Archive of Our Own

Hands in his hair. A soft warmth beneath his head, his shoulders. Gradually, he realizes he is being touched- no, he is being held. Someone is holding him; the sensation familiar, and… safe.

It’s nice.

Wasn’t he just…

The cottage. He was… was he? Was that him?

Yes. But he was also just at the bookshop. But he – Asa – wasn’t. And yet, Asa was him- is him. Was him?

He blinks his eyes open, and though he isn’t sure of much, he knows with absolute certainty to expect the eyes looking back at him.

Bright, golden eyes.

Anthony’s eyes were brown, a lovely, rich color. Like hot cocoa, Aziraphale- Asa always thought. This is a different sight. Golden and distinctly reptilian, inhuman yet so very human, and so achingly familiar it steals all the air out of his lungs. This is Crowley. Who, by rights, shouldn’t exist. Who wasn’t supposed to exist anymore, because- because-

“Angel,” Crowley says, before he can quite grasp the thought. And Aziraphale remembers everything.

He bolts upright with a sharp inhale, and Crowley pulls his hands back – in his hair, steadying him, caressing him – and gets to his feet, hovering. Unsure. Hesitant.

For some reason, that strikes him as almost hysterical. After everything? After-

The bookshop. The cottage. The bookshop-

He has no choice but to accept it – they are back in the bookshop. He’d know it anywhere, with his eyes closed.

He thought he’d never get to again.

The grief the notion carries is ridiculous, considering that he is here now, that the loss is already in the past, no longer applies. But he couldn’t process it, back when it did. Never got the chance to, never got more than a moment to try and make a semblance of peace with it.

Crowley is watching him intently while his mind is going in circles.

“Disorienting, isn’t it? Having both in your head. You’ll get used to it in a moment.”

Having both in your head. Anthony’s brown eyes and Crowley’s golden ones. The cottage and the bookshop. The other universe and this one, or what remains of it. Asa, and Aziraphale. Memories of two lives, both somehow his. Now coexisting, in a way he is quite sure they were never supposed to.

Get used to it, Crowley said. So this is not a fluke, a dream, a memory – this is happening. And more importantly, it will continue to happen. They are here, and they are them. Crowley and Aziraphale, the way they used to be.

Crowley is still looking at him, his forehead creased. He’s here, right in front of him.

He’s here.

“You alright?” he asks carefully when he continues not to speak.

Aziraphale bursts into tears.

Crowley steps closer in alarm. “What’s wrong? Is it your head? Or- you know, feelings stuff? Cause it is a bit of a trip, I know, but it’ll… well. Not pass, but you’ll figure it out in a minute. Trust me.”

Aziraphale shakes his head, not in disagreement, just to convey that he’s finding himself unable to form words for the time being. The gratitude rushing through him effectively takes his breath away. Thank you, he thinks, not sure who it’s directed at, but it needs to go somewhere. They get to be here again.

They’re here.

“Not my head,” he manages at last, all he can say for the moment. Crowley makes a noise of understanding.

“Right.” He reaches for him, careful so as not to startle him. Wipes his tears with his knuckles, a ghost of a touch. “It’s okay, angel. You’re alright.”

Aziraphale sniffs, nods. Careful, too, so as not to startle him either. He leans into his warmth, allowing himself a few deep breaths to center himself.

Crowley waits patiently, though he supposes they don’t really have anything more pressing on. Eventually, Aziraphale clears his throat. Crowley drops his hand, pushing it into his pocket, but he doesn’t take his eyes off him.

“Have you- been here long?” Aziraphale ventures in an attempt to start making sense of it all.

“Little longer than you, I suppose. After I- he- well.” Crowley winces. “Died. Though I don’t think time is the same here as it was there. It just sort of… is. Didn’t have long to worry about whether you’d show up too, at least. So.”

Aziraphale’s breath has hitched, the sound lost beneath his babbling.

“Crowley. You… died.”

A fresh wave of tears builds behind his eyes, running over before he can attempt to stop them. He remembers – of course he remembers. Anthony died, and it was the worst thing he ever experienced. And it’s still there. That grief, the hollowness. It’s still his.

Crowley grimaces. “Only kind of. I’m right here, angel.”

Aziraphale nods, but the tears continue running down his cheeks. If he’s learned anything in his lifetime – both of them – he will just have to let this take its course. These kinds of feelings demand to be felt.

Crowley sticks close to him, watching him like a hawk. Hands still in his pockets. He has barely touched him since he woke up, which feels deeply unfair, considering everything. There is no way in which he hasn’t touched Anthony in their 35 years together, but with Crowley, despite the thousands of years between them, he so rarely got the chance to. It took them so long to even begin touching, and even then it was always careful. Guarded. A hand on his back. A brush of their fingers. It wasn’t until after Armageddon failed that they allowed themselves more, and then they separated with only one, haunting kiss between them. And the rest is history – or not, seeing as the universe quite literally stopped existing around that time.

Denying himself now in the face of that isn’t just ludicrous, it’s impossible.

Aziraphale reaches for Crowley, no clear goal in mind except wanting to, no, needing to be closer. To his great relief, Crowley moves immediately, and something shifts inside him as they meet halfway. Like a puzzle piece clicking into place. A sound escapes Aziraphale at the contact, half relief, half torture. He grips him as tightly as he can, like he could climb inside of him if he only tried hard enough.

“I missed you,” he chokes out. “Crowley. I missed you so much.”

It’s a poor way of expressing what he means to say, that he would have missed him if he could have in the space between before and now. That he did miss him, back before the second coming, and long before that too. Every time they didn’t see each other for years on end. Every time he left.

Crowley exhales shakily, something he can feel in his entire body.

“I missed you too.”

Aziraphale closes his eyes and allows himself to just breathe. It’s hard to tell how long it lasts. It’s entirely silent here, nothing except the sounds they make. Aziraphale hears a heartbeat in his ears and is not sure whose it is. It steadies him enough that, when they eventually part, the chasm inside him doesn’t immediately open back up again.

For a while, they just look at each other. And despite the fact that there is so much, so much Aziraphale needs to say to him, just this is more than enough.

With nothing to disturb them, he could look at Crowley forever.

Which reminds him of a rather important question.

“God?” he asks carefully.

“Not here. At least not visibly. Not sure about…” Crowley gesticulates vaguely.

“Well, I suppose it’s safe to assume she’s still around somewhere. Still playing games, too,” he adds. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”

“Find the lady,” Crowley enunciates, then pinches his lips. “Do you think… with us being back here and all, that it’s gone? The other universe. That it was all for nothing?”

Just the mention of it is enough. Unbiddenly, images of their life together flood Aziraphale’s mind, memories so precious that despite the grief, despite the emotions running wild in him, what he feels most of all is awe.

How could it have been for nothing, when it gave them that? Even if it was only a fraction of a life, some thirty-odd years, they got to be together – really and truly together, in a way they never did here.

He remembers all of it. The gentle touches, the intimate ones. Kissing, often without hurry, sometimes with urgency, but always the good kind. The miracle of everyday life together, of a shared home. The comfort of a golden band around his finger, the steady warmth of Anthony’s hand in his.

It’s all so wildly precious that it fills him with longing even now, with Crowley right in front of him and all their memories in his head. It meant… everything.

“It’s not nothing to me,” Aziraphale says quietly.

Crowley’s eyes snap to him.

“No, I didn’t mean- not us, angel. Never us.” He swallows. “I meant- the fact that we gave this up in exchange for it. Though…” He trails off, releasing a slow breath through his lips as he looks around. “It really is all a game to her,” he mutters to himself. “Ineffable, I suppose. Even now.”

At the defeat in his voice, Aziraphale steps closer.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think it’s gone. If this kept existing… well, there is no reason to assume the other universe wouldn’t do the same. Besides, it existed before we were- born into it. It will carry on after us, too. She wouldn’t have created it just for the duration of our lives. That wasn’t the deal.”

Crowley nods slowly. Aziraphale understands why he might not trust her to honor that deal, especially now, but he believes he finally understands God enough to know that to be the truth.

