup plan up his sleeve— a “break in case of emergency” solution, even if it just meant running off into the stars to get away. This time however, there was, in the most literal sense, nowhere to go, and that was precisely the problem. He was at a loss.
“I don’t know,” Crowley admitted.
Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley let him, laying his own cheek against the soft white curls. He ran his thumb delicately over Aziraphale’s knuckles and silently swore to himself that they would figure something out.