“But I am sorry for your loss,” he adds quietly.

That, too, was part of the deal – only humans in that other universe, and so only human lifespans, too. Stands to reason that, if they got to experience it already by some twist of luck, or fate, or whatever it was that put them there, it would have to end eventually. But he knows Anthony wasn’t ready to let it all go, in the end. It must be worse now, with Crowley remembering all that he does.

Crowley lifts an eyebrow. “Your loss, too, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale says slowly, considering the thought. It is, and it isn’t. He does feel loss – very keenly, in fact, Anthony’s death still hovering, memories of grappling with his own mortality, the longing for their life together – but there is also that gratitude. The sheer relief of getting to be here again. Getting to be Aziraphale, with everything that entails. With Crowley.

It’s just… complete. Even if there is nothing out there, and there never is again, at least he is complete. There can be no regret about that.

His eyes catch on Crowley’s face, drinking in all the details. If it’s not the particular shade of his hair, it’s the color of his eyes holding his attention. The lines on his face, the little snake on his jaw. The shape of his lips, the emotions he conveys with every shift of them.

Distantly, he’s aware that he’s staring. Longingly, probably. Hungrily, too, there’s no pretending. Not with the way his heart is pounding, his hands itching to reach out, his lips tingling as if anticipating a kiss. All these new memories of touching him – of Asa touching Anthony – haven’t eased the urge to do so in the slightest. On the contrary, it has never been harder not to touch him.

He should probably feel some kind of way about being so obvious, but he simply can’t be bothered. And besides, Crowley is looking at him too. Maybe they both need a moment to process.

Or maybe they’re just finally past pretending they don’t want what they want.

It’s Crowley who eventually breaks the silence, clearing his throat.

“Well. Now what?”

Let’s just keep looking at each other, Aziraphale wants to say, and he really means it. He could sit here forever – a good long while at the very least – and do nothing but be with Crowley. Exist with him, and revel in the fact.

But he remembers their conversation from before, when they first ended up in the bookshop, the only place left in the universe. Crowley didn’t want that then, and he won’t want it now. Especially not after getting a taste of the other universe, only to end up back here.

So Aziraphale forces himself to drop the notion, romantic as it may be, and focus.

“Well, if we’re here, there must be a reason for it. I doubt she brought us back by accident.”

He finally looks away from Crowley, using the opportunity to glance around the shop. The books are still there, as is the pen collection, right where they left it. The chairs God and Satan sat in. Everything just as it was before.

Well, if that’s the case…

Grabbing a pen, Aziraphale picks up the nearest book and opens it. It’s the same one they used to summon God, but the words have vanished. Because God isn’t here anymore, and the book adjusts to reality? Or because it doesn’t work anymore?

Only one way to find out.

Crowley steps closer, looming over his shoulder as he considers the blank page. The entirety of creation, or what it used to be, at his fingertips. Where to start?

He closes his eyes briefly, thinking of the cottage. Their cottage. Then he starts writing.

Behind him, Crowley huffs. “Not like we’ll have anything to look at with it,” he mutters. Then they look up, and a telescope is in the corner of the bookshop, exactly where Aziraphale wrote it would be.

“Well. That still works.”

“Right.”

Aziraphale glances over his shoulder, biting his lip. Crowley looks tired. Unsure.

He’s been looking tired for so long.

He gently closes the book. “Crowley,” he says. “What do you want to do?”

“Honestly? Not a fucking clue.” Crowley huffs, stalking around the telescope. “Assuming she’s actually letting us get away with- whatever we decide to do, how do we begin to go about this? Do we try for a new universe? Again? What about the other one? What if we create one, and then get- reborn into that too, or whatever, and then we end up here again?”

He glares at the telescope, then looks at him.

“We might just spend eternity here, creating universe after universe. Admittedly, there are worse ways to spend forever, but… well, where does it end?”

Aziraphale lets him pace for a while, then says, “We could find out. If that’s what you want.”

Crowley huffs, pushing his hand into his hair. Then he turns on his heel and raises his eyebrows. “Well, what do you want?”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” Aziraphale says. He drops his gaze to the book, thumbing the corner. It’s only when the silence stretches that he looks back up to find Crowley staring at him.

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Because. I want you to be happy.”

Crowley frowns. “Well, I want you to be happy too.”

“We’re here, my dear. You and me. I already am.”

Crowley’s expression softens somewhat, though not enough to chase off his frown. He sways closer to Aziraphale, not quite touching but seeking out his presence.

“Well, we did it my way last time. Since we’re getting a do-over already, it’s only right you should have a say.”

Aziraphale takes a deep breath. “I told you before. There is only one thing I want.” His smile feels strained. “Doesn’t matter now.”

Up close like this, Crowley’s staring is much more difficult to withstand.

“But you didn’t want to end this universe. Did you?” he presses. “You only went along with it because I suggested it.”

At Aziraphale’s silence, he huffs. “And who knows, maybe I was wrong. I mean, it did give us… give them…”

He trails off, but Aziraphale understands. Both the sentiment and the struggle to express himself. Us or them? Both are true. It was them in the sense that they now remember both, but it wasn’t because Asa and Anthony had no idea about any of this.

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it?” Crowley carries on, evidently having reached the same conclusion. “That wasn’t really us. Our souls, maybe, or whatever you wanna call it, but not us. Our thoughts, memories, all our- history. I thought it’d be worth it, sacrificing that, so that everyone else could… but it was the same for the humans. You remember them, don’t you? Like Adam, he was there. And then Muriel, Michael, all of them. Bloody- Metatron. They were there too, but it wasn’t them. Not really.”

Aziraphale can’t argue the point. The Metatron tearing them apart in one life and bringing them together in the next is irrefutable proof of that.

Crowley’s shoulders slump as he looks down.

“In the end, we gave all those people a chance at the cost of everyone in this universe. Was that the right thing to do? Or did we just- start yet another cosmic game?”

Aziraphale frowns. “If we did, we certainly didn’t do it with malicious intent. And we were under quite a lot of pressure to come up with something. I think it’s understandable that we didn’t consider every angle.”

He did rather have a lot on his mind at the time – namely holding it together for what he assumed then to be the last few moments of his existence.

“But does that make it better? I mean, God isn’t malicious. She’s just- ineffable. Bottom line’s still that the humans suffer for it. How was what we did any better?”

“Do you really think that?"

Crowley glances at him, then looks away.

“I don’t know, angel. I was so tired. I’m tired now. I can’t think straight. It’s all… bleurgh.”

Well, he did always have a way with words. Though this is not the time to proclaim so, Aziraphale finds himself rather endeared.

A small smile is all he allows himself. “I do believe that state of mind isn’t the best to make decisions in. Certainly not ones of this importance.”

He takes Crowley’s hand, running his thumb across the back until he meets his gaze.

“I don’t believe we need to rush it this time around. God isn’t here, waiting for an answer. We have time, Crowley. We can just… be, for a moment.”

Crowley’s eyes move over his face before he exhales slowly, dropping his shoulders.

“Right. So we just, what, take a break? Leave the fate of the universe and everyone in it for another day?”

“Well, they’re not currently waiting for us to do anything, so I don’t see the harm. And I know just the thing to help us unwind.”

Crowley narrows his eyes, his expression both longsuffering and fond. How Aziraphale has missed being looked at like that. Anthony certainly gave it a good go sometimes, but he was rather lacking some thousands of years of experience to really convey the sentiment.

“If you’re gonna suggest-“

“Hush now, my dear. I’ll be back in a tick.”

It occurs to him only when he finds his trusted cocoa brand in the backroom that the box could just as well have been as empty as the books are. If by chance, miracle, or divine intervention, he doesn’t have to use their makeshift Book of Life to bring back cocoa – though he certainly wouldn’t have hesitated to.

Crowley gives him a flat look when he returns with two steaming mugs, but accepts his with nothing more than a muttered, “Silly angel.”

“Well, yes. I do believe we’ve established that,” Aziraphale remarks, sinking into an armchair. “And if I recall correctly,” he continues primly, “you rather liked that quality in me.”

Crowley grumbles something unintelligible, but sits down too. He cradles his mug, frowning into it. It allows Aziraphale to look at him unnoticed.

Even if they don’t change with age like humans do – not unless they consciously decide to – Aziraphale can still see the exhaustion hiding in the familiar lines of his face, the downward curve of his mouth.

His gaze lingers there as he says, the teasing gone from his voice, “It all got rather serious, these past few years, didn’t it? I mean, it always was, with the threats from our respective sides, the pending apocalypse, and the- the hiding.”

Their eyes meet briefly before Aziraphale looks away, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. Then he purposefully makes himself look back, because they’ve spent enough time not looking at each other. Trying to conceal how they felt, what they wanted.

Crowley meets his eyes without wavering, and suddenly the distance between them feels ridiculous.

Putting his cocoa down untouched, earning himself a raised eyebrow, Aziraphale gets up to perch on the armrest of Crowley’s chair.

“But it used to be fun, too.” He smiles down at him. “We had so much fun together, didn’t we?”

“Course we did,” Crowley agrees, clearing his throat. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale hums, leaning into him. His arm brushes Crowley’s, relishing his warmth.

“I do believe it was usually you telling me to 'loosen up', as it were. You and your ideas. You were so full of them. Always finding one thing or another to do, something new to try, to tempt me with. To create the most astonishing chaos.”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of chaos,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale shakes his head, smiling.

“And nobody was better at it than you.” He huffs. “And then there was me, resisting and arguing at every turn.”

“Well, of course you did. Being an angel and all.”

“Naturally. But that wasn’t the only reason. Do you know why else I did?”

His expression tells him to go on, and so Aziraphale admits, “Just for the pleasure of having you ask again.”

Crowley’s eyelashes flutter as he takes that in. He presses against his arm, hands still curled around his mug.

“And I did. Ask again. For the pleasure of having you finally say yes.”

Aziraphale lets out a soft laugh.

“I remember the way you would look at me,” he muses. “Few things gave me such a rush.”

“And me.”

“I know,” Aziraphale says quietly. He reaches for Crowley’s face, tracing the line of his lips to the corner of his mouth. “How it made you smile. How it made you glow.”

Crowley snorts softly, but otherwise doesn’t move except to nudge Aziraphale’s palm. Like a cat asking for pets, a request he’s happy to oblige with.

“Demons don’t glow. That was always you, angel.”

“Well, you were never your typical demon,” Aziraphale mutters. He slips his hand into Crowley’s hair, marveling at how soft it feels. He doesn’t want to stop, and so simply doesn’t.

For a while, they sit like this. Crowley has closed his eyes, is leaning into the touch. He makes a content sound in the back of his throat, even lifts his mug and takes a sip.

Aziraphale smiles.

He lets the moment stretch a little longer before he speaks again.

“I know the last few years have been hard,” he says quietly, unwilling to shatter the calm more than he needs. But he has to ask. “Is that why you chose to… because you were tired?”

Crowley doesn’t react immediately. When he does crack an eye open, he glances up with an unreadable expression.

“You going to put me on suicide watch, angel?”

“Don’t joke, my dear,” Aziraphale pleads. “I’m trying to understand.”

Crowley lets out a deep breath. He puts his cocoa down, then runs a hand over his face, rubbing his temple.

“You know, before you- took the job upstairs. I was talking to Muriel. Told them we’d need a little us time, when all that was done.”

Aziraphale lifts his eyebrows. “You and Muriel? I didn’t know you were that close.”

“You and me, angel. Keep up.”

“Oh, yes. Quite.”

“Only things happened before we got the chance to, and then they just. Never stopped happening, you know? And when you did come back, we were already knees deep in a different sort of trouble. There’s always something, always one more thing. So I thought, with the both of us back together one last time, well, that’s as good as it’s gonna get.” He pauses, makes an impatient sound. “And if the both of us were gone, well, at least we’d be gone together,” he finally adds, voice devoid of emotion in a way that tells Aziraphale it’s a very deliberate choice.

Disconcertingly, he can see where he’s coming from. He continues petting his hair, not least because it soothes him too, then ventures, “But you agree with me when I say that there is another option. One where we continue being together. Not just one last time, but always. Yes?”

Crowley tilts his head to look up at him. “That’s what you want, is it?”

Aziraphale begins to wave him off, but Crowley catches his wrist, not letting him evade his eyes.

“What is it you want? You haven’t actually said it. What do you want, Aziraphale?”

Beneath the weight of his gaze, Aziraphale finally caves.

“Fine. I want to be with you, Crowley. Always. Forever. And I wanted our universe, our lives back. Of course I didn’t want to end it, it was ours. And I didn’t want to end us, and I know it makes me selfish, but that’s- that’s the thing that matters most to me. I don’t want anyone else to suffer, Crowley, but I didn’t want us to, either.”

Crowley takes that in quietly.

“Then why did you go along with what I said?”

A frustrated breath escapes Aziraphale. He looks down at his hands, at Crowley’s fingers still around his wrist.

“Because I hurt you. So much. And- I understand that you so rarely got a choice, Crowley. It was always me, dictating the pace for us. And it was me who- who left. For once, I wanted things to be up to you.”

Crowley furrows his brow.

“So what would you have asked of God? Specifically. What would have been your choice?”

Aziraphale pinches his lips, then squares his shoulders.

“I wouldn’t have given up this universe. I would have tried to make it better, going forward. There is no perfect choice, but that’s the one I would have made.”

Crowley considers this.

“Well, you’re right about that. Something always has to give,” he finally mutters. “Asking God to restore this universe and remove any divine or hellish influence retrospectively would certainly change everything, to the point where today’s humans might still not exist in the way they should.”

Aziraphale nods. “Asking God to restore it and remove all influences from now on would mean that everyone who lived before got the bad end of the deal.”

“And creating an entirely new universe means no one in this one ever got a chance, but everyone over there did,” Crowley finishes.

“Exactly.”

He makes a face.

“Well. Assuming the other universe still exists, like you said… I suppose there’s no point in attempting that again. So we should probably figure out what to do about this one.”

“We have time,” Aziraphale reminds him, smiling. The corner of Crowley’s mouth lifts, if minutely, and Aziraphale can’t not touch him.

He caresses his cheek, traces the edge of his bottom lip. Tilting his head, he slides his fingers back into his hair. He never got to do that, before. Not in this universe. Perhaps it’s that which makes him keep going back for more, why he can’t seem to stop. Crowley certainly isn’t doing anything to discourage him. He just watches him with hooded eyes, and when they meet his, Aziraphale doesn’t think. He just leans in, cradles Crowley’s jaw with his other hand, and guides his mouth to his.

An urgent sound lodges somewhere deep in Crowley’s throat. His hands come up, sliding over Aziraphale’s lapels, digging into the fabric, clinging to it.

It’s nothing like their kiss before. Nothing like Asa and Anthony’s thousands and thousands of them, still rooted deeply in his memory. This one is for them. Still urgent, still desperate, but no goodbye this time, no Hail Mary doomed to fail. This time, Aziraphale can be here for it, can process what is happening and respond to it.

Which he does, enthusiastically.

It would be easy to get carried away, the sensations popping up inside him like fireworks enough to overwhelm him, and time means nothing here. His entire focus is narrowed down to Crowley, who’s certainly giving as good as he’s getting, though there is a dazed quality to the way he's kissing him.

Against all his instincts, Aziraphale lets the kiss taper off, remaining in Crowley’s space for a few heartbeats before pulling back.

Crowley blinks his eyes open, golden and blown wide.

“Do you still want this?” Aziraphale asks, running his thumb over the kiss-red temptation of his mouth.

Crowley’s throat shifts. His voice is rough when he says, “I never didn’t want it, angel.”

Right, then. Aziraphale more sways forward than consciously decides to move, and Crowley meets him halfway, finally letting go of his shirt to grab him instead.

Aziraphale decides to make that easier for him and abandons his spot on the armrest to slide into his lap. Crowley makes a surprised sound that quickly turns into approval. His hands move down his chest to feel his back, grab at his waist, then drop to his hips.

Despite the rather clear trajectory of them, they both startle when they reach Aziraphale’s ass. It’s enough to shock them apart, staring at each other with their chests heaving.

Crowley finds his voice first.

“Aziraphale. That other life…”

He trails off, the words husky, but Aziraphale is quite sure he’s getting the gist of it.

They were married, in that other life. They did so much more than kiss, did it frequently and enthusiastically, and now that he allows the memories back in, they come flooding. Positively setting him ablaze with the desire for a repeat performance, so to speak.

“Quite,” he agrees, eyes locked on his lips.

“You, uh. Do you- want that, or-“

“Certainly, yes. You?”

The signals he’s sending seem to point in that direction rather clearly, but it’s only proper to ask.

Crowley nods, his lips curving into a smirk.

“Defiling an angel has long been a fantasy of mine, if you must know.”

Oh, the fiend.

In retaliation, Aziraphale bends to start kissing his neck, nipping the skin softly. “Nothing defiling about this, I should think.”

He pulls back to observe Crowley’s reaction and finds himself pleased with the results. Crowley looks almost pained. It’s probably in a good way – he knows all of Anthony’s expressions now, and he has a long backlog of Crowley’s, but he’s never quite done this with him, so it is a bit of a trial and error situation.

Crowley blinks up at him, licking his lips. Then he smiles in a way that promises trouble.

“Well, I’ll say. This is positively scandalous.”

“I hardly think there’s anyone left to scandalize,” Aziraphale remarks before he resumes his work of mapping out Crowley’s neck. He pushes the collar of his shirt out of the way to plant a kiss on his clavicle, then pauses.

“Any angel?”

“Hngk?”

“Your fantasy. Was it any old angel you wanted to defile?”

Crowley makes another unintelligible sound, probably due to the love bite Aziraphale has just left on him. Lovely word, love bite. Lovely concept. Humans did come up with such amazing things.

His voice is breathy when he responds. “I mean, have you seen Gabriel-“

The rest is cut off by the sharp gasp Aziraphale lets out, straightening in indignation.

“Crowley!”

Crowley cackles, his grin straining his cheeks. “Your face! Oh, you should see the look on your face right now-“

There he is, Aziraphale thinks, something inside him relaxing. The carelessness, the delight, the joy he’s been yearning to see again. The Crowley he knows. He’s still there.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s quite amusing,” he responds drily, though he does nothing to hide the fondness of his smile.

“You have no idea,” Crowley informs him, still grinning. Then he sits up abruptly, arms wound tightly around Aziraphale as he topples them over to the floor.

“Ow,” Aziraphale complains, more in surprise than actual pain. His fall was perfectly cushioned.

Then Crowley is above him, bracketing his hips with his knees, peppering his face with kisses until Aziraphale yelps, entirely helpless against the giggles bursting out of him. His heart is beating a pronounced rhythm in his chest, threatening to overflow.

“Just you, angel,” Crowley murmurs in between kisses. “Only ever you.”

Aziraphale hums, pleased, slightly out of breath with laughter. “In that case… might you get on with it, do you think?”

Crowley lifts his head to look at him with raised eyebrows, amusement playing on his features.

“You know, there’s a term the humans had. Pillow princess. Ever heard of it?”

Aziraphale lets out a dreamy hum, only half listening. “It sounds lovely.”

This makes Crowley laugh for some reason. Good. Aziraphale wants to make him laugh forever, as often and as much as he can.

But he does also want different things.

Experimentally, he tugs at Crowley’s shirt to make it come lose. Then he gets started on the buttons. Crowley stares at his fingers. He only moves when he’s done and tugs the fabric out of the way, getting rid of it quickly, then starts fumbling with Aziraphale’s clothes.

It’s a lovely way of shedding their barriers – clumsy, exciting, jittery with nerves, and so very human. Rewarding, too, to get to the end of it.

Crowley makes an undefinable sound, mingling with Aziraphale’s sigh of pleasure when they’re skin to skin. Boldly, Aziraphale reaches into the narrow space between them, and Crowley nearly collapses on top of him.

He lets out a quiet oof in surprise, wrapping a steadying arm around him.

“My dear, is this- is this alright?”

Crowley’s jaw is clenched, his cheeks flushed an enticing shade of red.

“It’s all alright, angel. Anything’s alright.”

“Anything?” Aziraphale murmurs. He’ll have to put that to the test.

It must be quite some time later, inasmuch as time is passing here, that they finish their (rather joyous, certainly overwhelming) explorations. Aziraphale is pinned down by the serpentine embrace Crowley has him locked in, which would be his favorite place to be even if any others existed in the universe.

His hands have found their way into Crowley’s hair again, and he plays with the strands idly.

“My dear,” he murmurs, just because he can. Crowley makes an acknowledging sound.

“I love you. In fact, I am in love with you. I just… thought I should say.”

“Hmm. You did say. Before. To God.”

“I know. But it bears repeating, doesn’t it? Especially since I didn’t really say it to you, then.”

“Don’t think I could have handled it, if you had,” Crowley responds, slightly muffled because he’s speaking into his chest. “I couldn’t… let myself think about it, at the time. More than I had to. Cause of- well, everything. But I heard you.”

Aziraphale smiles. “And I heard you.”

Even if it took him a while to. But looking back, even without those words, there is no way around it. Crowley takes his hand in response, lacing their fingers together. Squeezing tightly.

They almost didn’t have this. It seems unimaginable.

“You know, I do wonder about Gabriel and Beelzebub,” Aziraphale muses. “They weren’t in the other universe, were they? At least I don’t remember seeing them.”

Crowley lifts his head, angling an unimpressed expression towards him. “You’re thinking about them now? Really, angel?”

“I’m quite capable of thinking of two things at once, dear.”

Crowley narrows his eyes and growls a little. Aziraphale pats his head for his efforts, which seems to appease him.

“I do wonder what happened to them,” he says again, forehead creasing with worry. He hasn’t even thought of everyone yet that just… stopped existing. Where were they, when it happened? Did they end up going to Alpha Centauri, like Crowley always wanted to? What were they doing when it happened?

They got more time than Crowley and he did, at the end there, but it still can’t have been enough.

“They were blinked out of existence like everyone else.”

Aziraphale pushes himself up on his elbows. Crowley’s face betrays a much more troubled expression than the factual statement lets on. Reluctantly, he sits up as well, pulling his knees to his chest.

“They didn’t get a choice. And no one else actually did, either.”

“No,” Aziraphale agrees, watching him carefully.

“Except us, of course. Only we didn’t, not really, ‘cause we ended up right back here anyway.” Crowley huffs. “Probably for the best, I’ll admit.”

He chews on his lip, then releases it with a sigh.

“I s’ppose we owe it to them to bring them back.”

“Is that… what you want? To try again with this universe?”

Crowley sniffs. “’s like we said. Something always has to give. I reckon giving the people existing now – well, that should be existing now – a fighting chance is better than eradicating everyone for good.”

“Right,” Aziraphale agrees after a beat. It’s a good enough reason, even if he would have liked to hear a different one.

Crowley cracks a smile. “Never let it be said that I can’t admit when I’m wrong.”

“Well, it’s hard to make the right choice when none of the choices available are right,” Aziraphale points out. Then he offers a careful smile. “Shall we get to work, then?”

Crowley nods. “To work.”

He watches Aziraphale rise, then says casually, “Angel?”

“Hm?”

“Before we get started, you should put on some clothes.”

Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. “Are you being shy all of a sudden? Now?”

“I’m not shy. But I think you’ll want me focused for this.”

“Oh. I see.”

Crowley rolls his eyes as he gets up. “Stop gloating.”

“I would never,” Aziraphale assures him, fully aware that he’s smirking. Clothes do sound like a good idea, though. They have quite the task ahead of them. Best to get comfortable.

He snaps his fingers more out of habit than anything, pausing when the miracle happens. So that hasn't stopped working. That’ll certainly make things easier.

He looks back at Crowley, who’s only getting started sorting out his clothing situation. Right. No miracles.

Aziraphale tilts his head while Crowley struggles into his shirt, getting stuck halfway through. He hums in consideration, then snaps his fingers again. He’s never done this before – there was never any reason to – so he’s not sure if it’ll take, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

Crowley, emerging from his shirt at least, finally notices him looking on pleasantly.

“Wha’?”

“I wonder if you might try for a miracle to put on the rest of those clothes.”

He throws him a look. “You know I can’t do miracles anymore.”

“Try,” Aziraphale asks. Crowley narrows his eyes. He snaps his fingers, then blinks down at his fully clothed body.

“Hm! Fascinating.”

“What did you do?”

“A miracle. To give you back yours.”

Crowley’s eye twitches. “You miracled me back my ability to do miracles, but still let me fight with that shirt?”

“Well, it looked like you had that under control. Or were getting there, at least.”

Crowley stares at him. Then, his lips curve into a smile. “Bastard,” he says, and it sounds like the highest honor he can bestow.

“You’re ever so welcome,” Aziraphale returns pleasantly.

He follows Crowley, who picks up the pencil case with a flourish and holds it out to him. Aziraphale chooses the two sturdiest pens – they’re going to have to do a lot of writing – and passes the second to Crowley. Gathering a couple of books, Crowley then moves to the armchair, where he drops down with a sigh.

“Right,” he says. Then he pauses. “So how do we actually go about this?”

Aziraphale joins him. “I don’t suppose just writing that the universe returns as it was before, minus the divine influence, would work.”

Crowley looks doubtful, then shrugs. “Only one way to find out.”

Aziraphale opens a book and hands it to him. Crowley blinks at it for a moment, then starts writing. Aziraphale leans closer to read along.

“From that bookshop, which was the whole universe, the rest of creation that got lost in the Eternal Flame returned just in time, though there were no influences of divine or satanic nature ever again, as Heaven and Hell had ceased to exist for good.”

He makes a thoughtful sound.

“Don’t mock my prose, angel. I’m not the reader between us.”

“I’m not, dear. Your prose is perfectly adequate.”

“Adequate,” Crowley repeats under his breath, but Aziraphale pays him no mind, attention fixed on the windows to see the outside of the bookshop. Which… still doesn’t exist.

“Well, that doesn’t seem to have done much.”

“Would’ve been too easy,” Crowley mutters. “It’ll have to be like the original Book of Life, then. We write down… everything.”

“Afraid so.”

He blows out a breath. “Aziraphale, we’re gonna be here for a while.”

“Yes, well. Best get started, then.”

“Sure.” Crowley huffs out a laugh. “Where?”

“I suppose… she started with light,” Aziraphale points out. “On the first day. Separated from darkness to create day and night.”

Crowley hums. He puts the pen to paper, only to pause and look up again.

"Angel."

“Hm?”

“I don’t… think we’ve thought this through.” Crowley twists in the chair to get a better look at him. “How do we bring back history?”

Aziraphale blinks. “Pardon?”

“History,” Crowley repeats, impatient. “How do we make it so that everything that once was, was once? Even if it isn’t now?”

“I’m not sure I…”

Crowley waves his hands expansively. “Think of the universe, the day before Michael got her hands on the book. God could have brought everything back just as it was, no problem, ‘cause she’s God and has all her- godly powers. But we can’t, can we? All we have are these books like some sort of blueprint, but if we put down- ducks, or something, won’t it just be new ducks? What about all the ducks they descended from originally? Wouldn’t we have to write all of them down, to make sure it’s the same universe we had before?”

Aziraphale swallows. “That’s a lot of pages.”

“A lot of pages we can’t fill, because we have no records to fall back on. And it’s not just ducks! We’d have to write down every single animal that ever existed in the world, individually. Every person, too.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale fidgets with his pen. A thought occurs to him, but he winces even as he begins, “We could, ah, ask God…?”

“Do you really want her involved? She clearly didn’t keep her word last time. I don’t see how this is different.” Crowley looks down at the book. “Besides, we used up our choice. I doubt she’d give us another one.”

He’s right, of course. She didn’t keep her word.

But maybe that’s the point.

“It must be possible,” Aziraphale murmurs.

Crowley lifts his eyebrows, and so he hurries to continue, “God does work in mysterious ways, but there is, ultimately, always a reason. Not one that you and I might agree with, but- anyway, the point is, she brought us back here. There must be a reason for that, Crowley. And I don’t think it’s just to keep us here forever with no way to fix it.”

The skeptical look on his face comes as no surprise.

“You think she wants us to restore the universe?”

“I don’t know if she wants us to, but I think it must be possible.”

Aziraphale gets up to take a few steps, holding out his hands.

“I don’t think we have to bring back history. If we get every being that lived when Michael went rogue, well, they all carry their own history, don’t they? Take Maggie. Her existence presumes the existence of her parents, of their parents, and so on. So if she exists, all those before her must have existed too.”

Crowley concedes this with a slow nod. “What about dead people, though? Those that died without procreating, ended their lines. How do we make it so they existed?”

Aziraphale purses his lips, thinking rapidly.

“All lives are interwoven. Connected. I don’t believe it’s possible to live a human life that is not touched by others. Even without a blood relation, they carry each other with them.”

“Like some sort of magical domino effect?”

“Exactly.” He pauses, smiling wistfully. “I miss domino. We should play, when… well, when it exists again.”

The corner of Crowley’s mouth lifts, but it doesn’t last long before he’s frowning again.

“Alright, let’s say all that is actually true. We still have to write down everyone that lived. Seven billion people, angel. I can’t name everyone who lived in London, never mind the country or the world. Can you?”

“I’m afraid not, no. But perhaps we can miracle up a- a list or something.”

“A list.”

“Well, we won’t know if we don’t try. I don’t have all the answers either, Crowley. I just…”

“Have faith,” Crowley finishes.

“Like a fool, perhaps, but then I’ve always been that.” Aziraphale smiles wryly. He eyes Crowley, fidgeting with his hands. “I know faith isn’t really your sort of thing, but…”

Crowley groans, then straightens – inasmuch as he ever sits straight – with a sigh.

“I might not be good at the faith thing, but I do know how to take a leap. Let’s give it a shot. Worst we can do is fail.”

“That would be pretty bad,” Aziraphale points out.

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Get over here,” he says, opening the book again. “We’ve got work to do.”

Aziraphale hurries back to his side, taking his spot on the armrest again.

“Perhaps… leave the people for last?” he suggests. “Gives us more time to figure out how this thing works. Think about dominos and such.”

“Sounds sensible. So, where were we? Ah. Let there be light.”

He starts writing, drawing the universe back into existence stroke by stroke.

The feeling taking hold of Aziraphale when, with the scrawl of Crowley’s hand, the nothingness outside turns to light, is nothing short of awe. It’s the way he felt when Crowley introduced him to his nebulas, when God introduced him to existence. It’s funny, almost, that it should always be those two drawing that response from him.

But it’s just Crowley now, the sight of him more familiar than himself, in the bookshop that, for so long, was a kind of home to both of them. Drawing light from nothing with the scrape of his pen, face brightening with wonder at the immediate effects of his work.

There is something holy about it, and it doesn’t feel like blasphemy to think so.

“Well, that’s a good start.” Crowley smiles at him, and Aziraphale is helpless not to do the same.

“The sky,” he says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out rough. “And waters. Those were next.”

“Waters, yes. Love a good lake. Something for the ducks.”

Bit by bit, the world around them bends back into shape. There is dry land, the seas, vegetation to brighten up the place – Crowley’s gardening knowledge comes in handy as the land outside pops into bloom in all colors of the rainbow. Oh, rainbows – they’ll have to remember those, later. Though he can quite do without the preceding flood this time, thank you very much.

The next part is clearly Crowley’s favorite, the delight on his face unmatched as he brings back the stars. They spend a long time discussing planets, too, Crowley’s suggestion to provide Alpha Centauri with a nightlife taking up most of it – but they have nothing but time, don’t they?

“Now, this is where it might get tricky,” Crowley says when they finally move on to the next part.

“All creatures great and small,” Aziraphale says, taking a deep breath.

“Where shall we start?” Crowley spins the pen in his hand. “Your pick, angel.”

The choice is overwhelming to say the least, his mind flitting from one animal to the next without managing to settle on one, but when he looks at Crowley, the answer is suddenly glaringly obvious.

“Birds,” he decides, swallowing. “I’d rather like to- hear a nightingale.”

Crowley promptly fumbles the pen. His features are slack with surprise as he stares at him. Then he groans and shakes his head.

“Are you just- going to be unbearably romantic from now on?”

He says it like it’s a dirty word, the way he used to say nice back in the day.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to help it,” Aziraphale says, somewhat apologetically, which, judging by the reaction it elicits, seems to make things worse. Crowley’s face is doing something interesting; like he knows he’s wearing an expression of undeniable fondness, hates the fact, yet cannot do anything about it.

It’s rather funny, and almost unbearably endearing.

“Right, then,” Crowley says after a comically long beat of silence. “Birds. Nightingales.” He clears his throat. “How about – ‘in the universe, birds existed’?”

Straight to the point. Why not?

Aziraphale nods avidly. “And then, ‘Amongst them, there were nightingales – and amongst those, one in particular that liked to visit the bookshop now and then, singing a beautiful melody nearby’.”

Crowley is scribbling down his words as he’s saying them, his intent focus on the book not enough to hide the flush still decorating his cheeks.

Only the promise of looking outside and actually spotting a bird gets Aziraphale to take his eyes off him. He goes to the windows, craning his head as he lets his eyes wander, trying to catch a bird in the branches of the trees or up in the sky.

Nothing so far. He ignores the drop in his stomach, turning back to Crowley with an uncertain smile.

“Well, perhaps we need to give it some time. We did say ‘now and then’.”

Crowley nods slowly, gaze lingering on the window just a moment longer. “Right. Let’s just carry on with the others for now, ‘cause there’s a lot to get through here.”

“Shall we try alphabetical order?”

He hums. “I think we should bring the funny ones back first.”

“Which would be…?” Aziraphale prompts, lifting an eyebrow.

He fully expects him to go for the Hairy Wood Pecker or the classic Great Tit, but instead, Crowley gleefully announces, “Myself, I’m partial to the Satanic Goatsucker.”

“Goodness,” Aziraphale chokes. “I’d quite forgotten about that one.”

“Had a hand in it,” Crowley informs him with a cheeky grin. “Well, the naming, not the creation.”

“Well, we can somewhat remedy that.” He gestures towards the book. “Go on, do the honors.”

Crowley does. Next, they bring back the Go-Away Bird (rather ironic, Aziraphale has to agree), the Fairy Wren, the Horned Screamer and the Bananaquit – some of which, he realizes with dismay, he never once saw that first time around. There is much to be said for the comforts of home – and much has been said about it by him, specifically – but there was so much out there that he didn’t get to in time. It’s a great pity, and a great relief that takes hold of him as he remembers that they’re bringing it all back. He will have a better look around, this time. Hopefully with a certain travel companion by his side.

“Alright,” said companion announces. “We’re just missing the Blue-Footed Booby now, then we can go back and start over alphabetically.”

Aziraphale opens his mouth to agree, but stops short when a sound rings out from the windowsill – clear and vibrant; the sweetest sound he has ever heard, perhaps.

It’s the melody of a nightingale.

The book lands on the floor with a thud as Crowley shoots up. They both stare at the window, then at each other.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathes out, one hand on his chest, the other held out as if to reach for him. They approach the window carefully, so as not to spook the little creature perched outside, sharing its sharp and thrilling tune with them. Like it never stopped existing – like it has always been there.

Crowley’s hand closes around his, gripping tightly.

“That… seems to have worked,” he says, staring at the bird.

Aziraphale tears his eyes away to look at him instead.

“My love,” he breathes out, tightening his hold on his hand.

It’s still new enough that he can watch the surprise play out on his features, shifting quickly into raw tenderness. It’s probably a good thing he can’t see himself right now, or he’d spontaneously combust.

“My angel.”

Aziraphale's heart does something unspeakable in his chest. He pushes himself up on his tiptoes to place a kiss on Crowley’s nose, knowing it’ll allow him to shake off the moment.

“Enough!" he declares promptly. "I have a reputation to uphold.”

“In front of whom, dear? The nightingale?”

Crowley narrows his eyes at him. Then he looks back outside, his lips curving up again as he watches the bird.

“Funny, eh? Took her almost a week to get it all up and running, and we’re doing this in a couple of hours.”

Aziraphale halfheartedly slaps his shoulder. “It took her a week because she created it. We are only bringing it back. And you don’t actually know how long it’s been, because time… well, isn’t, here.”

Crowley just grins. “Still.”

Aziraphale huffs, but decides to let it slide.

“Shall we get back to it?” he eventually suggests. “Now that we have proof the book actually works for living creatures?”

Crowley lets out an exaggerated sigh. “No rest for the wicked,” he declares dramatically as he saunters back to the chair, stretching before draping himself over it.

“Or the good,” Aziraphale agrees. He gasps when his eyes fall on his long-ago abandoned mug. “Oh, goodness! Our cocoas are entirely cold. Let me just…”

He snaps his fingers, pleased when the mugs immediately start steaming again. “There we are. Now we can carry on,” he says, beaming when Crowley accepts the mug he passes him without any scathing remarks. He even sips from it occasionally once they’ve returned their attention to the great variety of birds.

Slowly and steadily, if somewhat chaotically – there isn’t really any system to how they decide which creatures get to return next, though Aziraphale heavily argues that it would be nice for prey animals to get to exist in a world without predators for a while – they bring Earth’s wildlife back.

At a guess, they spend much more than a week on it in the end. Even with the return of night and day, it’s hard to keep track. They don’t grow hungry or tired if they don’t remember to, and with the enormity of the task at hand, it’s very easy to forget. Outside their doorstep, they get to observe a developing world still so different from the one they left behind, but getting closer to it all the time.

“And that’s zebras… done,” Crowley announces finally, finishing off his sentence with a flourish. They have long moved on from the first empty novel, a stack of filled books towering precariously at his feet.

“Is that really it?” Aziraphale asks, eyeing the books. “We didn’t forget any creatures?”

“Don’t think so. We can come back to it later, anyway. If we remember anything else.”

“Right. Then I suppose… objects next?”

Crowley drops the pen, stretching out his wrist. “Maybe we can take a break from writing for a bit. Figure out the Heaven and Hell thing in the meantime.”

Aziraphale tilts his head. “I would have assumed that simply not writing them back into existence will do the trick.”

“I mean, I think so,” Crowley says, eyes narrowed. “Though that, then, of course begs the question of God and Satan. Cause they existed, even when everything else stopped, right? So they must still be around somewhere. What do we do about them?”

“Assuming we can do something about them.”

“Well, we probably can’t write them out of existence if they don’t need to be in the book to exist in the first place.”

Like the two of them, Aziraphale notes, equally surprised and gratified by the thought. They are as much a constant as them. What a notion.

“But,” Crowley carries on, “we might be able to… keep them out?”

“That does sound sensible,” Aziraphale agrees. “Not having them get involved was the point of this entire exercise.”

He takes the book from Crowley, letting him have his writing break, and opens his pen.

Thinking out loud, he tries, “’Though God and Satan will exist in the universe as long as the universe exists, they do not have the power to move in it’.”

Crowley nods, and Aziraphale copies the sentence down.

“’They can’t influence humanity in any way’,” Crowley adds. “Not pretty, but important.”

Aziraphale makes a noise of agreement. “’They may only observe, if they so wish, but never act’ – that should cover it, no?”

“Think so,” Crowley says, lips pursed in thought as he watches him write. “We won’t know whether it worked, of course.”

“No, I’m afraid not. We’ll simply have to…”

“Have faith, yeah,” Crowley finishes. He sniffs. “Right, well. Getting better at that, I think, so that’s alright.”

Aziraphale gives him a soft smile.

“We could add that neither Heaven nor Hell will ever exist again,” he then says. “Just to be safe.”

“You’re right. Can’t be too careful with that.”

Crowley crosses his legs, thrown over the armrest of his chair, and drops his head as he listens to the scratch of Aziraphale’s pen.

“Done,” he announces, and Crowley gives him an upside-down grin.

“Finally, a world worth living in.”

It always was, of course, which is sort of the whole point. But he knows what Crowley means, and he’s grateful to hear the sentiment expressed; to know that Crowley does want this life, this universe. That he actually wants to be in it.

Even if he does understand the state of mind he was in, back when they made that choice, Crowley should never have to feel like that. Aziraphale’s stomach drops as he remembers that he himself played no small part in the matter. It’s… well, a miracle that they’re here now, and not just because they weren’t supposed to be. Because Crowley could have just as easily told him to get lost and figure this whole mess out on his own.

Aziraphale tries to focus on the gratitude he feels that he didn’t, but the pit in his stomach remains.

“Crowley,” he says before he can think about it, then stops.

His voice sounds different, off, and Crowley notices. He lifts his head, raising an eyebrow at him. “What’s up?”

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, swallowing twice.

“I know you’ve forgiven me – well, at my request, but- anyway, and you probably don’t want to hear this, but I think I should say it anyway.”

Crowley’s eyes have widened in alarm, but Aziraphale soldiers on before he can interject.

“I’m sorry, Crowley. I’m so sorry for- not being ready, and for not understanding. You can’t imagine how deeply I regret having caused you that kind of pain, and I hope you know that I will do whatever I can to make sure it never happens again.”

Crowley’s hands, having dug into the armchair, relax only once he has fallen silent.

“I do know that. And I’ve already forgiven you, angel. Don’t make me say it again.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says quietly.

“Will you stop beating yourself up about it now?”

He attempts a smile. “I fear it might take some time. But, well, I’ve got forever to work on it, I suppose. Or- however long we have.”

A crease appears between Crowley’s brows. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I. Just because we’re bringing the universe back, and we happen to be here again, as us, I wouldn’t… want to presume, that is-“

“Presume what, exactly?” He swings his legs off the chair with a frown. “Because I thought we’d both been entirely, disgustingly clear about how we feel about each other.”

“Of course, yes. We have. And I certainly don’t doubt that part. I just mean that- just because we… feel what we feel, doesn’t necessarily mean we both want the same thing out of this, going forward.”

Crowley’s expression shifts from uncomprehending to troubled. His hands are curled into fists, his shoulders tightly drawn, and oh, Aziraphale is making a mess of this, isn’t he?

“What don’t you want? Because I don’t care if you changed your mind about the physical stuff, or-“

“Crowley, you misunderstand me,” he interrupts before he can get any more worked up.

“Then be clear, angel, for Someone’s sake."

“I want everything!” Aziraphale bursts out, desperate to make him understand. “All of it. Forever. You and me, until the last moment this wretched, beautiful universe has to give. But I also remember our human life, and the choice you made, and how you said you were tired, and if that’s what you want – another human life, when everything is said and done – then I wouldn’t begrudge you that. I would want you to have it, and- I’d be happy, to have it with you.”

Crowley’s eyes bore into him.

“You would turn human with me. Even though you want forever. You’d give that up for a mortal life, some fifty years together if we’re very lucky. Thirty, if it works out like- last time.”

“I’d give it up for one single year with you, Crowley. I’d give it up for less, if that was what you wanted.” He lifts his shoulders. “What good is forever, if the person you want to spend it with doesn’t want the same?”

“But I do, Aziraphale.” Crowley gets out of the chair, crossing his arms before his chest as he takes a few restless steps. “I want that, with you. I’ve always wanted it. I just…”

“Just what?” Aziraphale probes carefully when he falls silent.

Crowley stops, half turned away. He takes a few deep breaths, then drops his arms and faces him.

“It scared the shit out of me,” he admits. “Still does, if I’m honest. Not because I don’t want it, because I want it so much. Wanting something so much for so long and then getting it, I mean…” He laughs helplessly. “What do you do with that? How does that work?”

Aziraphale exhales slowly, some of the tension in his body releasing.

“Well,” he says, taking a step towards him, “this is only my first time experiencing it quite like this too, but I do believe that we might just have to do it scared.”

Crowley’s eyes flicker to his at the use of we.

“Probably,” he agrees after a beat. Aziraphale closes the distance between them, reaching for his hands. At the touch, Crowley’s shoulders finally relax again.

He looks down at their hands, then huffs out a laugh.

When Aziraphale makes a questioning noise, he says, “Quite human of us, all of this.”

“Well, when on Earth, do as the humans do. Always worked out for us, didn’t it?”

“Most of the time.” Crowley smiles, then glances up at him.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” he says. Aziraphale nods at once, but Crowley shakes his head. “No, listen. I don’t know if I am, but I don’t think I will know until I’ve… done it. And I think- I think I’m ready to do it without being ready. With you. As long as it’s you and me, I think… I can do anything.”

He immediately closes his eyes, grimacing. “Someone help me,” he mutters. Aziraphale lets out a soft laugh.

“There, there,” he murmurs, rubbing his hand in comfort. “You’ll get used to it. We have forever after all, it seems.”

Though he does actually enjoy this flustered, romantic-and-grumpy-about-it version of Crowley very much, so hopefully he won’t get used to it too fast.

Crowley nods, his throat shifting. “Forever,” he agrees. Not ready, but ready. Aziraphale understands the feeling all too well.

He leans in to find his lips, and when they connect, it almost feels like a zip in the air. He places his forehead against Crowley’s, brushing his thumb over the back of his hand.

“How about I make us some tea – there should be some in the back, I believe, or else we’ll have to bring that back next – and then we carry on?”

“Sounds good.”

Aziraphale gives his hand a final squeeze, then gets to work. There is indeed tea in the back, and the process of making it – the human way – is as calming and comforting as the drinking will be. He carries two cups outside. Crowley has moved to the desk, lazily leafing through the book.

“Thanks,” he mutters when Aziraphale places one cup in front of him.

"Don't mention it. So. Objects, yes?"

“Yup. Objects. I personally think we should focus on the important things first, like the Bentley.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale agrees, taking a sip of his tea. “Though we’d need roads, first, wouldn’t we? Or tires, to start with, before we can assemble them into a car?”

“Maybe that domino theory of yours applies here too,” Crowley muses, spinning the pen. “The existence of the Bentley presumes the existence of all the parts its made of, so we’re saving ourselves the trouble of bringing all of those back individually.”

“That would be nice. Let’s-“ Aziraphale begins, but is cut off by a familiar sound. So familiar, in fact, that his first instinct is annoyance – his usual reaction when someone opens the door to the bookshop at an inopportune moment. Reality catches up with him a second later, when Crowley has stopped spinning the pen, dropping it with a soft clatter. The door should not be opening, because there isn’t anyone yet to open it.

He takes a deep breath before he turns to look, because who else could it be but God or Satan?

But it’s not either of them, the most shocking option of all. It’s just… a man. A human, adult man, throwing them a cautious look at the no doubt strange welcome they’re offering.

“Excuse me, are you back open? Only I thought this shop closed a couple years back, but I just passed by and saw the sign was turned, so…”

Crowley and Aziraphale both stare at him, at a loss for words. Aziraphale reaches for him blindly to assure himself that he is not dreaming, which seems to shake Crowley out of his stupor.

“Where did you come from?” he demands, incredulous.

“Uh… the café down the street? Why?”

“The- café? But we didn’t yet… and… you’re…”

While Aziraphale struggles to string a thought together, much less a sentence, Crowley’s eyes grow impossibly wide.

“Angel,” he breathes out, and then Aziraphale notices too.

With the door now open, they can hear it clearly. Cars driving past, people talking. Unmistakable sounds of life.

“We’re closed,” Crowley says suddenly, snapping his fingers, and the man turns and leaves without another word.

They look at each other, then nearly trip over themselves scrambling for the door. Crowley gets there first, and Aziraphale stumbles outside after him, coming to a staggering halt as he sucks in a deep breath. A breath full of pollution, and garbage bins, and wafts of coffee, because everything is back. Just as they were trying to recreate, as it used to be.

While the shock of it keeps him rooted in place, Crowley is taking aimless steps around, not caring one bit that he’s stumbling into the road – the road they were just talking of bringing back, but never got to. He spins around, tries to look at everything - and it really is everything.

The world has returned, in all its vibrant glory.

“Excuse me,” Crowley calls to a young woman passing by. “You there! How’s your day been?”

“Uh… good?” she responds, like there’s a wrong answer.

“Yeah? And just- normal, was it? Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Not really. Apart from this,” she adds, throwing him a suspicious look as she walks past him.

“Right. Ta. Have a good one – have all the good ones, in fact!”

Crowley’s eyes catch on Aziraphale’s as he loses sight of the woman. He starts laughing, and Aziraphale feels the sound reverberating in his entire body.

Crowley holds out his hand to him, beckoning him closer. His smile might be the widest Aziraphale has ever seen it, and he has been there for all the most glorious ones. Following his bidding isn’t a choice, it’s the only thing he can do – stepping away from the bookshop and out into the world, where Crowley is already waiting for him. Always one step ahead. But this time, Aziraphale is determined to catch up.

His cheeks hurt with his own smile when he puts his hand in Crowley’s, who immediately pulls him closer.

“Are you seeing this, angel?”

Aziraphale huffs out a laugh, nodding. “I see it, Crowley. It’s everything.”

The world, and the two of them right in the middle of it.

Crowley grins. His wild, exuberant joy is catching, overwhelming him in the best way possible. It's intoxicating. Aziraphale reaches for Crowley with his other hand too, and they close the rest of the distance at the same time, the tightness they’re holding onto each other with as grounding as it is vital.

Aziraphale yelps in surprise when Crowley starts spinning them around, the sound turning into laughter immediately.

“You’ll make me all dizzy!” he complains, not really meaning it.

“That’s half the fun,” Crowley retorts, but he does slow down until they come to a stop.

When they part, chests heaving, their hands find each other again at once.

Aziraphale looks around in a daze.

“I don’t understand what happened,” he admits.

Crowley laughs again. They can’t seem to stop doing that, the only sensible reaction in the face of this miracle.

“Neither do I.” His eyes catch on the people passing them, distracting him for a long moment before he can shake off the spell. “D’you think she had a hand in this?”

It shouldn’t be possible, of course, not after what they wrote. This certainly would count as interfering with humanity, wouldn’t it? But why would she have done this? Waiting so long, letting them do half the job only to bring the other half back so suddenly, all at once?

Why now? What changed?

His eyes land on Crowley, who is still looking around. His anchor, always, at ease now in a way he hasn’t been in some time.

Aziraphale’s breath hitches as the puzzle pieces click into place.

“Oh. I see."

Crowley’s eyes snap to him. “What?”

Aziraphale smiles, reaching up to cradle his jaw tenderly. “It wasn’t her, dear. In fact, I think this was all you.”

“Me?” Crowley echoes, raising his eyebrows. “What did I do?”

“Do you remember the very first thing you wrote?”

Crowley still looks confused, so he recites, “From that bookshop, which was the whole universe, the rest of creation that got lost in the Eternal Flame returned just in time… just in time,” he repeats, gazing at Crowley. “The universe is ready now, because we are. Just in time, for us to go out into it.”

Crowley blinks at him, his throat bobbing.

“That’s…”

“Ineffable? Probably.”

It might be lucky too, it might be a gift, it might be fought-for and earned. All these things, or none of them. Who’s to say? God isn’t here, and Aziraphale doubts they’ll ever talk to her again. Though he finds that he’s not particularly interested in what she’d have to say, anyway. She must have been in the background of all of this, but that’s about all there is to it.

She let it happen, but they made it happen. That means something, doesn’t it?

“I think I’m gonna need some time to wrap my head around this,” Crowley says eventually, dazed.

Aziraphale’s lips curve up. “How does all the time in the world sound?”

Crowley looks at him, then laughs again. “It sounds like the best thing I’ve ever heard, angel.”

“I wonder if I still am that,” Aziraphale comments idly. They turn back to the bookshop by unspoken agreement, a safe place to recalibrate until the shock wears off. “Now that Heaven and Hell are gone.”

Crowley makes a curious sound. He touches his temple, no doubt stretching his senses to look for the connection to their former head offices. Aziraphale has done the same, coming up with nothing. The connection isn’t just severed, it’s entirely gone. Like it never existed.

That’s one thing he certainly isn’t sorry to see gone for good.

“Huh,” Crowley says next to him. “That really worked.” He glances at Aziraphale. “Still got your miracles, though, right?”

Promptly putting that to the test, Aziraphale snaps his fingers and smiles when the open sign turns to closed. Crowley then snaps his once they’re inside, and the door shuts behind them.

“Neat,” he observes. “So… we’re both private individuals now, I suppose.”

“We are. And look, the books are back,” Aziraphale says, picking up a novel that is once again Great Expectations. Just a book now, filled with words someone else wrote. “That means the job is well and truly done.”

“Good,” Crowley says languidly.

He steps behind him while he leafs through the book, dropping his chin on his shoulder.

“Aziraphale,” he murmurs.

“Hm?”

“I’m only gonna say this once, so pay attention. No matter what we are now, you’ll always be my angel to me. Got it?”

Aziraphale tries and fails to control his face, the smile overtaking him impossible to rein in.

“I see,” he says, knowing he’s failing miserably at keeping it out of his voice too. “That’s good, then.”

Crowley lets out a sigh, then turns his head to nip his throat. His arms snake around his waist, holding him loosely.

“World’s back,” he muses. “What do you want to do now?”

Aziraphale laughs. “Where to start?”

He has barely processed what happened, and already his mind trips over itself with all the possibilities at their fingertips, all the things he is desperate to experience, to embrace. He wants to do everything – together.

Crowley’s warm weight around him proves to be a nice anchor, helping him sort out his thoughts. He twists carefully in his embrace until they’re facing each other.

“I think I’d like to pay our friends a visit first. I’ve been gone rather a long time, and I believe I still have some amends to make.”

“It’ll be good seeing everyone,” Crowley agrees. “Though Mrs. Sandwich might need a moment to warm up to you again. You’re not in her good books right now.”

“I noticed that,” Aziraphale remarks drily. “And then, perhaps, we could… travel.”

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Hmm. Anywhere sounds like a good start, actually. I do believe it’s traditional to begin one’s retirement with a vacation, is it not?”

“Heard that too, yeah.” Crowley’s smile is impossibly tender. “And what other plans do you have? For retirement?”

“Well… being with you, for a start.”

“That goes without saying.”

“Right.” Aziraphale laughs self-consciously. “That’s about as far as I planned, really. Though-“ He hesitates, biting his lip. “I did rather enjoy the South Downs. In that other life. I would… very much like to have that, with you. If you’re amenable, that is.”

“Amenable? I’m more than amenable, Aziraphale. We can go right now, as far as I’m concerned.”

Aziraphale beams. He looks through the windows, at the world waiting for them outside. He takes a deep breath.

“So now we live.”

“Now we live,” Crowley agrees.

Aziraphale hums. “Ready to get started, then?”

Crowley takes his hand. He lifts it to press a lingering kiss to Aziraphale’s wrist, so full of affection that he feels it in his entire body.

“I thought you’d never ask, angel.”